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“Spring
and Carnage
(mental sketch modified)”
from the ashen steel of imaginings
the akebi vines twist around the clouds
thickets of wild roses, rotting swamps
a side of a side, heavenly patterns
(when more busily than wind music at noon
splintered amber pours down)
the bitterness, then the blueness of anger
salivating, grinding, moving back and forth at
the bottom of the glow of April’s atmospheric strata
I am Carnage
(the landscape is jolted by my tears)
limiting the eye’s path of crushed clouds
in the brilliant sea of heaven
holy crystaline winds whip around
the Zypressen spring’s row
when absorbing blackest black and ether
from that dark step
the majesty of Tien-shan’s snow glitters
(waves of gossamer and white polarized light)
the words of Truth depart
clouds are torn off and fly away in the sky
Ah, at the bottom of April’s radiance
grinding, burning, moving back and forth
I am Carnage
(clouds of chalcedony flow
where does that spring bird call?)
sun halo shimmering blue
forest and Carnage, a symphony
and from the sinking, dizzying bowl of heaven
clusters of foolish clouds spread
those branches sadly propagating
all landscapes twofold
from the stupor of forest treetops
flickering away, a crow
(the atmospheric strata continues to clear
cypresses also, hushed, rise in the sky)
someone making his way through golden grassland
someone unexceptional in human form
clad in rags and looking at me, this farmer
does he really not see me?
there, in the ocean of glaring atmosphere
(lush, deeply, the sadness)
Zypressen rock softly
again the bird carves the blue sky
(here, there are no words of Truth
the tears of Carnage fall upon the earth)
freshly inhaling the sky
lungs contracting dimly white
(this body, particles scatter to the sky)
again, the ginkgo’s top shimmers
Zypressen still blackening
clouds’ sparks pour down
Miyazawa Kenji
April 8, 1922
translated by Mia Simring
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