The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

Saturday, November 2, 2019

from A Long And Rainy Season

    * * *

For a waterlily
And a man and a woman --
The afternoon is long.

--Kiyoko Uda 


   ***


Vast field of flowers;
the sail of a cloud passing
slowly.

--Koko Kato


   * * *


On my frozen nerve
there is a place
where a red canary
comes
to perch.

--Fumi Saito


   * * *

Horses --
hearing the sound of the wind
I draw them out of the canvas
and make them take off.

--Fumi Saito


   * * *


The droning of cicadas
fade behind me
like a stone weight --
I've got your letter
with me.

--Chieko Yamanaka


   * * *



At daybreak
  I wake up crying --
intimation of rain
  and future heartaches.

--Amari Hayashi 


   * * *


Palm of the
wind --
fanning
specks of light
across the Shimanto River.

--Machi Tawara


Translations by Leza Lowitz, Miyuki Aoyama and Akemi Tomioka
 


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