Miho Nonaka is a bilingual poet who has taught English and Creative Writing courses at Eastern Illinois University and Wheaton College. Her poetry and nonfiction have appeared in The Iowa Review, Ploughshares, Tin House, Cimarron Review, American Letters & Commentary, among others. She received a Pushcart Prize nomination for poetry in 2007.

 

 

ででむしの子どもたちすきとおった箱をのせ

固まらないやわらかなその箱をのせ

うしろへは引かない

なにかあれば

潰れる

いなくてもいいけれど

めくれば　いつも　地に近くいる

箱に入るものは　からだだけ

 

ほかのだれにも　用のないもの

(たべるひとを除いては)

ででむし　そのためにいつでも

屈むわたしは

植え込み覗いて頬を切る

血をにじませ　ででむし探す

その渦巻きに棲んでる　いまも

棲んでる

 

ででむし朽ちても殻だけ遺す

それは地面に落ちている

焚火の途中　拾って投げる

縞に火がつき

縞以外にも火がつき

 

くすぶる諍いはうしろで窓割り

新たな穴から血　飛んで　墜落

音からしておかしい割れてない

買い換えたようだ

(その扱いにも鈍い素材に)

女の転居を願いはしても

ゆく先々で　ふたたび　きっと

 

ででむしの子どもたちすきとおった箱のせて

やわく軽くしかも詰まったその箱のせて

追えないほどに　散らばり果てて

なにかあれば　まっすぐ

潰れる

いてほしいと　石をめくればいつもいる

 

(いない殻はしずまりかえった水を貯め)

釜にむかう柄杓(ひしゃく)　その速度で万事うごく

隅にあつめ　すきなみずを暁に垂らせば

波紋にのせ　ひろがる　ででむしの思い

その渦巻に三十年ほど棲んでる

 

 

 

 

Snail children carry clear boxes,

Still unset, soft boxes on their backs

Without retreating, at the risk

Of getting crushed any moment.

Unsought for, yet you’d find them

Underneath whatever you

Turn over on the ground.

What fits their box is only their

Body, no use to anybody else

(Except for those who fancy their meat)

I cut my cheek on the shrub each time

I lean over, looking for snails

Who have occupied and will

Always live in their spiral.

 

When dried up, snails leave only

their shells on the ground.

I pick and toss these into the fire

I am making:

their stripes catch on fire,

then the rest starts burning, too.

A bickering smolders behind me,

the window breaks again and out flies

a plate, rattling on the ground—

I am surprised it sounds unbroken;

a switch to the new brand?

(that survives insensitive treatment)

Even if the woman moves out,

it will be the same, anywhere she goes

 

Snail children carry clear boxes,

Supple, light, and fully packed boxes

Scattered far and wide, impossible to

Drive out. Any mishap will

Crush them flat.

They are everywhere;

Whenever you want, flip a stone.

(Absent shells hold up silent water)

Everything moves at the same pace

As a ladle towards a cauldron.

Gather them in the corner and pour

The liquid of your choice at dawn:

What will unfold in widening rings

Is the snails’ emotion.

I have lived in their spiral for thirty years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

あなたを消すことが不可能なら俺が消えたい

そんなこといわれたって困るよ

あたしは消えないしあなたも消えない

いまはまだ

放っておいたって消えるよ

そのうちにね

ためらえば流れ去る

山の石が緑の息をしている

やりなおしはきかないが

やりなおすようなことなどなにもない

この世には

 

 

 

“If it’s impossible to erase you, I’d rather

blot myself out.”

I don’t know how to answer this:

it won’t make you nor me

disappear for the time being.

With or without your effort,

we’ll be all gone someday.

While you hesitate, things will flow away;

in the mountains, stones will continue

breathing green.

You can’t start over again.

To begin with, there isn’t

a thing you’d rather revise

in this life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

帰っていく背の真ん中に

ひとすじ

夜道がひらける

奥へ奥への気配はあるけど

すぐに曲がって

先はすこしも　見えません

 

道の左右に　奪われるほどの太い幹

 

次　次　次と　ならんでる

月影ない闇夜には　この闇夜には

空よりも　繁みのほうが　一段と

暗い

そのくらさに　よどみなく煽られ

いらないものを　いそいで捨てる

無言で放る

彼女に　倣って

 

縒り合わされた昼と夜の合間

立ち　しゃがみ　座り　黙り

その身のふところ深くに輪を重ね

行ったことはないけれど　その道

人気(ひとけ)ないことだけ　知っている

 

あるいは　人でないものは　どうだか

 

灯かりもないのに

 

そう案じたとき　ぱっと点いた

口にせず案じたとき　ぱっと点いた

なんの灯だか　わかりません

根方の木肌は手前から

予告なく浮かされて

入り口と

あらすじが

見えた

 

あ　みえたね　いま　みえた

 

 

一瞬の暗示が足もとの深くを照らす

充分なのだ　それだけで　あなたには

あとは　耳と勘にまかせて　行く

漲りつづける幹と幹の

あいだについた道

その奥へ

奥底へ

 

 

食むのも啼くのも殺すのも交わるのも

しばらくやめて

うっとり

鎮まり

棲んでいるものたちみな休息する時刻

ひとりで行く　と彼女は　いうけれど

 

止めたりしません

この地熱とうに退いて冷たくはない

指が離れようとするけれど

かなしくはない

そこが彼女の入り口と

知っているからです

わたしはわたしで別の

暗がりを辿ると

知っているからです

 

帰っていく背の真ん中にひとすじ

夜道がひらける

奥底の気配に言葉は眠り

うしろすがたを送る

 

ここにいて

見送る

 

 

 

 

In the middle of her back opens

a streak of night,

a road that extends deeper,

but its abrupt turn cuts off

further view.

 

On both sides of the road, one by one

appear tree trunks of awful thickness.

A moonless night like tonight

turns the thicket darker

than the sky, and the dark

has thoroughly charmed me into

throwing away unnecessary items

in haste and in silence,

following her example.

 

In-between where night and day

are twisted together,

standing, squatting, sitting

and falling silent,

the deep center of my body

has grown rings in layers.

I’ve never been on that road;

I only know it’s deserted by humans,

but what of those that aren’t?

 

 

Light flashed the very moment

the thought crossed my mind.

I have no idea what type of light this is;

without warning, the bark near the root

became visible before me

so that I would see

the entrance to

and synopsis of

our story.

 

 

A momentary reminder lit up our feet,

enough for you to start on your way

with your ears and intuition

as your only guide—the road

between the breathing trunks,

leading deep into the dark and still

deeper to the hidden interior

 

Stop eating, crying, killing, and mating

for a while, and stay

vacant

and still.

At the hour when all living things rest,

when she says she’ll go by herself,

I won’t stop her.

Even though heat has retreated from the earth,

I don’t feel cold.

Even as our fingers let go of each other,

I am not sad

knowing this is her entry

and that I, too, will journey

another darkness one day

on my own.

 

In the middle of her leaving back opens

a night road.

At the sign of reaching the deepest,

words have fallen asleep,

and I keep my eyes on her back.

 

I stay on this side

to see her off.