At the beginning of last month I couldn't help read this poem, although some of it's meanings derive from other times and aspects of it reference different events, I couldn't help from feeling that in parts it felt poignantly relevant. This poem can be found in the anthology From the Country of Eight Islands translated by Hiroaki Sato and Burton Watson.
In Mourning for the Summer
My times that passed away
have turned my heart to gold. So as not to be wounded, so wounds
may be cured soon,
between yesterday and tomorrow
a deep indigo gulf has been made.
What I tossed away
was a small piece of paper stained with tears.
Amid foamy white waves, one evening,
all, everything, vanished! Following the story line
then I became a traveller and passed many
villages on the moonlit capes, many
hot, dry fields.
If I could remember! I'd like to return once again.
Where? To that place (I have a memory of,
that I waited for and quietly gave up -)
|Michizō Tachihara at Ginza via Wikkicommons|