Reading through some of the blogs that I follow and other places on the net, I couldn't help but notice that April is national poetry month, I'd have to admit that I've not looked very thoroughly into this, I was going to but then I remembered reading Simon Armitage, in his book
All Points North, that on the occasion of national poetry day the first thing he did was leave the country and take his mother shopping in Reykjavik, I think it was - I read it many years ago, like him I usually find myself being slightly suspicious of national or international events like these. To know that somewhere April has been deemed to be poetry month is enough for me, but here is a poem that I've been thinking about quite a lot recently -
In Mourning for the Summer by
Michizō Tachihara , 立原道造, , a collection of his poetry has appeared in English translation in
Of Dawn, Of Dusk - The Poetry of Michizō Tachihara, translated by Robert Epp and Iida Gakuji, published by Yakusha in 2001, I suppose you'd be fortunate if you find an affordable copy.
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 -)
