Poem
Sayaka Osaki
Pointing Impossible
The conference to determine boundariesIs once again being held everywhere today
Health has lost its definition
It hurts to absorb
It hurts to excrete
So the only other choice
Is to have fun at work
The girls were smiling
As they pulled the seaweed
Growing like black hair on the rough rocks
And ate it
And sold it
Getting sick is a happy thing
Seeing the color of blood is a happy thing
Among the muddy twilight flow and bundle of knives
They work on their feet, jumping about on white legs
A record of the wind and earth, a study in customs
Someone’s regular heartbeat grows irregular
And you raise the thumb of your right hand
Please come again tomorrow
I want to hear your voice so please come
Please tell me a story
It’s hard being on my own
Not working
Not married
Not fighting to the death
Through a combination of vague maternal instinct
And a forgetful instinct to flee
I was always idling my time away
I’m covered in wrinkles
But look at the texture of my skin
Look how small my pores are
That’s right
I’m proud
That is the new definition of health
Among the girls of this island
They have fun as they work
The prohibitions have finally been lifted
The aroma of a kerosene heater
I drink a little beer
But the cheese is for the young ones
I like it too
Ha-ha-ha, tee-hee-hee-hee-hee
Those migrant birds with the yellow beak
Have they been eradicated or not?
No one seems to know
Maybe they’re just hiding
Like a sea urchin out of reach of the diver’s hand
It’s been sixty years since I came here as a newlywed
There’s been misfortune, fate, and happiness
No one gets to choose
She’s also my friend
Everyone here are friends
When I pray to the god of the sea
I can see his face clearly
His face is made up of waves and bubbles
So it’s impossible to point it out
The blood under your textured skin
Does not flow in streaks
Like fibrous little roots
Like the sound of a gamelan
It seeps into twilight on the rocky shore
© Translation: 2018, Sayaka Osaki
指差すことができない
指差すことができない
境界線をきめる協議がきょうもいたるところにあって
健康には定義がなくなった
吸収してもくるしい
排泄してもくるしい
だからたのしい気持ちで
働くしかなくなった
ごつごつした岩場に生える
黒髪のような海藻をはがして
それを食べたり
売ったりしながら
女の子たちは笑っている
病をえるのは嬉しいこと
血の色を見るのは嬉しいこと
夕陽の濁流や包丁の束に
白い脚で跳びまわる立ち仕事・風土記・風俗
規則正しい人の心拍数がみだれて
あなたは右手の親指をもちあげる
明日来てください
声を聞きたいから来てください
なにか物語をしてください
ひとりで困っちゃいました
勤めあげもせず
添いとげもせず
果たしあうこともなく
母性本能のぼんやりと
逃走本能の忘れっぽさを併せて
いつもうかうかしていた気がする
しわくちゃですけど
見てくださいこの肌理を
毛穴の小ささを見てください
そうです
自慢なのです
この島の女の子の
新しい健康の定義です
たのしい気持ちの労働です
ようやく禁止が解かれた
石油ストーヴの臭い
ビールも少しは飲みます
でもチーズは若い子のものね
あたしも大好き
あはは、ふふふふふ。
黄色いくちばしの渡り鳥
絶滅したかしていないか
誰にもわからないじゃないの
隠れているだけかもしれない
海女の手の届かないところのウニみたいに
もうここへ嫁に来て六〇年になりますから
災難、運命、幸せです
選ぶってことがないのです
あのひともおともだち
ここのひとはみんなおともだち
海の神様にお祈りするとき
神様の顔がはっきり見える
その顔は波や泡で出来ていて
指差すことができない
肌理の下であなたの血は
筋状には流れないで
ひげ根のように
ガムランのように
岩場の日暮れにしみわたる
© 2013, Sayaka Osaki
From: 指さすことができない（Pointing Impossible)
Publisher: Seidosha, Tokyo
From: 指さすことができない（Pointing Impossible)
Publisher: Seidosha, Tokyo
Poems
Poems of Sayaka Osaki
Close
Pointing Impossible
The conference to determine boundariesIs once again being held everywhere today
Health has lost its definition
It hurts to absorb
It hurts to excrete
So the only other choice
Is to have fun at work
The girls were smiling
As they pulled the seaweed
Growing like black hair on the rough rocks
And ate it
And sold it
Getting sick is a happy thing
Seeing the color of blood is a happy thing
Among the muddy twilight flow and bundle of knives
They work on their feet, jumping about on white legs
A record of the wind and earth, a study in customs
Someone’s regular heartbeat grows irregular
And you raise the thumb of your right hand
Please come again tomorrow
I want to hear your voice so please come
Please tell me a story
It’s hard being on my own
Not working
Not married
Not fighting to the death
Through a combination of vague maternal instinct
And a forgetful instinct to flee
I was always idling my time away
I’m covered in wrinkles
But look at the texture of my skin
Look how small my pores are
That’s right
I’m proud
That is the new definition of health
Among the girls of this island
They have fun as they work
The prohibitions have finally been lifted
The aroma of a kerosene heater
I drink a little beer
But the cheese is for the young ones
I like it too
Ha-ha-ha, tee-hee-hee-hee-hee
Those migrant birds with the yellow beak
Have they been eradicated or not?
No one seems to know
Maybe they’re just hiding
Like a sea urchin out of reach of the diver’s hand
It’s been sixty years since I came here as a newlywed
There’s been misfortune, fate, and happiness
No one gets to choose
She’s also my friend
Everyone here are friends
When I pray to the god of the sea
I can see his face clearly
His face is made up of waves and bubbles
So it’s impossible to point it out
The blood under your textured skin
Does not flow in streaks
Like fibrous little roots
Like the sound of a gamelan
It seeps into twilight on the rocky shore
© 2018, Sayaka Osaki
From: 指さすことができない（Pointing Impossible)
From: 指さすことができない（Pointing Impossible)
Pointing Impossible
The conference to determine boundariesIs once again being held everywhere today
Health has lost its definition
It hurts to absorb
It hurts to excrete
So the only other choice
Is to have fun at work
The girls were smiling
As they pulled the seaweed
Growing like black hair on the rough rocks
And ate it
And sold it
Getting sick is a happy thing
Seeing the color of blood is a happy thing
Among the muddy twilight flow and bundle of knives
They work on their feet, jumping about on white legs
A record of the wind and earth, a study in customs
Someone’s regular heartbeat grows irregular
And you raise the thumb of your right hand
Please come again tomorrow
I want to hear your voice so please come
Please tell me a story
It’s hard being on my own
Not working
Not married
Not fighting to the death
Through a combination of vague maternal instinct
And a forgetful instinct to flee
I was always idling my time away
I’m covered in wrinkles
But look at the texture of my skin
Look how small my pores are
That’s right
I’m proud
That is the new definition of health
Among the girls of this island
They have fun as they work
The prohibitions have finally been lifted
The aroma of a kerosene heater
I drink a little beer
But the cheese is for the young ones
I like it too
Ha-ha-ha, tee-hee-hee-hee-hee
Those migrant birds with the yellow beak
Have they been eradicated or not?
No one seems to know
Maybe they’re just hiding
Like a sea urchin out of reach of the diver’s hand
It’s been sixty years since I came here as a newlywed
There’s been misfortune, fate, and happiness
No one gets to choose
She’s also my friend
Everyone here are friends
When I pray to the god of the sea
I can see his face clearly
His face is made up of waves and bubbles
So it’s impossible to point it out
The blood under your textured skin
Does not flow in streaks
Like fibrous little roots
Like the sound of a gamelan
It seeps into twilight on the rocky shore
© 2018, Sayaka Osaki
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