Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Yumi Fuzuki

Epic Lovers

I fancy reading so go to meet you.
Sitting on the bus as it pulls out,
I open a book and winter begins.
Nostalgia: the vivid opening passage.
His round back spells out a book in itself.
All the people I love live in stories.
Ever with pen in one hand,
Breathing intently into the next page.
Somewhere, this book records
The time the two of us watched it snow.
The letters of words falling
In drifts inside my hands.

(Underscoring line after line, that person was trying to suppress the sadnesses. The pain from evaporating snows surges, inside a glove, a fingertip quietly splits open. Share your blank space with me. Fill me with your warm breath. With the words you gave to me, I’ll pass down the tales anew.)

Possessed by the habits of erstwhile lovers,
etched in windows of winter’s carriage.
Like the “.” at the end of an epic tale,
tough to erase, they simply are.
With the accumulating lines
I will erect a castle.
Boldly beginning from the “.” multitude,
I cross the white line of noble winter.

物語の恋人

物語の恋人

読みたいから会いにいく。
走り出すバスのなか、
本を開いて冬をはじめる。
なつかしいのは冒頭の鮮やかさ。
彼のまるい背中が、一冊の本に綴じていく。
わたしの好きな人は皆、物語を生きる。
いつだってペンを片手に
次のページへ息吹を傾ける。
この本のどこか、
ふたりで見た雪のことも記されるのだ。
文字はしんしんと
手のなかに降り落ちていく。

(一行一行に線を引きながら、その人はかなしいことを飲み込
もうとしていた。蒸発する雪たちの痛みが打ち寄せて、手袋の
なかひっそりと、ゆびさきが割れた。余白を分けてください。
あたたかな息を吹き込んでください。きみにもらったことばで
わたし新たに語り継ぐから)

かつての恋人たちのくせが乗り移ったまま、
冬の車窓に白く残されている。
物語の終わりに付された「。」のように
消しがたく、在る。
その一行の集積で
わたしは城を築くだろう。
あまたの「。」を踏み切って
気高い冬の白線を去る。
Close

Epic Lovers

I fancy reading so go to meet you.
Sitting on the bus as it pulls out,
I open a book and winter begins.
Nostalgia: the vivid opening passage.
His round back spells out a book in itself.
All the people I love live in stories.
Ever with pen in one hand,
Breathing intently into the next page.
Somewhere, this book records
The time the two of us watched it snow.
The letters of words falling
In drifts inside my hands.

(Underscoring line after line, that person was trying to suppress the sadnesses. The pain from evaporating snows surges, inside a glove, a fingertip quietly splits open. Share your blank space with me. Fill me with your warm breath. With the words you gave to me, I’ll pass down the tales anew.)

Possessed by the habits of erstwhile lovers,
etched in windows of winter’s carriage.
Like the “.” at the end of an epic tale,
tough to erase, they simply are.
With the accumulating lines
I will erect a castle.
Boldly beginning from the “.” multitude,
I cross the white line of noble winter.

Epic Lovers

I fancy reading so go to meet you.
Sitting on the bus as it pulls out,
I open a book and winter begins.
Nostalgia: the vivid opening passage.
His round back spells out a book in itself.
All the people I love live in stories.
Ever with pen in one hand,
Breathing intently into the next page.
Somewhere, this book records
The time the two of us watched it snow.
The letters of words falling
In drifts inside my hands.

(Underscoring line after line, that person was trying to suppress the sadnesses. The pain from evaporating snows surges, inside a glove, a fingertip quietly splits open. Share your blank space with me. Fill me with your warm breath. With the words you gave to me, I’ll pass down the tales anew.)

Possessed by the habits of erstwhile lovers,
etched in windows of winter’s carriage.
Like the “.” at the end of an epic tale,
tough to erase, they simply are.
With the accumulating lines
I will erect a castle.
Boldly beginning from the “.” multitude,
I cross the white line of noble winter.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère