それは1965年のことだった
【散文詩:A prose poem】野に来て(1965年)Coming Along to the Field (1965)It was july 1965. In the evening, I came along to the field alone pushing a bicycle. It looked like the rain. The mountains beyond laied in haze. The wind was blowing a little. Poplar trees fluttering leaves looked like weeping in the distance.I picked up some pebbles, threw them over ones and twos. Those fell dozens meters away, scattered dry, hard, short trailing notes.Evening primrose, Eritrean, Plantain, Polygon, Chenopod, ---these were wild flowers in there.Someone died that day. My lover.I couldn't realize it, so I was crying there. The dead person's gentle voice was calling to my mind, went on to hail me. The landscapes were then gradually gathering the night's shades, and a stone in my hand was sinking down into deep shadoes. I thought the tomorrow morning would be cold but brilliant.The morning would always be a grave post, although it would be sad, yet it would certainly be a brilliant grave post of a day. This imagination drilled my heart and body., made me dry sands which resembled to procession of the funeral dotting with dull color like ant's row. My dry sandy mind and body would scatter to the winds over mountains along the tomorrow dawn.One of poplar trees trembling in the wind vanished from my view. The mountains vanished too.Evening primroses bloomed then, opening their petals clumsy. Nevertheless there's not the moon that night. Would flowered evening primroses hold mist tight in the dark?My thought was:"Death may come at any hour. Fata viam invenient.Why am I crying? Death is the same as life in the macrocosm, I know well. But why do I feel sorrow dropping tears in silence?"I was standing , to be enveloped with mist, and to lose the landscapes of surroundings. I thought that these things would become to my memory, and would grew on the walls of my mind like mosses, and which would draw me into past in sometimes.When I die, the moss of memory would grew with blue color in my grave unknown other people. So I would see again my lover who died, peeling blue mosses one by one, I would exchanged pleasant chats with her about us no human beings without saying the word you and I.In the yellow floweres garden where I dreamed before, I would be at my own sweet would pleasure.Coming along to the field, I was thinking till when. It was july 1965. I was twenty.--------------------------------------------Copyright (c) 2009 Tadami Yamada. All Rights Reserved.