NAKAHARA CHUYA (II)
"NEVER TO RETURN"
Poeta enigmàtic, mort prematurament. Prometo afegir la traducció al català de Felícia Fuster, ben aviat...
NEVER TO RETURN
Kyoto
World’s end, the sunlight that fell down to earth was warm, a warm wind blowing through the flowers.
On a wooden bridge, the dust that morning silent, a mailbox red and shining all day long, a solitary baby carriage on the street, a lonely pinwheel.
No one around who lived there, not a soul, no children playing there, and I with no one near or dear to me, no obligation but to watch the color of the sky above a weathervane.
Not that I was bored. The taste of honey in the air, nothing substantial but enough to eat and live from.
I was smoking cigarettes, but only to enjoy their fragrance. And weirdly I could only smoke them out of doors.
For now my worldly goods consisted of a single towel. I didn’t own a pillow, much less a futon mattress. True I still had a tooth brush, but the only book I owned had nothing but blank pages. Still I enjoyed the heft of it when I would hold it in my hands from time to time.
Women were lovely objects but not once did I try to go with one. It was enough to dream about them.
Something unspeakable would urge me on, and then my heart, although my life was purposeless, started pounding with a kind of hope.
*
*
In the woods was a very strange park, where women, children and men would stroll by smiling wildly. They spoke a language I didn’t understand & showed emotions I couldn’t unravel.
Looking up at the sky, I saw a spider web, silver and shining.
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