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Sugimoto Maiko / 杉本真維子 – Ⅲ

Voice 

 

 

 

 

It strains my throat,

rings me,

though it fails

to make music.

 

Before it is enwreathed by my wet tongue;

a moment’s swelling.

I place it in a box.

 

Once in a while, someone sneaks off with it.

I notice, then fill the tabletop

with doves and flowers,

captivated

by that uncanny hand.

 

A voice

beating its wings.

The chair where that tender magician sat,

forever

warm.

 

When the black

crowd

takes flight in unison,

someone is there, nothing but a turned back.

The more I called

that name I long for,

the more it became

an unknown wall.

 

Even when I hold

my breath,

 

at the bottom of my distant throat

there is a voice

of blinking light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

のどを張って

わたしを鳴らす

音楽に

ならなくても

 

ぬるい舌が絡みとる前の

一瞬のふくらみは

箱にいれる

 

時々誰かがそっと持ち帰り

気づくとテーブルの上を

鳩や花でいっぱいにする

ふしぎな手に

みとれている

 

はばたいた



やさしい手品師の座ったいすは

いつまでも

あたたかく

 

黒い

群れが

一斉に飛び立つと

背中だけの人がいる

そのなつかしい名前を

呼ぶほどに

みしらぬ壁に

なっていった

 

息を

とめても

 

遠いのどの底で

点滅する光の

声がある

 >