Ito Hiromi / 伊藤比呂美 – I
Cooking, Writing Poetry
A huge earthquake, a huge tsunami
People die and just moments later
There’s the nuclear meltdown
Drawn-out fear assaults us
Each time I go to Tokyo
It is darker
Hot and humid there
It stings
In Tokyo
Everyone was afraid
Everybody was angry
Neko has been my close friend for thirty years
Cooking is her profession
I had a dream, she said
We were coming home after going to see the giant sequoias
I was driving
She was nodding off next to me but then suddenly woke
And began saying, when I was young
I had a dream
I had a baby
The baby was with me
But I couldn’t breastfeed it
The baby was dying right before my eyes
But I couldn’t breastfeed it
That was how the dream went
Maybe
That was from a past life
And that karma
Is the reason I now cook
Morning and night like this
Feeding the children
Of other people
Now she is doing something
She calls the “Nicomaru Cookie” project
First she called the young women in Tokyo
In Tokyo all alone
All alone and anxious
And unable to stand it any longer
All of them in Tokyo
All of them made cookies
And sold them
And sent the proceeds to the disaster zone
And then she changed gears and brought to Tokyo
The food the people in the disaster zone had made
And sold it in the city
She worked her fingers to the bone
And hired some staff
And went to the disaster zone
And cooked
She went into town
And started collecting signatures for an anti-nuclear petition
She made dozens of dishes each day
Even though she had her parents to care for
Even though she was working
Her fingers to the bone
She moves around, in the crisis
The only thing she knew to do
Was to cook like that
The only thing she could do
She couldn’t help but cook
And work her fingers to the bone
And I watched her do it
Powerless, useless
There is an expression
Take the dirt from under someone’s nails
Boil it and make it into tea
It means to admire someone so much
You would do those things
I asked her for some and she gave it to me
When I made it into tea
It was sour and sweet
Poets wrote poetry
The thoughts rained down continuously
Drenching us to the bone
So many poems were written
Like Kaneko Misuzu
Even easier to understand than Kaneko Misuzu
Unsightly poems
Boring poems
But still they were read
They say people read them and wept
I heard lots of stories like that
Don’t cry
Don’t write
Don’t miss out
From that perspective
They cannot say no
The poets
Who can do nothing but write
Cannot say no to writing
They cannot relate except
Through writing
They must not
Say no
They must not
Fail to be read
Yesterday Jeffrey
Asked me to help him with a translation
Some American poet had written a poem about the disaster
I tried reading it, but it was a complete cliché
That guy
Had not even been to Japan
He wrote the poem looking at pictures
Complete cliché
But that guy had seen pictures of the disaster
He saw them
And his heart was moved
So he had no choice but write
The clichés he tried to convey
In a clichéd way ended up clichés
But still it was a good poem
I could not write
After all, the places I live
Are in California and Kumamoto
There was no shaking
The radioactivity didn’t reach us
I didn’t want to write
I couldn’t write
A clichéd poem
Like that guy in America
I could not do a thing
The only thing I did
Was to translate and read out loud the second part of
An Account of My Ten-Square Foot Hut
I took that old text that depicted so vividly
The earthquakes
The tsunamis
Nine hundred years ago
Put it into my own voice
And sent out my voice like this
Around the same time, we suffered another terrible earthquake
Unparalleled in its force
The mountains collapsed, the rivers were buried
The sea crashed in, inundating the land
The earth broke, water bubbled up
The boulders split and tumbled into the valleys
The boats plying the water were tossed by the waves
The horses traveling the roads were unable to keep their footing
In one area of the capital, no place, no building
Escaped unscathed, they collapsed or leaned to the side
Dust and ashes and smoke billowed up
Both the sound of the moving earth and the collapsing houses
Were just like peals of thunder
Those who were inside were crushed on the spot
Those who ran were swallowed up by the cracks in the earth…
The worst of the shaking continued for a while then stopped
The aftershocks continued for some time
Everyday, twenty, thirty times a day
There were aftershocks large enough to terrify us ordinarily
Ten days went by, twenty days went by, receeding into the past
There were four or five aftershocks per day, then two or three
Then every other day, then two or three days in between
The aftershocks continued for three months
This way
The earthquake
The tsunami
Crept into my body (just a little)
And then I read the Buddhist classics
For instance, the Lotus Sutra, I am always
Asking myself, how can I
Share the truth with living beings
Share the Buddha’s teachings
Or the Amida Sutra, All who want
To be born in the land of happiness
Or all who will one day request that
Or who are requesting that right now
They will all awake to the truth, they will not return
To the confusion
Or the Nirvana Sutra, Each and every living being
Has the heart of the Buddha
That’s right, it was Mahayana Buddhism
That said so clearly to the Buddhists of the time
During an era when they were reading for all they were worth
Not sure if they understood or not
But obsessed with grasping the truth
You are wrong
Entirely wrong
First you help people
That is what it is to be a bodhisattva
All I’ve experienced is an earthquake and tsunami nine hundred years ago
But if I were to put into my own words
And deliver a message to
This wounded
Damaged
Frightened
Trembling society
That’s no doubt what it would be
That would be best
Or
So I hope
If not then
I would not even know
Which direction to turn
料理する、詩をかく
大震災だ、大津波だ
人が死んだあっという間に
それから原発事故だ
長い恐怖が襲ってきた
東京にいくたび
そこは
薄暗くむし暑く
ぴりぴりしていた
東京の人たちは
みんな怯えていた
みんな怒っていた
E元は三十年来の親友だ
料理をするのが仕事である
夢をみた、とE元がいった
セコイヤの巨木群を見にいった帰りだった
わたしが運転し
隣でねくたれていたE元がふと目をさまし
話しはじめた、若い頃に
夢を見た
自分で生んだあかんぼがいる
あかんぼがそこにいるのに
乳をやれない
目の前であかんぼが死んでいくのに
乳をやれない
そういう夢だった
もしかしたら
それは前世で
それが因果で
今もこうして
昼も夜も料理して
他人の子を
やしなっているんじゃないか、と
E元はいま
「にこまるクッキー」というのをやっている
最初は東京で
東京で孤独で
孤独で不安で
いたたまれない思いをしている女たちに呼びかけて
東京でみんなで
クッキーをみんなで
作って売って
売り上げを被災地に送った
それから被災地の人たちが
作ったのを東京に
持ってきて売るというふうに移行した
E元本人は身を粉にして
スタッフをやとって
被災地に通って
料理している
E元は町に出て
署名集めも始めている
一日何十品も料理して
親の介護もあるってのに
身が
粉々になってるというのに
動きまわる、危機には
料理するしかない料理
することでしか人に手を差し伸べる
方法がない
料理せずにはいられない
で、粉々になる、それを
あたしはみつめている
非力で役立たずのまま
E元に
爪のアカをくれといったらちょっとくれた
煎じて飲んだら
甘酸っぱかった
詩人たちは詩をかいた
思いがダダ漏れに漏れて
とまらない詩が
たくさんかかれた
金子みすゞみたい
金子みすゞよりもっとわかりやすい
ブザマだった
つまらなかった
でも読まれた
人は読んで泣いたそうだ
そんな話をいっぱい聞いた
泣くな
かくな
かかされるな、そう
いうそばから
否定できない
かくことしかできない
詩人が
かくというのを
否定できない
かくことでしか
関われない
否定したら
いけない
読まれなくては
いけない
きのうJフリーが
アメリカの詩人某が震災の詩をかいたから
日本語訳を手伝ってくれ、と
詩を読んでみたら陳腐だった
某さんは
日本にいたわけではない
写真を見てかいた詩だ
陳腐だった
でも某さんは震災の写真を見た
見て心を
揺さぶられて
かかずにはいられなくなり
伝えようとした、陳腐なことを陳腐に
陳腐だった、でも、いい詩だった
あたしはかけなかった
なにしろ住んでいるのが
カリフォルニアと熊本だ
揺れないし
放射能もとどかない
アメリカの某さんみたいな
陳腐な詩は
かきたくない
かけなかった
なんにもできなかった
やったことといえば
「方丈記」の第二段を訳して朗読しただけだ
鎌倉時代の
地震を
津波を
まざまざと描いた古文を
自分の声にして
その声を外に出した、こんなふうに
また、同じ頃のことである、ものすごい大地震に襲われた、
未曾有のことであった、
山は崩れて、川を埋めた、
海は傾いて、陸地を浸した、
土が裂けて、水が湧き出でた、
大岩が割れて、谷に転がり落ちた、
渚をこぐ船は、浪にただよった、
道ゆく馬は、立っているのもおぼつかなかった、
都の一帯は、どこもかしこも、どんな建物も、
無事ではすまず、崩れ、あるいは倒れて、
塵や灰が煙のようにもうもうと立ちのぼった、
大地の動く音も、家の壊れる音も、
とどろく雷鳴とそっくりであった、
家の中にいれば、その場で潰された、
走り出れば、大地が割れて裂けた、中略
激しい揺れは、ひとしきり揺れて、止んだ、
余震はしばらくつづいた、ふつうなら驚くほどの揺れが、
日に二、三十度もあった、毎日のことであった、
十日過ぎ、二十日過ぎて、やっと間遠になった、
日に四、五度になり、二、三度になり、
一日おきになり、二、三日おきになった、
余震が三月ばかりもつづいた、
こうやって
地震が
津波が
(少しだけ)自分の身体に入ってきた
それから仏典を読んだ、たとえば
法華経だ、わたしはいつも自分に
問いかけておるのだ、どうしたら
生きているものたちに真理をわからせ、
ブッダのおしえをわかちあうことができるのか
阿弥陀経だ、〈幸せいっぱいの土地〉に
生まれたいと願ったもの、いつか願うもの、
今まさに願おうとしているもの、その人たちは
みな真理に目ざめる、迷いのなかに
もどってしまうことはない
涅槃経だ、ありとあらゆる生きものたちが
ことごとくブッダの心をもつのである
そうだ、必死で読んだ、わかろうがわかるまいが
自分が真理をつかむ
それに汲々としていた当時の仏教に
「違う
全然違う
まず人を助けるんだ、
ボサツとはそういうことだ」と
ハッキリつきつけたのが大乗仏教だ
鎌倉時代の地震と津波しか経験してないわたしが
自分自身の言葉で
傷ついたこの
傷ついて
怯えて
震えている社会に
なにかをとどけられるとしたら
きっとそこだ
そこならいい
と
念じる
でないと
方角さえも
見つけられない
A huge earthquake, a huge tsunami
People die and just moments later
There’s the nuclear meltdown
Drawn-out fear assaults us
Each time I go to Tokyo
It is darker
Hot and humid there
It stings
In Tokyo
Everyone was afraid
Everybody was angry
Neko has been my close friend for thirty years
Cooking is her profession
I had a dream, she said
We were coming home after going to see the giant sequoias
I was driving
She was nodding off next to me but then suddenly woke
And began saying, when I was young
I had a dream
I had a baby
The baby was with me
But I couldn’t breastfeed it
The baby was dying right before my eyes
But I couldn’t breastfeed it
That was how the dream went
Maybe
That was from a past life
And that karma
Is the reason I now cook
Morning and night like this
Feeding the children
Of other people
Now she is doing something
She calls the “Nicomaru Cookie” project
First she called the young women in Tokyo
In Tokyo all alone
All alone and anxious
And unable to stand it any longer
All of them in Tokyo
All of them made cookies
And sold them
And sent the proceeds to the disaster zone
And then she changed gears and brought to Tokyo
The food the people in the disaster zone had made
And sold it in the city
She worked her fingers to the bone
And hired some staff
And went to the disaster zone
And cooked
She went into town
And started collecting signatures for an anti-nuclear petition
She made dozens of dishes each day
Even though she had her parents to care for
Even though she was working
Her fingers to the bone
She moves around, in the crisis
The only thing she knew to do
Was to cook like that
The only thing she could do
She couldn’t help but cook
And work her fingers to the bone
And I watched her do it
Powerless, useless
There is an expression
Take the dirt from under someone’s nails
Boil it and make it into tea
It means to admire someone so much
You would do those things
I asked her for some and she gave it to me
When I made it into tea
It was sour and sweet
Poets wrote poetry
The thoughts rained down continuously
Drenching us to the bone
So many poems were written
Like Kaneko Misuzu
Even easier to understand than Kaneko Misuzu
Unsightly poems
Boring poems
But still they were read
They say people read them and wept
I heard lots of stories like that
Don’t cry
Don’t write
Don’t miss out
From that perspective
They cannot say no
The poets
Who can do nothing but write
Cannot say no to writing
They cannot relate except
Through writing
They must not
Say no
They must not
Fail to be read
Yesterday Jeffrey
Asked me to help him with a translation
Some American poet had written a poem about the disaster
I tried reading it, but it was a complete cliché
That guy
Had not even been to Japan
He wrote the poem looking at pictures
Complete cliché
But that guy had seen pictures of the disaster
He saw them
And his heart was moved
So he had no choice but write
The clichés he tried to convey
In a clichéd way ended up clichés
But still it was a good poem
I could not write
After all, the places I live
Are in California and Kumamoto
There was no shaking
The radioactivity didn’t reach us
I didn’t want to write
I couldn’t write
A clichéd poem
Like that guy in America
I could not do a thing
The only thing I did
Was to translate and read out loud the second part of
An Account of My Ten-Square Foot Hut
I took that old text that depicted so vividly
The earthquakes
The tsunamis
Nine hundred years ago
Put it into my own voice
And sent out my voice like this
Around the same time, we suffered another terrible earthquake
Unparalleled in its force
The mountains collapsed, the rivers were buried
The sea crashed in, inundating the land
The earth broke, water bubbled up
The boulders split and tumbled into the valleys
The boats plying the water were tossed by the waves
The horses traveling the roads were unable to keep their footing
In one area of the capital, no place, no building
Escaped unscathed, they collapsed or leaned to the side
Dust and ashes and smoke billowed up
Both the sound of the moving earth and the collapsing houses
Were just like peals of thunder
Those who were inside were crushed on the spot
Those who ran were swallowed up by the cracks in the earth…
The worst of the shaking continued for a while then stopped
The aftershocks continued for some time
Everyday, twenty, thirty times a day
There were aftershocks large enough to terrify us ordinarily
Ten days went by, twenty days went by, receeding into the past
There were four or five aftershocks per day, then two or three
Then every other day, then two or three days in between
The aftershocks continued for three months
This way
The earthquake
The tsunami
Crept into my body (just a little)
And then I read the Buddhist classics
For instance, the Lotus Sutra, I am always
Asking myself, how can I
Share the truth with living beings
Share the Buddha’s teachings
Or the Amida Sutra, All who want
To be born in the land of happiness
Or all who will one day request that
Or who are requesting that right now
They will all awake to the truth, they will not return
To the confusion
Or the Nirvana Sutra, Each and every living being
Has the heart of the Buddha
That’s right, it was Mahayana Buddhism
That said so clearly to the Buddhists of the time
During an era when they were reading for all they were worth
Not sure if they understood or not
But obsessed with grasping the truth
You are wrong
Entirely wrong
First you help people
That is what it is to be a bodhisattva
All I’ve experienced is an earthquake and tsunami nine hundred years ago
But if I were to put into my own words
And deliver a message to
This wounded
Damaged
Frightened
Trembling society
That’s no doubt what it would be
That would be best
Or
So I hope
If not then
I would not even know
Which direction to turn
料理する、詩をかく
大震災だ、大津波だ
人が死んだあっという間に
それから原発事故だ
長い恐怖が襲ってきた
東京にいくたび
そこは
薄暗くむし暑く
ぴりぴりしていた
東京の人たちは
みんな怯えていた
みんな怒っていた
E元は三十年来の親友だ
料理をするのが仕事である
夢をみた、とE元がいった
セコイヤの巨木群を見にいった帰りだった
わたしが運転し
隣でねくたれていたE元がふと目をさまし
話しはじめた、若い頃に
夢を見た
自分で生んだあかんぼがいる
あかんぼがそこにいるのに
乳をやれない
目の前であかんぼが死んでいくのに
乳をやれない
そういう夢だった
もしかしたら
それは前世で
それが因果で
今もこうして
昼も夜も料理して
他人の子を
やしなっているんじゃないか、と
E元はいま
「にこまるクッキー」というのをやっている
最初は東京で
東京で孤独で
孤独で不安で
いたたまれない思いをしている女たちに呼びかけて
東京でみんなで
クッキーをみんなで
作って売って
売り上げを被災地に送った
それから被災地の人たちが
作ったのを東京に
持ってきて売るというふうに移行した
E元本人は身を粉にして
スタッフをやとって
被災地に通って
料理している
E元は町に出て
署名集めも始めている
一日何十品も料理して
親の介護もあるってのに
身が
粉々になってるというのに
動きまわる、危機には
料理するしかない料理
することでしか人に手を差し伸べる
方法がない
料理せずにはいられない
で、粉々になる、それを
あたしはみつめている
非力で役立たずのまま
E元に
爪のアカをくれといったらちょっとくれた
煎じて飲んだら
甘酸っぱかった
詩人たちは詩をかいた
思いがダダ漏れに漏れて
とまらない詩が
たくさんかかれた
金子みすゞみたい
金子みすゞよりもっとわかりやすい
ブザマだった
つまらなかった
でも読まれた
人は読んで泣いたそうだ
そんな話をいっぱい聞いた
泣くな
かくな
かかされるな、そう
いうそばから
否定できない
かくことしかできない
詩人が
かくというのを
否定できない
かくことでしか
関われない
否定したら
いけない
読まれなくては
いけない
きのうJフリーが
アメリカの詩人某が震災の詩をかいたから
日本語訳を手伝ってくれ、と
詩を読んでみたら陳腐だった
某さんは
日本にいたわけではない
写真を見てかいた詩だ
陳腐だった
でも某さんは震災の写真を見た
見て心を
揺さぶられて
かかずにはいられなくなり
伝えようとした、陳腐なことを陳腐に
陳腐だった、でも、いい詩だった
あたしはかけなかった
なにしろ住んでいるのが
カリフォルニアと熊本だ
揺れないし
放射能もとどかない
アメリカの某さんみたいな
陳腐な詩は
かきたくない
かけなかった
なんにもできなかった
やったことといえば
「方丈記」の第二段を訳して朗読しただけだ
鎌倉時代の
地震を
津波を
まざまざと描いた古文を
自分の声にして
その声を外に出した、こんなふうに
また、同じ頃のことである、ものすごい大地震に襲われた、
未曾有のことであった、
山は崩れて、川を埋めた、
海は傾いて、陸地を浸した、
土が裂けて、水が湧き出でた、
大岩が割れて、谷に転がり落ちた、
渚をこぐ船は、浪にただよった、
道ゆく馬は、立っているのもおぼつかなかった、
都の一帯は、どこもかしこも、どんな建物も、
無事ではすまず、崩れ、あるいは倒れて、
塵や灰が煙のようにもうもうと立ちのぼった、
大地の動く音も、家の壊れる音も、
とどろく雷鳴とそっくりであった、
家の中にいれば、その場で潰された、
走り出れば、大地が割れて裂けた、中略
激しい揺れは、ひとしきり揺れて、止んだ、
余震はしばらくつづいた、ふつうなら驚くほどの揺れが、
日に二、三十度もあった、毎日のことであった、
十日過ぎ、二十日過ぎて、やっと間遠になった、
日に四、五度になり、二、三度になり、
一日おきになり、二、三日おきになった、
余震が三月ばかりもつづいた、
こうやって
地震が
津波が
(少しだけ)自分の身体に入ってきた
それから仏典を読んだ、たとえば
法華経だ、わたしはいつも自分に
問いかけておるのだ、どうしたら
生きているものたちに真理をわからせ、
ブッダのおしえをわかちあうことができるのか
阿弥陀経だ、〈幸せいっぱいの土地〉に
生まれたいと願ったもの、いつか願うもの、
今まさに願おうとしているもの、その人たちは
みな真理に目ざめる、迷いのなかに
もどってしまうことはない
涅槃経だ、ありとあらゆる生きものたちが
ことごとくブッダの心をもつのである
そうだ、必死で読んだ、わかろうがわかるまいが
自分が真理をつかむ
それに汲々としていた当時の仏教に
「違う
全然違う
まず人を助けるんだ、
ボサツとはそういうことだ」と
ハッキリつきつけたのが大乗仏教だ
鎌倉時代の地震と津波しか経験してないわたしが
自分自身の言葉で
傷ついたこの
傷ついて
怯えて
震えている社会に
なにかをとどけられるとしたら
きっとそこだ
そこならいい
と
念じる
でないと
方角さえも
見つけられない