We present this work in honor of the Japanese holiday, Labor Thanksgiving Day.
Hoya is now in the middle of autumn. I am now in the middle of misery The misery has deep origins It has a deep-rooted history.
Blazing summer has finally ended Autumn breezes pass from one end to the other of the Musashino plain My small house sits on a spot in dark Musashino, silent Musashino
In my small house I have a small room of my own In the small room I turn on a light I labor, zeroing in on my misery, until the deep-rooted misery in my heart thrusts its roots into the earth, and grows into that gigantic Zelkova tree in my forsaken backyard
We present this work in honor of the 75th anniversary of the poet’s death.
At night the Universe grows lean, sober- faced, of intoxication, The shadow of the half-sphere curtains down closely against my world, like a doorless cage, and the stillness chained by wrinkled darkness strains throughout the Uni- verse to be free. Listen, frogs in the pond, (the world is a pond itself) cry out for the light, for the truth! The curtains rattle ghostlily along, bloodily biting my soul, the winds knocking on my cabin door with their shadowy hands.