Mountain Living by Sakutarō Hagiwara
sorrows do not leave the shadows of trees
Mountain Living
August is for praying, fish and birds have faded into a distance, bellflower color weakens, gradually weakens, my heart badly weakens, sorrows do not leave the shadows of trees, in my hand the Bible turns to silver.
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Cat Town (2014, New York Review of Books) Translated by Hiroaki Sato.
August is the most painful month, praying is an astute solution, if there is one. This year my mother’s death has arrived again for the 40th time like a biblical flood or an allotment of exile. I have wandered past it every end of July and struggled up the mountain of my Augusts to reach my birthday, all without therapy since August is when they leave town for the coast, so I tiptoe from her death to my birth, trying to be mindful, to stay rooted to this spinning season-machine while making breakfast each morning, as if it was any other time of year.
How wonderful that this rare poem is published. So out of our ordinary.