fifteen miles on the erie canal

Jul 05, 2004 01:00

雨ニモマケズ
風ニモマケズ
雪ニモ夏ノ暑サニモマケヌ
大丈ナカラダヲモチ
慾ハナク
決シ瞋ラズ
イツモシズカニワラッテイル
一日ニ玄米四合ト
味噌ト少シノ野菜ヲタベ
アラユルコトヲ
ジブンヲカシジョウニ入レズニ
ヨクミキキシワカリ
ソシテワスレズ
野原ノ松ノ林ノ蔭ノ
小サナ萱ブキノ小屋ニイテ
東ニ病気ノコドモアレバ
行ッテ看病シテヤリ
西ニツカレタ母アレバ
行ッテソノ稲ノ束ヲ負イ
南ニ死ニソウナ人アレバ
行ッテコワガラナクテモイイトイイ
北ニケンカヤソショウガアレバ
ツマラナイカラヤメロトイイ
ヒデリノトキハナミダヲナガシ
サムサノナツハオロオロアルキ
ミンナニデクノボートヨバレ
ホメラレモセズ
クニモサレズ
ソウイウモノニ
ワタシハナリタイ

-Miyazawa Kenji, November 1931 (age 35)

This is one of those poems that people jump at because of its stylistic novelty. It is without a doubt the author's most well known work, so that says something about the appeal of alternative apperance in poetry. It's not random, though: the hard, straight lines of katakana strengthen the poem's resolve. The meaning, although a bit trite, is appealing to me--it's firmly grounded in this humanistic, I'm going to strengthen myself for the sake of others type of ideal.

The irony is that, two years after Kenji wrote this poem in which he declares that he will not be defeated by rain or wind, he died of pneumonia. He grew up writing a lot of tanka and a lot of his later stuff seems pretty experimental. Who knows where he would have gone from there?
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