Japan, (b. 1951)
(spectacle & pigsty)
- it’s pigsty I
- the darkness maybe darkness stupendously stretching out now like taffy
- man fed up with man star with star
- it’s pigsty I
- pity the pig that eternally returns
- to the darkness as spattering splotches of light
- below Mother’s diseased pineal gland
- it’s pigsty I
- screaming drowning in a dark that fenestrates the eternal joist
- it’s pigsty I
- must be five times more I than I
- when trying to listen to the scream
- below Mother’s diseased pineal gland
- it’s pigsty I
- gushing sunlight like nightsoil onto the eternal joist
- or the nightsoil like sunlight
- it’s pigsty I
- who mulch silence’s muck while it laughs, steaming
- each bent in bent out
- each urged, cajoled, or shackled gently to another
- it’s pigsty I
- it’s pigsty I
- vertigo: when the whole becomes center
- attuned to the place where fat oak leaves flutter
- every day is vertigo its margins boiling over like foam
- it’s pigsty I
- eyeing pieces of I in bewilderment weird is it not?
- it’s pigsty I
- see the burning skull through the pain-board gaps oh
- fawn-colored Whirlaway gallops by
- the thick fire wall of pain-board sleep oh
- perforated with pinholes staring out
- it’s pigsty I
- it’s pigsty I
- babbling bugs clamoring through the perforations
- it’s like I’m coming down with a rash of pinheads
- it’s pigsty I
- swallow me swallow me Mother expiring
- and never again shit me out
- never shit me out again Mother
- it’s pigsty I
- this crawling body this wad of nothing but heat
- it’s pigsty I
- imagine faces but they’re phantoms under
- which the face of a girl comes clear as starvation
- when eternity canters off in the shape of a horse
- it’s pigsty I
- it’s pig always pig that returns
- it’s pigsty I
- packed with menacing muscles tensed
- decent solitude crappy solitude crumbling crumbling
- it’s pigsty I
- didn’t notice in the winter dusk how
- the muddy corridor leads to the pigsty
- it’s pigsty I
- see the burning skull through the pain-board gaps oh
- fawn-colored Whirlaway gallops by
- the thick fire wall of pain-board sleep oh
- perforated with pinholes staring out
- it’s pigsty I
- it’s pigsty I
- babbling bugs clamoring through the perforations
- it’s like I’m coming down with a rash of pinheads
- it’s pigsty I
- swallow me swallow me Mother expiring
- and never again shit me out
- never shit me out again Mother
- it’s pigsty I
- this crawling body this wad of nothing but heat
- it’s pigsty I
- imagine faces but they’re phantoms under
- which the face of a girl comes clear as starvation
- when eternity canters off in the shape of a horse
- it’s pigsty I
- it’s pig always pig that returns
- it’s pigsty I
- packed with menacing muscles tensed
- decent solitude crappy solitude crumbling crumbling
- it’s pigsty I
- didn’t notice in the winter dusk how
- the muddy corridor leads to the pigsty
- it’s pigsty I
- burning to set an earthly convenience store on fire no reason whatsoever
- that muscles gleam and piggies wiggle
(or pigsty)
To the birdcage comes spring, spring to the birdless birdcage.
— Miyoshi Tatsuiji
- to the pigsty comes spring,
- spring to the pigless pigsty,
- on its floor my footstep,
- on my footstep a macula of dust,
- and the dust,
- swirling,
- swirling,
- want a break from life? want to quit the suffering I? forget it, it’s better to root deeper, deeper into the I to reach the crumbling pigsty, ominously muscular, dear mother extending the beam of your mind to the far shore, sweet mother, the act of rooting is, itself, pigsty, and if the muscles quiver, that too is pigsty, as you see, in the surging momentum, which almost overcomes your self, WHICH IS WHAT begins to come clear, so work hard, play hard, a pigsty doesn’t always hide a pig, WHICH IS WHAT, as it’s castrated, squeaks profane squeaks, tears sparkling, grass shooting up, in endless infancy, in endless mire, until it’s slathered in light more intense than the reek of nightsoil, WHICH IS WHAT, as it’s castrated, continues to squeak profane squeaks, dear mother, remove me, sweet mother extending the beam of your mind to the far shore, remove me, under the beam, the squeaking persists, a big dollop of the adjacent freshly steamed tea-leaves, whirling, all whirling, a plank is placed, another plank,
- whirling,
- whirling,
- front becomes back,
- right becomes left,
- painboards, or pigsty,
- to the pigsty comes spring,
- spring to the pigless pigsty
About the Poet:
Kiwao Nomura, Japan, (b. 1951), is a poet, writer, critic, and educator. He graduated from Waseda University, majoring in Japanese literature. A leading writer of the post-war generation, he is considered one of the driving forces behind contemporary Japanese poetry.
In 2007, he organized The Festival of International Poetry: Toward the Pacific Rim. From August to November 2005, he was a fellow at the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa in the United States. In December of the same year, he served as a director of the japan-European Contemporary Poetry Festival in Tokyo. [DES-01/22]
Additional information:
- Forrest Gander – translator
- Kyoko Yoshida – translator