I thought to pick
the flower of forgetting
for myself.
But I found it
Already growing in his heart.
(Tr. Hirshfield and Aratani)
Those gifts you left
Have become my enemies:
Without them
There might have been
A moment’s forgetting.
(Tr. Hirshfield and Aratani)
Seeing the moonlight
Spilling down
Through these trees,
My heart fills to the brim
With autumn.
(Tr. Hirshfield and Aratani)
the flower of forgetting
for myself.
But I found it
Already growing in his heart.
(Tr. Hirshfield and Aratani)
Those gifts you left
Have become my enemies:
Without them
There might have been
A moment’s forgetting.
(Tr. Hirshfield and Aratani)
Seeing the moonlight
Spilling down
Through these trees,
My heart fills to the brim
With autumn.
(Tr. Hirshfield and Aratani)
Ok, so the majority of these connect with me for obvious reasons (yes, I'm still in mourning for that stupid ex-boyfriend). When I read her poetry, I'm sometimes uncomfortable to see her heart so clearly, so often cut open. Autumn appears often in her verses; mono no aware whispers of itself in every line.
Funny... love songs make me cry, but these poems give me hope by reminding me of life's cyclic nature. One must experience sorrow to truly value joy; neither can exist without the other. I was very happy for a while, but I was growing complacent. Every now and then you need a kick in the pants, warning you to value every thing and every moment.
