Tag Archives: Hagiwara Sakutaro

夜汽車

by Hagiwara Sakutaro


有明のうすらあかりは
硝子戸に指のあとつめたく
ほの白みゆく山の 端 〔 は 〕 は
みづがねのごとくにしめやかなれども
まだ旅びとのねむりさめやらねば
つかれたる電燈のためいきばかりこちたしや。
あまたるきにすのにほひも
そこはかとなきはまきたばこの 烟 〔 けむり 〕 さへ
夜汽車にてあれたる舌には侘びしきを
いかばかり人妻は身にひきつめて嘆くらむ 。
まだ 山科 〔 やましな 〕 は過ぎずや
空気まくらの 口金 〔 くちがね 〕 をゆるめて
そつと息をぬいてみる女ごころ
ふと二人かなしさに身をすりよせ
しののめちかき汽車の窓より 外 〔 そと 〕 をながむれば
ところもしらぬ山里に
さも白く咲きてゐたるをだまきの花。


Translation

Night Train

At dawn’s light, the skies were lit pale,
On the window, the imprint of fingers, cold,
The mountain’s edge, whitish-turning, stood
Like quicksilver, placidly still and yet,
Travellers slept undisturbed;
Only the jaded lamps’ jarring sighs,
Even the sweet shellacky smell,
And so too, the vaguely tobacco-like fumes
Tested a sore tongue on the night train;
But how long are the married wife’s complaints to continue?
Yamashina has yet to pass by,
So she undoes the air-cushion’s plug a wee,
To watch it vent: such are the ways of women-kind.
Then man and wife snuggled up a-sudden,
And stared out the car window by the dawn,
Where on a mountain village, whereabouts unknown,
So whitely bloomed the columbine flowers.

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