Into The Abyss



The Worst of America


Sudden Snow, Kazuyuki Ohtsu


Waiting for Spring, Kazuyuki Ohtsu
















How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December’s bareness everywhere!
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And thou away, the very birds are mute.


Quel hiver a été pour moi ton absence,
Ô toi, joie de l’année fugitive !
Quels froids glacés j’ai sentis ! quels sombres jours j’ai vus !
Partout quel désert gris de décembre !
Car c’est près de toi qu’est l’été avec ses plaisirs,
Et, toi absent, les oiseaux même sont muets.


- W. Shakespeare, Sonnet 97 (excerpts, extraits)
Traduction française de François-Victor Hugo






"I'm quite disappointed that I'm still
the last man on the moon."


- Gene Cernan (1934-2017)


Gene Cernan, Apollo XVII

R.I.P.










Konjikido in Snow, Hiraizumi, Kawase Hasui, 1957


雪の日や堂にぎつしり鳩雀

on a snowy day
the temple is packed...
pigeons, sparrows

- Issa (1825)

"Crow and persimmon in the snow", Tanaka Ryohei (b.1933) - 2008.




M. A.

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
E. E. Cummings, 1894 - 1962

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