At a certain asylum there is a patient, number twenty-three, who will tell his story to anyone. He's at least thirty, but no one appears so youthful as a madman. His experiences the first half of his life -- well, that's not important. These days he just sits, arms around his knees, sometimes glancing out the window. Outside the iron bars is a single oak tree without leaves and the snow-clouded sky.
He told his long story to the director, Dr. S, and myself. He was expressionless for the most part, but if saying "I was surprised," for example, his head would jerk up.
I believe I’ve recorded his story accurately. If you'd like to know more, ask at S--- Institution in ---- neighborhood of Tokyo. Patient twenty-three will greet you politely, direct you to a wooden chair, and with a melancholy smile repeat his tale in a soft voice. When he finishes -- how his face changed is still stuck in my memory -- he leaps to his feet, hands in fists, shouting, "Get out, you villain! You're a stupid, jealous, shameless, stuck-up, cruel, selfish animal, aren't you? Get out of here!"
Three summers ago, rucksack on my back, I decided to hike from Kamikouchi hot springs resort up to Mt. Hotaka. As you know, the only way is along the Azusa River. Since I'd climbed the mountain before, as well as Yariga Peak, I set out without a guide in the morning fog. If it didn’t clear up, I would have been blinded to the scenery around me. It seemed to grow thicker. I’d only walked an hour before I thought about returning to the hot springs resort in Kamikouchi. But I thought if I reached a higher altitude, the fog would lift.
It deepened every minute. "If I just climb a bit more!" I thought, and breaking away from the river, started through a bamboo grove.
All I could see was the dense fog, at times broken by a fluttering moth or drooping fir tree branch. Grazing horses and cows appeared and disappeared in a heartbeat. I started to become tired and hungry, and even worse my clothes were heavy with dampness. Finally I gave up, and following the sound of trickling water, felt my way down into the valley.
I sat on a rock to have some food. It took about ten minutes to open a can of corned beef, and make a fire from twigs. In the meantime the fog was steadily clearing, as though proving it had beaten me. Gnawing a piece of bread, I glanced at my watch. Already twenty minutes past one. What shocked me more, however, was the reflection in its crystal of a strange face. I looked over my shoulder, and saw for the first time ever a kappa. Perched on a rock behind me, it had one arm around the white trunk of a birch, the other hand shielding its eyes. It stared back at me with a curious expression.
I was so taken aback, I couldn't move. The kappa also seemed to be astonished, and froze, hand still upraised. Then I jumped up and towards the kappa, who fled in the same instant. Well, I thought it did -- it certainly disappeared. I looked around and through the tall grass, and spotted it a ways off, poised to flee. I couldn't blame it.
What truly surprised me was its color. Before, when it had stood on the rock, it was gray -- now, from head to toe, it was green.
"Damn it," I said, and again leapt for it, and of course it ran away. For over thirty minutes I chased it headlong through the tall grass and over rocks.
The kappa could run quite fast, even more than a monkey. Often, as though in a dream, I thought I'd lost it, or slipped and fell down. But then we ran into a massive chestnut tree, under which an ox with fearful horns and red eyes was grazing. The kappa let out a strange cry and dove for a patch of tall grass.
"I’ve got it, " I said to myself, and jumped after. There was some kind of unseen hole there. My fingers just brushed the smooth shell of the kappa as I fell headlong into profound darkness.
At such a terrible moment, the brain takes refuge in trivial thoughts. I thought of Kappa-bashi, a bridge near the Kamikouchi resort. I'm not sure what happened then -- I glimpsed a brilliant flash like lightning, and blacked out.
When I regained consciousness, I was lying face up surrounded by kappa. One, kneeling beside me, was pressing a stethoscope to my chest, a pair of pince-nez on his beak. Meeting my eyes, he gestured for there to be quiet, then made a quack quack noise to someone behind him. Two kappa came up carrying a stretcher. Lifting me onto it, they bore me through the middle of a great crowd of kappa and into some kind of village. To either side of me the street could hardly be distinguished from the Ginza. There were rows of beech trees, and in their shade various stores, with vehicles passing between them.
Before long, the stretcher carrying me turned onto a narrow lane, and we entered a house. I later learned this belonged to the pince-nez wearing kappa from before, who turned out to be a doctor named Chak. He put me in a tidy bed and gave me a dose of clear medicine. I let him do whatever he wanted, for my joints hurt so much I was unable to move.
Every day Chak gave me a medical examination two or three times. Then on the third day, the very first kappa I had seen -- a fisher named Bagg -- came to ask how I was. Kappa know more about us humans than we do about them. That's because they are more likely to capture us than we are to catch one of them. Capture isn't quite the right word, but I was far from the first human to enter the land of kappa. Some even spent their whole lives there. I asked why this was. In the country of kappa, a human being is such a marvel that they don't have to work but can simply enjoy life. Actually, according to Bagg, a sailor had once come and taken a female kappa as his wife. Apparently she was not only quite good-looking for her species, but also had bewitched him.
After resting there about a week, it was decided that I would be allowed as a protected resident to live next door to Chak. My house was small in comparison, but quite elegant. There wasn't actually a great difference between this country's civilization and the land of human's civilization -- or at least Japanese civilization. In a parlor facing the main street, there was a small piano in the corner, and framed paintings hung on the wall. As all houses must have, there was a table and chairs but they were made for kappa proportions, so it was like entering a child's room and a bit awkward for me.
When dusk fell, Chak and Bagg would visit me in this room and teach me the kappa language. Not just the two of them -- every kappa who was curious about me came to call. One, named Gael, was the president of a glass making factory, and visited Chak every day to have his blood pressure checked. But the first half month, the one I came to know most intimately was Bagg.
One warm, humid day, I was sitting at the table chatting with Bagg. Suddenly he fell quiet, and he stared at me, his big eyes growing even larger.
I said to him, "Quack, Bagg, quo quel quan?" In Japanese this would be translated as, "Oi, Bagg, what's wrong?"
He was silent for a moment. Then he stood abruptly, and his tongue flicked out, exactly as a frog's does. Feeling uneasy, I also stood, and thought about fleeing from the room. Fortunately, just at that moment the doctor Chak showed up.
"Well, Bagg, what are you doing?
Chak glared at Bagg over the top of his glasses, and Bagg looked remorseful, touched his head several times while apologizing: "I am extremely sorry. I only meant to play a little prank on the master of the house. Please excuse my behavior."
Then he turned to me, and begged my pardon as well.
Until this point, I haven't explained much about the kappa. There continues to be the question about whether a creature such as kappa can even exist. But, since I have myself lived among them, there is absolutely no room for doubt. If we are describing them as an animal, the hair on their head is short, their hands and feet are webbed as described in the book “Studies on Kappa”. They are no taller than three feet. According to Chak, they usually weighed from 20 to 30 pounds, although a very large one might be up to 50. Right in the middle of their head was a bowl, which gradually hardened with age. There was a marked difference between the bowl of older Bagg and that of young Chak.
But the most wondrous thing was the skin color of the kappa. Unlike us humans, kappa skin did not stay a single color. It changed to match their surroundings. That's why when I'd seen one on the grass it had been green, and on the rock gray. Of course it is not only kappa who do this, chameleons are also able. Possibly kappa skin tissue was somehow related to chameleon's. I learned that it was said Western kappa were green and Eastern kappa were red. Except for the time I'd seen Bagg change, I didn't see it happen again.
Moreover, beneath their skin was a thick layer of fat, because this underground world was very cold compared to above (about 50 degrees Fahrenheit). They knew nothing of kimono
Of course the kappa wore glasses or carried a cigarette case or wallet, but they had a pouch like a kangaroo so it was very convenient for carrying these things.
What was odd to me was that they didn’t even wear a loincloth. When I asked Bagg why this was, he threw back his head with laughter, then answered, “It is odd to us that you do hide it.”
Bag kindly introduced me to a kappa named Lap, but Lap acquainted me with the most unforgettable, a poet named Tock. Not unlike our human poets, Tock had long hair. Sometimes I'd go to his house to pass the time. Tock was always lining up his plants in a narrow room or writing a poem while smoking tobacco; he led a very comfortable lifestyle. In the corner of that room was a female kappa (Tock was not married, so I wouldn't call her his wife) knitting or some other task.
Tock smiled when he saw my face. (A kappa smiling is not a pleasant thing. It took a while for me to get used to it.) "Hey, I'm glad you came. Have a seat."
Tock enjoyed discussing the kappa lifestyle or kappa arts. His belief was that a kappa's life was usually spent on trivial things. Parents, spouses, siblings, their main pleasure in life is caushing trouble for eath other. The family system was more ridiculous than anything else.
Tock pointed out his window, "Just look at that idiocy!"
Outside the window went a young kappa, breathing heavily, with several others hanging about his neck, including his two decrepit parents. I admired the devotion of the young kappa, and praised his vigor.
"Hmm," said Tock. "You may have the qualifications to become a citizen of this country. Are you a socialist?"
I answered "qua" a kappa word meaning affirmative.
"So for a hundred people, you wouldn't mind sacrificing one genius?"
"What are you advocating for, then? I was told Tock speaks like an anarchist, but..."
"Me? I'm a superman." A closer translation to his words would be super-kappa.
I enjoyed debating with Tock. He had a curious way of thinking, and believed that art should be without cultural influence, for it's own sake. To an artist, good and evil is of no concern, and they must be a superman. This was not the opinion of Tock alone. Many among Tock's fellow poets held this belief. Sometimes I'd go with Tok to his super-kappa club. There gathered poets, writers, playwrights, critics, artists, musicians, sculptors, and amateurs in the arts. In a salon brightly lit with electricity, they'd have cheerful conversations, sharing their triumphs. They'd also demonstrate their superior qualities. I witnessed a sculptor passionately embracing a younger kappa behind a large potted fern. Another time, a certain female novelist, while standing on a table, drank sixty bottles of absinthe. Then passing out, she fell beneath the table and died.
One evening I linked arms with the poet Tock as we returned home from the club. Tock was in an unusually sullen mood, not saying a word. We happened to pass by a small window, through which a husband and wife kappa and their three children, could be seen eating dinner at the table. Tock sighed, and spoke to me:
"I have intended to be a super-kappa even in romance, but seeing a family like that, I still feel envious."
"If you think about it, isn't that a contradiction?"
But he stood for a moonlit moment with his arms crossed, watching that peaceful supper scene. Then answered, "They say you can't make an omelette without breaking an egg -- Love is even more of a mess."
In fact, romance among kappa is quite different from romance among humans. The female looks for a male quickly, and upon finding him does not think twice. The most straight-forward female will chase the male. I myself saw a female in mad pursuit. Not only that, but her parents and siblings followed. The male looked miserable. If he were lucky enough to escape, he would still be laid up for two or three months.
I was reading an anthology of Tock's poetry at home one day, when the student Lapp came running in. He collapsed on my bed, panting.
"This is horrible! She'll catch hold of me!"
I dropped the book at once and locked the door. Peering through the keyhole, I could see a short female with a painted face. She loitered outside my door. Lapp slept on my floor for several weeks after that. His beak grew rotten and finally fell off.
Then again, sometimes there is a male who chases a female, but only because she entices him. I once saw a male running after a female who, in the midst of her escape, would occasionally pause deliberately to crawl on all fours. Then when the time was right, she let herself be caught as though worn out. He embraced her and they rolled around for a while. When he finally got up, he had an expression of disappointment or regret -- I can’t describe it exactly.
But that was all right. There was another small male with a female, as said before, performing a sexy run away. Then a bigger male walked by, snorting. When the female saw him, she cried out, “Oh no, please help! He’s trying to kill me!” Of course he grabbed the smaller male and threw him into the middle of traffic. The small one grasped at empty air with his webbed hand a few times, then finally died. By then, the female was grinning with her arms around the neck of the larger male.
The male kappa I was acquainted with had the experience of being chased. Even Bagg, who had a wife and children. He’d even been caught a couple of times. Only the philosopher Magg ( who lived next door to Tock) had never had the misfortunate. This might be because he was quite ugly for a kappa, but also because he stayed at home and rarely went out.
I sometimes went to Magg’s house to chat. He was always in a very dim room, lit only by a lamp with a shade in seven different colors. He read a thick book at a tall desk, and we discussed romance among Kappa.
“Why doesn’t the government crack down on females chasing males?”
“Partly because there are few females among the officials. Females are stronger and more possessive, so if more of them were in charge there would be less chasing than there currently is, But perhaps if there were females in government they would chase even their comrades, the male officials.”
“So your kind of lifestyle is the happiest.”
Magg left his chair, and taking my hands said with a sigh, “you’re not one of us, so you can’t understand. But I also long to be pursued by a terrifying female.”
I went to several of Tok's recitals, but the one I will never forget was the third time. The hall was no different from ones you'd see in Japan. The stadium seating was filled with three or four hundred kappa, holding programs, eagerly listening. I sat with Tock, his mate, and the philosopher Magg in the front row. After a cello solo, a kappa with strangely narrow eyes arose, casually holding some music books. This was the famous composer named Craback, according to the program. But I didn't need to learn it from there -- I knew him from Tock's Super-kappa club.
"Lied -- Craback" (Programs in this country mainly used German.)
Craback bowed to enthusiastic clapping, then silently approached the piano. He began to play his own composition. Craback, as Tock had said, was a genius without peer in the entire land. I'd been interested in Craback's music, so I watched him play avidly. Tock and Magg were in a trance even greater than mine. But a beautiful (at least, by kappa standards) female was gripping her program, and from time to time stuck her tongue out. According to Magg, she had tried to capture Craback ten years before and even to this day considered him an enemy.
Craback played with passion filling his entire body, battling with the piano. Then suddenly throughout the hall rang the cry "Desist!" I turned to see a very tall police-kappa in the back row. He stood very calmly with a straight back, and spoke again, "This performance must desist." Then --
Then chaos ensued.
"Police oppression!" "Craback, play! Play!" "Idiot!" "Brute!" "Get out of here!" "You won't beat us!" yelled kappa standing on their chairs, hurling programs, even throwing cider bottles and chewed-on cucumbers. Amazed, I tried asking Tock what was going on. But he was so excited he was also standing on his chair, yelling "Craback, play! Play!" Besides which, his mate shouted "police tyranny!"
I had no choice but to ask Magg, "What's happening?"
"This? It happens all the time in this country. It's how art originates."
Something came flying and Mag ducked into his shell. He calmly continued, "In general, anyone can observe what a painting or book means. So their sale or showing is not prohibited. Musical performances, however, are often banned. No matter how moving a piece might be, it can't be understood by a kappa without an ear for it."
"Doesn't that officer have ears?"
"That's a very good question. Possibly the song just reminded him of his heart-beat when he's intimate with his wife."
During our conversation, the chaos had grown even more. Craback had turned back to his piano, ignoring us arrogantly. However, it couldn't be helped that objects flew in his direction and he had to duck every few seconds. In general, he managed the air of a great musician, looking around with his fine eyes. I, meanwhile, was using Tock's shell as a shield, but kept on talking to Mag.
"Isn't this an extreme form of censorship?"
"Well," said the philosopher. "It's more advanced than any other country. Take yours, for example, only last month they --"
But just then, a bottle came hurtling through the air and struck him on the head, and after uttering "quack!" he fell unconscious.
I was oddly fond of the glass company president, Gehru. He was a capitalist's capitalist. Not to be rude, but among kappa he had the largest belly. His wife resembled a lychee and his children cucumbers, but they seemed to have good fortune in life. With a judge named Pepp and the doctor Chak I went to dinner at Gehru's house. Taking his letter of introduction, I visited various factories where Gehru had connections.
I was most interested in a certain publishing house. A young engineer kappa showed me inside, how it was powered by hydroelectricity. When I gazed at a huge machine, I wondered at how industrial progress was coming in the kappa world. In one year, they could print seven million books. But what surprised me more was not the number of books, but how simple it was to produce them. To make a book in this country, paper, ink, and an ash-gray powder was poured into a funnel. In less than five minutes, these raw materials were turned into infinite books of various sizes.
I stared at a waterfall of books coming out. I asked the slouching engineer what the powder was. Standing before a glossy black machine, he answered in a monotone, "This? This is donkey's brain. Well, it's dehydrated and ground up. Its current value is two or three sen per ton.”
Of course the wonders of book printing was not all. There was also a painting factory and a music factory that were run the same. Gehru told me that in this country, an average of seven or eight hundred machines were invented, able to mass produce faster than by hand. A few hundred former factory workers had been let go. It had gotten to be so that every morning when you read the newspaper, another strike would be announced. I found this strange, and when invitted to dinner with Peppu and Chack I asked why.
"It's so everyone can eat,” Gehru said casually after dinner, lighting a cigar.
But I couldn't understand what he meant by “to eat.” Then pince-nez wearing Chack explained more thoroughly for my benefit.
"Those factory workers are killed, and turned into meat for everyone. Look at the newspaper. This month exactly 64,765 workers were let go, so meat has become that much cheaper."
“The factory workers are killed to shut them up?"
"That's what comes of making a racket. It's the Worker Butchery Act." From behind a potted sapling, Peppu spoke with a bitter expression. Of course I felt uneasy. But Gehru was the head of the household, and Peppu and Chack also seemed to find it natural. Chack actually scoffed while speaking to me.
“Basically, the point is to eliminate the national problems of starvation and suicide. If one sniffs a little poisonous gas, there is barely any pain."
"But to eat that meat -- “
"Don’t get started on that. If that Magg were to hear you, he would laugh out loud. In your country, don't the daughters of the poor become prostitutes? If you grow indignant at the thought of butchering factory workers, it's only sentimentalism."
Gehru, listening to this exchange calmly, offered me a sandwich from the table. "Would you like some? This is also factory worker meat."
Of course I shrunk back. No, more than that. I fled from Gehru's parlor to the sound of Peppu and Chack laughing. No light could be seen in the houses I passed, and the night had grown stormy. In that darkness I returned to my dwelling, and began to vomit unceasingly. In the dark my vomit flowed like pouring ash.
But Gehru, the glass company's president, was no less friendly than before. Sometimes a message came from his club, inviting me to an enjoyable evening. This was more intimate than the super-kappa club which Tock attended. Gehru’s conversation was not as profound as that of Magg the philosopher, but it opened a new world to me -- a wide world. Gehru spoke cheerfully of various things while stirring his coffee with a solid gold spoon.
One foggy evening, I was arranging winter roses in a vase while listening to Gehru speak. That room was in an Art Nouveau style, chairs and table painted white with a thin gold border. With an even smugger expression than usual, Gehru talked about the Quorax Party, which was in charge of the whole country at that time. This word "Quorax" was a meaningless interjection, like oh my. Anyhow it was the party with the slogan "Benefits for All Kappa."
"The leader of the Quorax party is Roppe, a renowned politician. Didn’t Bismarck say "Honesty is the best policy”?. But Roppe also exercises honesty in internal affairs..."
"But Roppe's speech..."
"Well, listen to me. That speech is entirely a lie. But lies that no one recognizes no different from the truth. What is an unconditional lie is your narrow view. We kappa, unlike you humans... But never mind, I want to talk about Roppe. He controls the Quorax party, and the newspaper called “Pou-Fou” (this also is a meaningless exclamation. If forced, I'd translate it as "ah") has a chief editor, Kuikui. But Kuikui himself is not really in charge. Gehru who sits before you controls Kuikui."
"But -- I don't know if this is rude, but Pou-Fou Newspaper claims to be the paper of the people. If you're controlling the chief..."
"Pou-Fou's reporters are allies of the laborers. But reporters are controlled from above Kuikui. If he didn't have my backing, he'd be worthless."
Gehru wore a strange smile, eating dessert with his solid gold spoon. More than looking at him with hate, I felt sympathy for the reporters. At my silence, Gehru guessed this and his great belly swelled.
"Well, not all of Pou Fou's reporters are allies of the laborers. A kappa is their own ally before any other. To make matters even more complicated, just as I pull Kuikui’s strings, there is someone behind me. Can you guess? My wife, of course, the beautiful Mrs. Gehru.”
He laughed out loud.
“That makes you happy?”
“Satisfied, anyway. I can only say this to you. I’d never admit it in front of other kappa.”
“So you’re saying Mrs. Gehru controls the Quorax Party.”
“I suppose you could say that… but the war seven years ago was no different. It started because of a female.”
“War? There was a war in this country?”
“In the past, and probably again in the future. As long as there are neighboring countries…”
This was the first time I’d heard of the land of kappa not being isolated. Gehru explained the kappa treated otters as their enemies. The otters were just as able to wield weapons as the kappa. I was quite interested to hear about this enmity. (Nothing in the literature about kappa mentioned it.)
“Before the war, both sides were naturally wary of each other and making defensive preparations. We were as afraid of them as they were of us. There was one otter living in this country, and he visited a kappa couple. The wife had been planning to kill her husband, who was a rake. She may also have been coveting the insurance money.”
“Did you know them?”
“No, I was acquainted with the male. My wife and her friends say he was a villain, but if you ask me he was only driven mad by paranoia from getting caught by a female… anyway, she put prussic acid into his cocoa, but gave it to the visiting otter by accident. The otter died, of course, then…”
“That was how the war began?”
“Yes, unfortunately that otter was a decorated hero.”
“Which side won?”
“This country, of course. 369,500 kappa bravely perished. But that was nothing to what the other side lost. Every fur we wear comes from otters. During the war, in addition to manufacturing glass, I sent lumps of coal to the front.”
“Coal? What for?”
“Food, of course. When they’re starving, kappa will eat anything.”
“But that -- please don’t take this the wrong way. But to treat soldiers like that, in my country that would cause an uproar.”
“It did in this one as well. But as I tell people of it myself, no one is shocked anymore. As the philosopher Magg said, “Speak your own evil, and it will erase itself.” Besides the profit, I was burning with patriotism.”
A waiter for the club entered. He bowed to Gehru and said formally, “A fire broke out next to your house.”
“F-fire?!”
Gehru stood up, shocked, as did I. However, the waiter soothed us saying, “They have already put it out.” Bowing and exiting, Gehru watched him with a turmoil of emotions on his face. I became aware of a dislike that had been growing in me for the glass company’s president. But at that moment, he was not some major capitalist, but a regular kappa. I took one of the roses from the case and handed it to him.
“The fire may have been doused but your wife is sure to be upset. Bring this home to her.”
“Thank you.”
Gehru took my hand, laughed suddenly, then whispered in my ear, “the neighboring house is also mine, so I will get the insurance money.”
I still vividly recall his smile at that moment -- a smile that made me feel neither contempt nor hate.
Appropriately titled “Graduation” originally sung by Hikaru Genji, but I’m rather fond of this cover by Heike-ha, a temporary group made up of members from Tokio and V6.
We won't forget Graduation. We will surely meet again, And, unable to stop, we'll cry and cry. Set out walking at Graduation, You will always be yourself.
I can feel my breath Grow just a touch hotter. In my heart is the worry That someone will notice. In spring, at a bend in the road I hesitate. Then I see you.
If we wave goodbye at Graduation, We'll slip into the sky, And becoming birds, fly and fly. We whispered of it, Graduation - Directly between joy and sorrow.
You keep swimming Through the middle of a crowd. Until we become old people someday. When you catch hold of your dream, Let's bring the hands of the clock together.
We won't forget Graduation. We will surely meet again, And, unable to stop, we'll cry and cry. Set out walking at Graduation, You will always be yourself.
If we wave goodbye at Graduation, We'll slip into the sky, And becoming birds, fly and fly. We whispered of it, Graduation - Directly between joy and sorrow.
We won't forget Graduation. We will surely meet again, And, unable to stop, we'll cry and cry. Set out walking at Graduation, You will always be yourself.
I just realized they made Leader sing the old people line. Oh, Leader, they tease you so much…
The graduation ceremony for the third years will be this coming Monday. It never fails to amaze me how few things have changed in Japanese schools. My students still have the same hair-styles, the boys wear the black gakuran, the girls the sailor-style dress, and for special days the teachers wear hakama. We sing the same song, and I would bet good money the bunting in this black-and-white video was red-and-white, just like the one we hung today.
And the crying, of course, is timeless.
How much we owe our respected teachers, For the time in the garden of their instruction. Looking back, the months and years have flown, And now is the time for us to bid farewell.
How much we owe the harmonious time together, Though we part we will never forget. We'll keep striving to become successful and make our names, But now is the time for us to bid farewell.
We learned to study in the evening by the window, By the light of fireflies reflected on snow banks.* Months and years will pass before we forget, And now is the time for us to bid farewell.
*A saying that means someone who is so devoted to their studies that they’ll use even the slightest source of light.
Let's light the paper lanterns, And raise up the peach blossoms. A five-man band of whistles and drums, Today will be a fun Doll's Festival.
The Emperor and the Empress Side-by-side, expressions blank. The white-faced court lady resembles An older sister who intended to marry.
The torch reflected in the gold screen Is weakly coaxed by the spring breeze. Has he drunk a little white sake, The red-faced Minister of the Right?
Change the clothes, tie the belt, Today we too will don formal wear. Spring's third month, this day will be Happier than any other, the Doll's Festival.
New single, “Kawatta Katachi no Ishi” out today! This is an interesting version with the backup instrumentals removed:
変わったかたちの石 歌詞 翻訳 英語
When did I pick up This odd shaped stone From the river of the village Where I was born?
I put it beneath my window, And just left it. When asked, "What's with that?" I'd answer, "No reason." And yet
We are washed away unknowing Going round in circles. This is a landmark so we don't forget That point in time.
When I felt like I would lose, I'd hold the stone. Its pleasant oval gave me strength.
More than living the same way as others, I am fine as myself. If I think "whatever" and endure, I lose sight of my true motive.
We are washed away unknowing Going round in circles. This is a landmark so we don't forget That point in time.
Change is something That made me uneasy, So I lived as close To constant as can be.
Now, when I peer into the mirror I quietly look at my own face. I know that boy's eyes, And recall his determination on that day.
We who are not washed away Live even more freely. The point of ourselves, Like the stone, continues to exist.
I was honored to have the chance to hear them sing this in concert on December 30th. Odd how I can go a year between seeing them perform and yet once I do it’s like falling in love all over again.
I love Angela Aki for many reasons, not the least of which is because she speaks fluent English. Japanese music likes to throw random English words and phrases into their lyrics with little concern for actual pronunciation or sense. So it’s thrilling to listen to someone who actually can appreciate how powerful it is to properly combine two languages. I’m a long way from bilingual but already I wish there were entire genres of it – movies that switch subtitles to suit the characters, and songs with alternating verses.
What’s also interesting about her translations of English songs is that the lyrics are fairly divergent from the original – but they maintain the same emotional mood. I’m normally a purist, but I’m not going to complain when her versions are so lovely – and well, as we’ve learned, translating things too literally only ends you up in the soup.
I guess there’s no denying that I am very much a child of the 90’s considering how nostalgic I get over Radiohead – and my not-so-inner emo-teen still is moved by “Creep,” as well as the cover by Belgian girls’ choir Scala & Kolacny Brothers:
“I don't care if it hurts. I want to have control. I want a perfect body. I want a perfect soul.”
which will now, for better or worse, forever be associated with the emotional distancing of Facebook because of The Social Network.
“I want you to notice when I’m not around.”
“I don’t belong here.”
And then there’s Angela Aki’s cover, which I can only think of as more of a love-song to someone else and less of a hate-song to oneself. But I can hardly be surprised that she would make it more hopeful, considering her other works.
You are the only color In the monochrome world where I live. You are the subject of the picture Whenever I shut my eyes.
I'm a creep. You don’t know My existence, My secret.
From the milk of your skin, To the honey of your smile, I want to swim in the universe On the other side of your lips.
You brush your hair up And it shines in the light. An angel on earth, Grant me mercy.
I'm a creep. I see nothing but you, My hell, My secret.
In the depths of delusion, I called your name It reached reality, it reached you.
But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here.
He’s running out again. He’s running out. He’s run, run, run, run, run. ‘Cause I’m a creep.
***
And now, to delve even further back in my slightly embarrassing musical past, Seal’s Kiss From a Rose. I mean, really.
WHAT DOES IT MEAN?
Here I figure Angela is perfectly at rights to translate it anyway she wants, because it doesn’t make sense even in English.
I saw you in the midst of the flames, The battlefield where love burnt to ash. Holding the gold sword of self-confidence, Time stood still As you came near me.
Baby, I cried out for mercy. My white flag already raised. If I am to die from love, Kill me with a kiss.
I have lived like a traveler. My heart had no lodging, but, baby, The place I finally wandered to Is the land called you, Where the red rose of passion Takes root and blossoms.
Baby, finally I surrender to you. My white flag already raised. If I am to die from love, Kill me with a kiss.
With a kiss from you, With a glance from you, My body catches fire And burns to ash.
There is so much a man can tell you, so much he can say. You remain my power, my pleasure, my pain. To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny. Won't you tell me, is that healthy, babe? But did you know, that when it snows, my eyes become enlarged And the light that you shine can be seen.
Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grave. The more I get of you, the stranger it feels, yeah. Now that your rose is in bloom, a light hits the gloom on the grave.
The sky of this island where I was born, I wonder how well I know it. The glittering stars, the flowing clouds, If I'm asked their names, I don't know.
But more than anyone, more than anyone I know that in times of sorrow and joy, This is the sky I would look up to Over and over again.
I don't know things that are only written in textbooks. The important things are definitely here, It is the islanders' treasure.
The sea of this island where I was born, I wonder how well I know it. If the coral is polluted or if there are less fish, I don't know what's the best thing to do.
But more than anyone, more than anyone, Covered in sand and cradled in waves, Little by little I have been changed by the sea.
It isn't shown on TV or played on the radio. The important things are definitely here, It is the islanders' treasure.
The song of this island where I was born, I wonder how well I know it. I don't know the meaning of the words 'Tubarama' or 'Densasetsu'.
But more than anyone, more than anyone, On nights of celebration and festival mornings I can hear this song coming from somewhere.
Someday I will leave this island, but until that day, I want to understand it more profoundly. It is the islanders' treasure.
島人ぬ宝 Shimanchu nu Takara 沖縄 歌詞 英語 翻訳
Note: Tubarama or Densasetsu are both folk songs in Okinawa, where the band BEGIN is from.
While turning the pages of an old album,
I murmured, "Thank you."
Year in and year out, I hold in my heart
The person who encouraged me.
On clear days and rainy alike,
That smile comes to my mind.
The memory is distant and faded,
But on days I recall and search for traces,
The tears flow.
Praying on the first star
Has become my habit.
Looking up at the evening sky,
My heart is full and I search for you.
With sorrow and joy I think of that smile.
If you can see me from where you are,
We will definitely meet again someday.
Believing that,
I keep on living.
On clear days and rainy alike,
That smile comes to my mind.
The memory is distant and faded,
But when I'm lonely and longing,
Thinking of you,
The tears flow.
I miss you, I miss you.
Thinking of you,
The tears flow.
Row that boat forward, Row it with your own hands. Don’t give up the oars to those Who will rejoice when you’re gone.
Where is that ship floating to now? Where does it keep dragging itself? When the water flows against it, The ship is challenged - the ship is damaged. All of the sailors are fleeing in terror, but
Row that boat forward, Row it with your own hands. Don’t give up the oars to those Who will rejoice when you’re gone.
Has that ship forgotten that it is an airship? Has that ship forgotten the time when it soared? The edge of the earth, the edge of the water - That is the site where this ship takes off. Every harbor has grown dark and silent, but
Row that boat forward, Row it with your own hands. Don’t give up the oars to those Who will rejoice when you’re gone.
What test is it time for? What do the scales judge? What do you keep aiming for? What sets your ship in motion?
Row that boat forward, Row it with your own hands. Don’t give up the oars to those Who will rejoice when you’re gone.
Struggling and squirming - a day passes. Shouting and grumbling - a day passes. Disobeying and defying - a day passes. Struck and broken - a day passes.
If I understand vaguely, Somehow I'm drawn down into temptation. If I refuse, turning over my palm, My enemy increases. And thus I am searching uncertainly for a kind person.
Do I have ambition? Am I righteous? Do I have compassion? Am I ashamed?
Sorry, but today I'm a novice. This day I am only a novice. Sorry, but today I'm a novice. This day I am only a novice.
Trying too hard, falling forward - a day passes. Being conceited, being impatient - a day passes. Stubborn, vain - a day passes. Struck and broken - a day passes.
Will you teach me the ropes? An idle invitation - if I refuse, Your expression changes, My backup disappears. And thus I am searching uncertainly for the unmarked path.
Do I have ambition? Am I righteous? Do I have compassion? Am I ashamed?
Sorry, but today I'm a novice. This day I am only a novice. Sorry, but today I'm a novice. This day I am only a novice.
And thus I am searching Uncertainly for a kind person.
Do I have ambition? Am I righteous? Do I have compassion? Am I ashamed?
Sorry, but today I'm a novice. This day I am only a novice. Sorry, but today I'm a novice. This day I am only a novice.
