Nureki Chimuo Archive

After sharing my poetry (or something like it), I unexpectedly received such high praise that I got carried away and decided to write here again.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

I jot down words that come to mind on scraps of paper lying around, intending to revise them later, and stuff them into a large paper bag.

It piles up.

Then the paper bag gets lost and I can’t find it anymore.

It’s a bit frustrating.

I’m stingy, so even if it’s something worthless, I feel like it’s a waste because I went to the trouble of writing it.

So before I lose it, I’ll write it down here in this “Talking Theater.”

The Setting Sun As dusk falls in pale ink hues You truly possess such grace Downy hair, stray locks, a slender nape Your hair the color of a crow’s wet feathers The tofu seller passes, his horn blaring You stand quietly on the bridge With sorry you cannot tell anyone

The setting sun sinks crimson red Only shadows stretch even longer

Just like the previous shiritori song, I wrote this one by putting myself in the girl’s shoes.

When I unconsciously slip into a girl’s mindset like this, does that make me a pervert after all?

Cold Town

I carried myself on my back And I went to sell myself in the city

This city always has a gloomy, overcast sky So I couldn’t sell myself I pressed my belly Against your back And shouted my sales pitch Until blood came from my throat But I couldn’t sell myself The townspeople peered through narrow door cracks And watched me with pity And whispered among themselves They pitied me

It’s a terribly cold town Your back Pressed against my belly That warmth alone is my anchor

I walk through this town Selling myself Crying out My sales pitch

Monster

Yes, that’s right. I am a freak Just as you say I am a freak A freak who can’t show my face in public

Eh? What did you say? A disfigured monster?

Ah, perhaps that’s true. But a freak I have a freak’s own antennae And no matter how kindly You smile at me And speak to me

Your eyes honestly Recognize me as a freak

Yes, that’s fine I won’t deny it

Since I won’t deny it, please Don’t drag me out in public anymore, Being called out by name In front of people who know nothing, I really don’t like it

My skin, see, It’s covered in wounds like this all over If I pile more wounds on top of these, They won’t heal easily

Looking it up in the dictionary “Gete mono” means “clumsy person” Someone who eats Creepy, peculiar things And also Someone who loves things most people dislike

That’s right. I know.

You’re a good person Kind and refined You are someone who loves things done well

I know this, so please Don’t force yourself To draw near me

With such affection

And so, writing poems like this, I Sometimes Enjoy Self-mockery

This self mockery leaves me In a very sweet mood

So, after all, I am A monster

Both playful poems like “Shiritori Song” and “The Setting Sun” and slightly darker feelings like “Cold Town" and “Monster” exist equally within me.

And then I also write poems like the following “Yoshikiri Naita.”

Yoshikiri Naita (The Reed Warbler Cries)

The reed warbler cries In the shadow of the reeds

The reed warbler sings Making the reeds tremble

In the shadow of the reeds A woman weeps

The reed warbler stirs Its throat swelling

The white belly Of the weeping woman

In the water by the riverbank The sunset burns

The sunset stains The woman and warbler

The woman who cut her belly

Why did she cut her belly?

Soaked through with water Her hair drenched

The reed warbler cried The woman who cut her belly cried

The reed warbler dwells in the reed beds by the riverbank, singing its heart out. It is written as gyogyoshi, and is also known by the slightly more sophisticated name of Yoshihara sparrow. Director Nakahara of the Sex Industry Museum and R-san says she’ll compile my poems like this and publish a collection.

I am truly grateful.

If such a collection comes to fruition, I’d like to present it to those who read this “Talking Theater.”