I step into my apartment and first off
dart a look at the little lamp
on my answering-machine.
Glowing red like an animal’s eye,
it tells me instantly –
No calls.
The light, no bigger than an adzuki bean,
has kept watch for me all day long,
and I realize that, like me,
my phone went without once being connected to another.
This moment in the city, left unclaimed….
I picture
the bean-sized lamps
on all the phones scattered throughout the sprawling metropolis
and have them stand for stars.
Kisaka Ryo (born 1958) Japan
Translated by Arthur Binard
Source: Poetry Kanto, 2010, No.26
dart a look at the little lamp
on my answering-machine.
Glowing red like an animal’s eye,
it tells me instantly –
No calls.
The light, no bigger than an adzuki bean,
has kept watch for me all day long,
and I realize that, like me,
my phone went without once being connected to another.
This moment in the city, left unclaimed….
I picture
the bean-sized lamps
on all the phones scattered throughout the sprawling metropolis
and have them stand for stars.
Kisaka Ryo (born 1958) Japan
Translated by Arthur Binard
Source: Poetry Kanto, 2010, No.26
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