Thanks to the little explosion of clarity yesterday, today's contribution to "Takaaki" has pretty much written itself. In fact, I think I could probably write 5 or 6 stanzas today, if I didn't also have other things to do. So, I will settle for the two. One also musn't be greedy. What the Muse giveth, she also taketh away.
(But not today, my friends, not today!)
Part IV
The crude apartment I created when
I focused on the concrete, steel and glass
Elements of Takaaki place, I meant
Merely as a skeleton. Time has
Come to lay down tan tatami mats
Surrounded by delicate shoji—that’s
A wooden screen with paper windows which
Quietly slides open; fill deep and rich
Closets, where futons are found folded, while
Not needed for sleeping, or some other use.
The entrance (where one should remove his shoes)
Is covered in obsidian floor tile.
Several pairs of Muji slippers rest
There in a row, for comfort of the guest.
The kitchen lies left of his bolted door.
It’s small, but servicable, black and bright;
It’s the best room in the apartment for
Stage managing a brief, premptive strike,
Or eating egg salad at night—egg
And bread crumbs are more visible. Pegged
To a corkboard above the phone, two keys
Will jingle if you pin a note. These
Keys may unlock a mailbox, or padlock,
A fair or frightening future. All I know
Is that I have an aunt Pandora, so
I don’t touch them. Taka-chan will talk
And turn them round, when he is on the phone.
(But not today, my friends, not today!)
Part IV
The crude apartment I created when
I focused on the concrete, steel and glass
Elements of Takaaki place, I meant
Merely as a skeleton. Time has
Come to lay down tan tatami mats
Surrounded by delicate shoji—that’s
A wooden screen with paper windows which
Quietly slides open; fill deep and rich
Closets, where futons are found folded, while
Not needed for sleeping, or some other use.
The entrance (where one should remove his shoes)
Is covered in obsidian floor tile.
Several pairs of Muji slippers rest
There in a row, for comfort of the guest.
The kitchen lies left of his bolted door.
It’s small, but servicable, black and bright;
It’s the best room in the apartment for
Stage managing a brief, premptive strike,
Or eating egg salad at night—egg
And bread crumbs are more visible. Pegged
To a corkboard above the phone, two keys
Will jingle if you pin a note. These
Keys may unlock a mailbox, or padlock,
A fair or frightening future. All I know
Is that I have an aunt Pandora, so
I don’t touch them. Taka-chan will talk
And turn them round, when he is on the phone.
But he’s entitled to. It is his home.
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