spring

the austerity of beginnings








the luxuriousness of beginnings







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twilight on the red bridge

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photos taken on the beaches of Sendai and Oshima, a small island on the Sanriku coast
(summer 2006)



Yasushi Yoshida, Lullaby for Rainsongs







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View on ExposureRoom for HD

It depends only on the weakness of our organs that we do not see ourselves in a Fairy-world.
All Fabulous Tales are merely dreams of that home world, which is everywhere and nowhere.

Novalis



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no sign of spring, but in our dreams

Fresh morning snow in front of the shrine.
The trees! Are they white with peach blossoms
Or white with snow?
The children and I joyfully throw snowballs.


Ryōkan

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the patinoire in front of the Hôtel de Ville

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the fan dancer

i remember you in the summer room
filled with sun and ripe cherries.
the dark purple of cherries around your nails, like blood.
i remember you dancing for me in the summer afternoon,
your dress pierced with seeds of light.
the fan moved like a bird in your hand.
you looked at me and something like a bird
moved within my heart as well.
but it was when you hid your face, oh
that darkness pierced me,
as it pierces your dress when you take it off,
as it pierces the air longing for your hand
to pick up the fan again.



































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the kiss in front of the Hôtel de Ville

They kiss, oh, they kiss, they kiss,
the young on the streets, in the bistros, on parapets
they kiss and kiss as if they were themselves
just endings
of the kiss
they kiss, oh, they kiss in the racing cars,
in the metro stations, in theaters,
in buses, they kiss with desperation,
with violence, as if,
at the end of the kiss, at the conclusion of the kiss, after the kiss,
the only thing to follow would be prescribed old age, and death.
they kiss, oh, they kiss, the thin young people
in love. So thin, as if
they were ignoring the existence of bread in this world.
so in love, as if, as if
they were ignoring the existence of world itself.
they kiss, oh, they kiss as if they were
in the dark, in the safest darkness
as if nobody saw them, as if
the sun would rise
shining
only after
their mouths, broken by the kiss and bleeding
would only be able to kiss
with their teeth.


Nichita Stănescu
The young, tr. by Cristina Hanganu-Bresch

note:
if you want to see and hear it in Romanian, go to the translator's page and listen to the song there (included also a very interesting note on translation problems)



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beyond the edge of time

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self-portraits with snow and mirror

looking into the mirror
until one becomes another
at the window gazing

white pure white
the snow has fallen
silver hidden within silver
self nestled into self

note:
after Akahito's poem:

Coming out
from Tago's nestled cove
i gaze:
white, pure white,
the snow has fallen
on Fuji's lofty peak.




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who would know, who (in homage to Ono no Komachi)

waiting for you all night.
two moons lit up my skin,
my dry rose blossomed anew.
only you didn't come.
towards dawn, a big blue bird
flew home and crushed, its chest open,
against my window.
who would know, who
that i was the bird
and you were the temple in which,
suddenly, all flutter had ceased.

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in the last hour of the sun, walking past the water of stillness

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