I recently attended a concert at which a Japanese women's choir from SF performed several pieces, including a setting of the poem 'This Year' by Shuntarō Tanikawa. The music was unremarkable, but the poem reduced me to tears. It uses everyday events to suggest the vastness of the human experience.

I went home and poked around. Turns out that Tanikawa (who died last year at 92) is perhaps Japan's most celebrated poet. I found only one of his poems, 'Museum', on the web. There are a couple of volumes of English translations of his poetry; I ordered one from Amazon.

Anyway, here are 'This Year' and 'Museum':

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This Year

There may be tears
this year, too.
There may be songs with tears
and a clenched fist.
There may also be loud laughter this year.
We may yawn
this year, too.
We may set out on a short trip
and may come back -
the farmer to his field,

The mathematician to his study.
There may be sleepless nights,
but we may love
this year, too.
things smaller than ourselves,
things larger than and beyond ourselves.

This year, too.
and there may be some modest happiness
which might not allow to forget
a great unhappiness.
But our daughters may grow taller,
as many trees.

Days there may be of delicious meals.
We may buy a new pair of shoes.
Our resolve may weaken, this year, too
but things may be a bit different from last year,
this year.

The horizon may recede further and further,
a giant rocket may ascend into space
and children may go on running.
This year, too, there may be joy.
There may be undeniable hope,
as long as we keep on living.

---

Museum

A stone axe among others
Quiet on the far side of the glass

The constellations rotate,
Many of us perish,
Many of us are generated,
Over and over comets narrowly avoid collision,
Many dishes are smashed,
Eskimo dogs walk on the South Pole,
Great tombs are raised, east and west,
Collections of poems are dedicated,
And quite recently,
They split an atom,
And a president's daughter sang a song ...
Various things have even happened
Since then.

A stone axe among others
Quiet on the far side of the glass