Kiwao Nomura

*translated by Kyoko Yoshida and Forrest Gander*



 



Manhattan is



to approach Manhattan



 



taking a yellow cab from JFK and



still looking for it



when I wonder will it show up



asks my wife (same case



when we went to see the Moroccan desert wasn’t it



I calm her down



 



it’s all about the approach



Manhattan is



its own desert (perhaps



 



and finally



like a distant mirage



the silhouette of that throng of skyscrapers comes clear



we are thrilled a little (from the oasis town of Erfoud lush with date palms



thirty kilometers by Land Rover (beyond



the tracts of dirt and rocks



graceful (so exquisitely graceful



golden swells of dunes rising (we



were thrilled a little



 



Manhattan is



nothing but a marvel of nature (perhaps



 



behind the neighboring (Queens?



Brooklyn? buildings and billboards it slinks



off and disappears (disappears



and reappears (meanwhile



growing more intense



the pleasures of approach



the anguish of approach



in a mesh (Manhattan is



growing more intense



 



and then



as though to shield it again



an elevated subway’s rusty viaduct (rusty in pure bright auburn (behind



which the throng of skyscrapers



stand in contrast like the light and shade of America herself



 



or (let’s put it this way



if Manhattan were a gift for us



it’s been decorated with rusty viaduct



like a ribbon of crude joke



and thrust at us (or



 



Manhattan is



pure ferocity (perhaps



its gentle cage of rusty auburn shields it



the cage vertically and diagonally (meshed like arabesque patterns



ruddling our cheeks



 



and yet



the mesh unbinds and the city emerges (endlessly



unbinds and (unbinds and (unbinds and it emerges



the ribbon and cheeks left



circumvented by a forest



of throated hollows



 



Manhattan is



unbinding and emerging (unbinding and emerging



 



suddenly



having crossed the Queensboro Bridge



we pull up short



of a greeting



to those throated hollows

*translated by Kyoko Yoshida and Forrest Gander*



 



a sea beyond this world (what if



there was (just a (fuzz



of thought I had (imagination dead



imagine (we’re told for untold ages to imagine



the meaning of the world as folds



and the beyond as folds



over the elastic roll (of fold on fold (sss… sea



(like that (still



we imagine out of habit (yes-yes



perhaps



somewhere in the dark universe floating (floating?



a sea?  (yes (fuzzy



distant source, a watery uterus (no



babbling (like abrasions



profuse grooves (a speck of green



in the sea of tranquility (floating like soft rock (as



if you consider it too much                                                    



the subject (which is your head (so to speak



would crash down (like that (sss…sea



just (a thought but



it’s the spray at least (yes-yes



in which I would be soaked



 



the sea beyond this world (and (for a long time



the ordinary sea (again, again (having swum in the encephaloid



quietude  (fuzz (in what way



in what way are they different



in that quietude (just the (ordinary sea



swells  (like a medusa



the sea beyond this world  (palpitating  (adrift



promenading (this one as (a glossal mire



the ordinary sea  (so  (moon-inclined



tonguing and tongued  (this  (tongue



beyond all world  (sinister red  (the sea  (sinister red            



itself like  (a moon  (a mire



 



and you see



the sea beyond this world (so to speak  (already and always



took place  (people there



tugged their boats where they pleased  (and I’ll breach



kiss  (address  (tomorrow embrace



the winsome distillate of your flesh



so to speak (when everything is breached



there’s nothing left to do  (boats move  (as a thousand grooves



dazzling diagrams



and only on those grooves



can I survive  (imagine  (that



the stinging surface (of my skin and



beaded tears of  (semen that never  (poured into you



are  (grooves



as well (as the sounds at our death