Haru wa akebono

Maanantaina näin junassa vaaleansinisilmäisen papan, jonka silmät katsoivat tyytyväisinä maailman halki. Ulkona tanssivat keltaiset lehdet tuulessa. Olisin halunnut saman tien rynnätä lukemaan Sei Shōnagonin Makura no sōshia, mutta suomennosta ei näy, kun suomentaja keskittyy väitöskirjaansa. Ja vaikka olisin jaksanut lukea klassiseksi japaniksi, sekin kappale oli vanhempien kirjahyllyssä. Millainenkohan uusi englanninkielinen käännös on? Alku lienee kuitenkin kaunein kirjan aloitus, oli kieli mikä tahansa.

On Monday, in a train home I saw a grandpa with light blue eyes that were contently looking through the world. Outside the yellow autumn leaves were dancing in the air. Just like that, I wanted to storm home to read Makura no sōshi by Sei Shōnagon,but the Finnish translation is still on its way, translator concentrating on his dissertation. An even if I had wanted to read it in Classical Japanese, that version was on my parents' bookshelf, not mine. I wonder if the new English translation is any good? Anyways, the beginning must be the most beautiful start of a book, whatever the language.

“ In spring it is the dawn that is most beautiful. As the light creeps over the hills, their outlines are dyed a faint red and wisps of purplish cloud trail over them. In summer the nights. Not only when the moon shines, but on dark nights too, as the fireflies flit to and fro, and even when it rains, how beautiful it is! In autumn, the evenings, when the glittering sun sinks close to the edge of the hills and the crows fly back to their nests in threes and fours and twos; more charming still is a file of wild geese, like specks in the distant sky. When the sun has set, one's heart is moved by the sound of the wind and the hum of the insects. In winter the early mornings. It is beautiful indeed when snow has fallen during the night, but splendid too when the ground is white with frost; or even when there is no snow or frost, but it is simply very cold and the attendants hurry from room to room stirring up the fires and bringing charcoal, how well this fits the season's mood! But as noon approaches and the cold wears off, no one bothers to keep the braziers alight, and soon nothing remains but piles of white ashes.”