Cathedral in the Thrashing Rain
O another deluge of wind and rain
Collar turned up, getting drenched in this splashing rain,
and looking up at you—it's me,
me who never fails to come here once a day
It's that Japanese
This morning
about daybreak the storm suddenly went violent, terrible,
and now is blowing through Paris from one end to the other
I have yet to know the directions of this land
I don't even know which way this storm is facing, raging over the Ile-de-France
Only because even today I wanted to stand here
and look up at you, Cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris,
I came, getting drenched,
only because I wanted to touch you,
only because I wanted to kiss your skin, the stone, unknown to anyone
O another deluge of wind and rain.
Though it's already time for morning coffee,
a little while ago I looked from the Pont Neuf,
the boats on the Seine were still tied up to the banks, like puppies
The leaves of the gentle plane trees shining in their autumn colors on the banks
are like flocks of buntings chased by hawks,
glittering, scattering, flying about
The chestnut trees behind you,
each time their heads, spreading branches, get mussed up,
starting-color leaves dance up into the sky
By the splashes of rain blowing down, they are then
dashed like arrows on the cobblestones and burst
All the square is like a pattern,
filled with flowing silver water, and isles of golden-brown burned brown leaves.
Then there's the noise of the downpour resounding in my pores
It's the noise of something roaring, grinding
As soon as human beings hushed up
all the other things in Paris began at once to shout in chorus
With golden plane tree leaves falling all over my coat,
I'm standing in it
Storms are like this in my country, Japan, too.
Only, we don't see you soaring.
O Notre Dame, Notre Dame,
rock-like, mountain-like, eagle-like, crouching lion-like cathedral,
reef sunk in vast air,
square pillar of Paris,
sealed by the blinding splatters of rain,
taking the slapping wind head-on,
O soaring in front, Notre Dame de Paris,
it's me, looking up at you
It's that Japanese
My heart trembles now that I see you
Looking at your form like a tragedy,
a young man from a far distant country is moved
Not at all knowing for what reason, my heart pounds
in unison with the screams in the air, resounds as if terrified
O another deluge of wind and rain
How furious these four elements of nature
that would, if they could, snuff out your existence, return you to the original void
Smoking phosphorescent shafts of rain
Scales of the clouds flying, mottled, not quite touching your top.
Blasts of the persistent clinging gales, trying to snap off at least one column of the bell tower.
Innumerable, small, shining elves that bump against the rose window dentils, burst, flow, and flap about
Only the gargoyles, the monsters on the high architectural rims, visible between splashes,
taking on the flitting flocks of elves,
raise their paws, crane their necks,
bare their teeth, blow out burning fountains of breath
The many lines of mysterious stone saints make eeric gestures; nod to one another,
the enormous arc-boutants on the side reveal their familiar upper arms
To their many arms that form arcs aslant,
O what a concentration of wind and rain
I hear the reverberation of the organ during Mass.
How is the rooster at the tip of the tall slender steeple doing?
Flapping curtains of water have dammed up all directions
You stand in them.
O another deluge of wind and rain
A cathedral standing in it
solid with the weight of eight centuries,
a mass of many millions of stones piled and carved by believers of old
A great scaffold for truth, sincerity, and eternity
You stand wordless,
you stand, taking on, motionless, the force of the blasting storm
You know the strength of nature's force,
have the composure of mind to leave yourself to the rampant wind and rain, till the earth shakes.
O rusty gray iron-color skin of stone glistening in the rain
My hands touching it
feel as if they were touching Esmeralda's white palm.
And along with Esmeralda, the monster
Quasimodo who delights in storms is hiding near some molding
A just soul crammed into an ugly body,
a firm strength,
silently absorbing on his back
the words of those who wounded, those who whipped, those who would do wrong, those who despised, and not to say the least, those who were petty,
he ground himself to serve God,
O only you could give birth to that monster.
How many non-hunchbacked, non-deformed, more joyful, more daily Quasimodos
have been born since then
and nurtured on your breast full of solemn, yet protective motherly love, and gentle.
O Cathedral in the thrashing rain
Baton swung down abruptly at the sudden
turn of the wind and rain that took a breath and has driven itself harder,
all the instruments of the heavens gone berserk,
the dance swirls around them
O Cathedral, you who at such a moment keep ever more silent and soar,
Cathedral, you who waren motionless the houses of Paris suffering the storm,
please do not think me rude,
who, hands on your cornerstone,
has his hot cheek pressed on your skin,
it's me, the drunken one
It's that Japanese.
Collar turned up, getting drenched in this splashing rain,
and looking up at you—it's me,
me who never fails to come here once a day
It's that Japanese
This morning
about daybreak the storm suddenly went violent, terrible,
and now is blowing through Paris from one end to the other
I have yet to know the directions of this land
I don't even know which way this storm is facing, raging over the Ile-de-France
Only because even today I wanted to stand here
and look up at you, Cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris,
I came, getting drenched,
only because I wanted to touch you,
only because I wanted to kiss your skin, the stone, unknown to anyone
O another deluge of wind and rain.
Though it's already time for morning coffee,
a little while ago I looked from the Pont Neuf,
the boats on the Seine were still tied up to the banks, like puppies
The leaves of the gentle plane trees shining in their autumn colors on the banks
are like flocks of buntings chased by hawks,
glittering, scattering, flying about
The chestnut trees behind you,
each time their heads, spreading branches, get mussed up,
starting-color leaves dance up into the sky
By the splashes of rain blowing down, they are then
dashed like arrows on the cobblestones and burst
All the square is like a pattern,
filled with flowing silver water, and isles of golden-brown burned brown leaves.
Then there's the noise of the downpour resounding in my pores
It's the noise of something roaring, grinding
As soon as human beings hushed up
all the other things in Paris began at once to shout in chorus
With golden plane tree leaves falling all over my coat,
I'm standing in it
Storms are like this in my country, Japan, too.
Only, we don't see you soaring.
O Notre Dame, Notre Dame,
rock-like, mountain-like, eagle-like, crouching lion-like cathedral,
reef sunk in vast air,
square pillar of Paris,
sealed by the blinding splatters of rain,
taking the slapping wind head-on,
O soaring in front, Notre Dame de Paris,
it's me, looking up at you
It's that Japanese
My heart trembles now that I see you
Looking at your form like a tragedy,
a young man from a far distant country is moved
Not at all knowing for what reason, my heart pounds
in unison with the screams in the air, resounds as if terrified
O another deluge of wind and rain
How furious these four elements of nature
that would, if they could, snuff out your existence, return you to the original void
Smoking phosphorescent shafts of rain
Scales of the clouds flying, mottled, not quite touching your top.
Blasts of the persistent clinging gales, trying to snap off at least one column of the bell tower.
Innumerable, small, shining elves that bump against the rose window dentils, burst, flow, and flap about
Only the gargoyles, the monsters on the high architectural rims, visible between splashes,
taking on the flitting flocks of elves,
raise their paws, crane their necks,
bare their teeth, blow out burning fountains of breath
The many lines of mysterious stone saints make eeric gestures; nod to one another,
the enormous arc-boutants on the side reveal their familiar upper arms
To their many arms that form arcs aslant,
O what a concentration of wind and rain
I hear the reverberation of the organ during Mass.
How is the rooster at the tip of the tall slender steeple doing?
Flapping curtains of water have dammed up all directions
You stand in them.
O another deluge of wind and rain
A cathedral standing in it
solid with the weight of eight centuries,
a mass of many millions of stones piled and carved by believers of old
A great scaffold for truth, sincerity, and eternity
You stand wordless,
you stand, taking on, motionless, the force of the blasting storm
You know the strength of nature's force,
have the composure of mind to leave yourself to the rampant wind and rain, till the earth shakes.
O rusty gray iron-color skin of stone glistening in the rain
My hands touching it
feel as if they were touching Esmeralda's white palm.
And along with Esmeralda, the monster
Quasimodo who delights in storms is hiding near some molding
A just soul crammed into an ugly body,
a firm strength,
silently absorbing on his back
the words of those who wounded, those who whipped, those who would do wrong, those who despised, and not to say the least, those who were petty,
he ground himself to serve God,
O only you could give birth to that monster.
How many non-hunchbacked, non-deformed, more joyful, more daily Quasimodos
have been born since then
and nurtured on your breast full of solemn, yet protective motherly love, and gentle.
O Cathedral in the thrashing rain
Baton swung down abruptly at the sudden
turn of the wind and rain that took a breath and has driven itself harder,
all the instruments of the heavens gone berserk,
the dance swirls around them
O Cathedral, you who at such a moment keep ever more silent and soar,
Cathedral, you who waren motionless the houses of Paris suffering the storm,
please do not think me rude,
who, hands on your cornerstone,
has his hot cheek pressed on your skin,
it's me, the drunken one
It's that Japanese.
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