Tree
by Shuntarō Tanikawa 1931 - 2024 (photo by man of aran)
Japanese poet, Shuntarō Tanikawa, lived 92 years. He died on November 13th of this year. He wrote more than 60 books of poetry. The poem below is from Selected Poems (trans. William I. Elliott & Kazuo Kawamura). Enjoy.
Tree by Shuntarō Tanikawa (Naked, 1988) Pretty soon I'll be a tree. The tip of my middle finger tingles and sprouts green leaves. And then I find that other leaves grow out of my ring finger, index finger, and my arms fork into limber branches. Inside my shirt my body becomes a rugged trunk. My toes dissolve into mud and tepid water creeps up to my lower belly. I quit going to school. I quit playing baseball, quit fishing. I just stand still, even at night. Rain refreshes me. No one notices me at all. They just hurry by. Until the day I fade I go nowhere. I keep on rustling, swaying in the wind.




Such a fine poem. I have envisioned myself becoming part of all the growth and life the soil nourished by my spare parts will provide. I love this iconic tree and the notion that it too will begin another bit of the cycle of life.
Thank you for sharing ✍️🌱