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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354063" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Garden Shukkei-en</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">By way of a vanished bridge we cross this river<br>as a cloud of lifted snow would ascend a mountain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She has always been afraid to come here.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is the river she most <br>remembers, the living<br>and the dead both crying for help.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A world that allowed neither tears nor lamentation.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The matsu trees brush her hair as she passes<br>beneath them, as do the shining strands of barbed wire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where this lake is, there was a lake,<br>where these black pine grow, there grew black pine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where there is no teahouse I see a wooden teahouse<br>and the corpses of those who slept in it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On the opposite bank of the Ota, a weeping willow<br>etches its memory of their faces into the water.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where light touches the face, the character for heart is written.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She strokes a burnt trunk wrapped in straw:<br>I was weak and my skin hung from my fingertips like cloth</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Do you think for a moment we were human beings to them?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She comes to the stone angel holding paper cranes.<br>Not an angel, but a woman where she once had been,<br>who walks through the garden Shukkei-en<br>calling the carp to the surface by clapping her hands.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Do Americans think of us?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So she began as we squatted over the toilets:<br>If you want, I'll tell you, but nothing I say will be enough.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We tried to dress our burns with vegetable oil.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her hair is the white froth of rice rising up kettlesides, her mind also.<br>In the postwar years she thought deeply about how to live.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The common greeting dozo-yiroshku is please take care of me.<br>All hibakusha still alive were children then.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A cemetery seen from the air is a child's city.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I don't like this particular red flower because<br>it reminds me of a woman's brain crushed under a roof.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Perhaps my language is too precise, and therefore difficult to understand?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We have not, all these years, felt what you call happiness.<br>But at times, with good fortune, we experience something close.<br>As our life resembles life, and this garden the garden.<br>And in the silence surrounding what happened to us</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it is the bell to awaken God that we've heard ringing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Carolyn+Forch%C3%A9">Carolyn Forché</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354063" data-title="The Garden Shukkei-en de Carolyn Forché" data-description="By way of a vanished bridge we cross this river
as a cloud of lifted snow would ascend a mountain.

She has always been afraid to come here.

It is the river she most 
remembers, the living
and the dead both crying for help.

A world that allowed ..."></div>
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