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Samurai Helmet by David A LaSpina used under creative commons licence
Le Daïmio - matin de bataille
José-Maria de Heredia
Sous le noir fouet de guerre à quadruple pompon,
L'étalon belliqueux en hennissant se cabre
Et fait bruire, avec des cliquetis de sabre,
La cuirasse de bronze aux lames du jupon.
Le Chef vêtu d'airain, de laque et de crépon,
Ôtant le masque à poils de son visage glabre,
Regarde le volcan sur un ciel de cinabre
Dresser la neige où rit l'aurore du Nippon.
Mais il a vu, vers l'Est éclaboussé d'or, l'astre,
Glorieux d'éclairer ce matin de désastre,
Poindre, orbe éblouissant, au-dessus de la mer ;
Et, pour couvrir ses yeux dont pas un cil ne bouge,
Il ouvre d'un seul coup son éventail de fer
Où dans le satin blanc se lève un Soleil rouge.
The Daimyo - morning of battle
José-Maria de Heredia
Translation by Lafcadio Hearn
Under the black war whip with its quadruple pompon the fierce stallion, whinnying, curvets, and makes the rider's bronze cuirass ring against the plates of his shirt of mail, with a sound like the clashing of sword blades.
The Chief, clad in bronze and lacquer and silken crape, removing the bearded masque from his beardless face, turns his gaze to the great volcano, lifting its snows into the cinnabar sky where the dawn of Nippon begins to smile.
Nay! he has already seen the gold-spattered day star, gloriously illuminating the morning of disaster, rise, a blinding disk, above the seas. And to shade his eyes, on both of which not even a single eyelash stirs, he opens with one quick movement his iron fan, wherein upon a field of white satin there rises a crimson sun.
The Daimyo - morning of battle
José-Maria de Heredia
a rough modern translation by Niall Matthews
The Daimyo uses his black war whip,
braided with four silk balls,
and his horse rears up fiercely, neighing.
His bronze breastplate clanks
against the metal pieces of his armour
like swords clashing.
He is dressed in bronze and lacquer and black silk crape.
He takes off his war mask - with its moustache -
and reveals his own smooth hairless face.
He glances towards Mount Fuji.
The snow at the top of the mountain shows
against the amber light of a Japanese dawn.
The sun bursts with gold,
shining with glory
on this morning of death.
To shield his eyes behind the unmoving eyelashes
he flicks open his iron war fan showing
on the white silk
a red rising sun.
Today I'm only indirectly writing about budo. This is about Japanese history and culture as seen by French - or rather Cuban - eyes. In train I wrote about Shimane in Western Japan. The writer Lafcadio Hearn lived in Matsue in Shimane for several years. Lafcadio Hearn was half Irish and half Greek. He emigrated to the USA from Ireland when he was young. He became a writer and wrote about New Orleans. He went to Japan and lived the rest of his life there. He became naturalized as a Japanese citizen and changed his name to Yakumo Koizumi. He wrote several books about Japan - including Japanese ghost stories - and he is still very famous in Japan. Perhaps I'll write about him in more depth another time. He admired this evocative poem. One day I'll also write about the iron war fan - a tessen - that the daimyo flicks open.
06-26-2011 09:23 AM 
