The Mezunian

Die Positivität ist das Opium des Volkes, aber der Spott ist das Opium der Verrückten

Let’s Read Some Amazing Haiku by Scaffale & Google Translate

I don’t know how, but some suns ago I ran into this page full o’ haiku & made the mad mistake to try understanding it through Google Translate. The poetry I received touched me in places so touchy that I had to share them.


Scaffale:
電信柱(なだらかな緑の山を)

Google Translate:
Telephone pole (a gentle green mountain)

A succinct contrast ’tween humble, e’erlasting nature & the lightning-striking shadow cast by the modern technology brought on by this telephone pole stabbing into the earth like an upside-down sword.

Actually, I have a feeling this isn’t e’en that off o’ a translation.

It gets weirder.


Scaffale:
少年の死んだ日

Google Translate:
Boy dead day

My favorite holiday.


Scaffale:
夕方(姉は小さな妹をすかし)

Google Translate:
Evening (My sister watermark a little sister)

That’s what happens when li’l sis uses the 30-day free trial o’ big sis’s eyeliner.


Scaffale:
夕方(子供が 泣かずに)

Google Translate:
Evening (to not cry children)

A truly Issaesche haiku wherein the perspective is reversed, with the wolves warning o’ the dangers o’ the world’s true monsters: undisciplined children running @ them & possible tugging @ their tails or ears.


Scaffale:
春(この冷たい目をした)

Google Translate:
Spring (was this cold eye)

Stop watching me in April showers, Spring.


Scaffale:
餅をつく

Google Translate:
Tell a rice cake

I told e’m.


Scaffale:
私は甲虫

Google Translate:
I beetle

The cruelly tantalizing title for a Kafka-Asimov crosso’er that’d ne’er happen. The world is a worse place.


Scaffale:
(ある少女に)

Google Translate:
(Keep yourself silent)

Must be the polite way to tell someone to shut their trap.


Scaffale:
生ひ立ち II

Google Translate:
Freshness II

Not as good as the original.


Scaffale:
雨(雨とくさ くさ)

Google Translate:
Rain (rain cloudsiness)

Well, I know this translation can’t be correct, ’cause “cloudsiness” isn’t e’en a real word.


Scaffale:
(何といふ)

Google Translate:
(What is it?)

“Epic” by Faith No More.


Scaffale:
(提燈が一つ)

Google Translate:
(One lantern is one)

“Ayn Rand writes haiku.”


Scaffale:
赤子に

Google Translate:
In a baby

Eww.


Scaffale:
切り通し

Google Translate:
cutting

Emo haiku.


Scaffale:
(茶ぶだうが)

Google Translate:
(Stupid)

I told you to translate, not editorialize, stupid machine.


Scaffale:
II 胃病患者(兎 兎 健康な兎)

Google Translate:
II Stomach disease patient (rabbit healthy rabbit)

This one’s apparently “incomplete,” as opposed to such complete works as “woman” & “face.” I guess we’ll ne’er know if the patient o’ercomes his pain & eats the health-supplying rabbit’s supple meat or not.


Scaffale:
骨牌の占ひ

Google Translate:
Occupation of bone tiles

The noble, but forgotten craft.

I think this is the title o’ some “Angry-Men” British play.


Scaffale:
縫物をする人へ

Google Translate:
To those who do sewing

We sew-lute you.


Scaffale:
言葉(彼女は私の中に)

Google Translate:
Language (she is in me)

English As She Is Spoke 2.0.

Strangely, most o’ the haiku seem to just be random words like “woman,” “horse,” “face,” “night,” & “November.” & many o’ these e’en I can confirm are those words—’less there’s some subtle extra meaning in those words that I don’t know.

Posted in ¿What the Fuck Is this Shit?, Haiku, Senryu y amigos, Poetry

MENTE PER IL CIBO (COME, COME, COME)

I hate food.

I hate its muddy aftertaste

that prods @ my attention hours afterward,

& I hate my bitchy belly folding into itself for it.

Food is needy & ne’er satisfied:

it demands to be heated @ a precise length o’ time

—not too short, not too long—

but cools much too quickly.

Fuck food.

Posted in Poetry

ENKONTRÓ UN JUERGUISTA DIBAGANDO MOLESTO

Un día kamino por la kalle.

Fue una mentira–

Nunka kamino por la kaye.

¿Ké tipo de persona loka

kamina en el sentro de la kalle?

En realidad, kamino por la asera,

pero prefiero desir ke kamino por la kalle,

porke me siento más jugoso,

y me gusta jugoso.

Bueno, mientras estoy kaminando por la asera,

bi un koche–

en aktual, bi muchos.

Pero, dudo ke se importe.

Nunka se importa lo ke dicho…

¿Por ké ablas así?

Posted in Española, Poetry

¿LAS PUTO HOJAS SON DÉBILES? ERES DÉBIL.

Elm, Elm, Elm,

leaves are gone

¿so soon?

Hardly seen them.

Withered, crumpled, blackened…

¿But why these words?

¿Would we e’er call them towering, plain, eye-seeringly sickly green

in the o’erbearing summer?

Slowly…

I scoop them in my icy-dried granite hands—

But race, the thoughts—

I must, I can’t…

There’s nowhere to preserve them

from their abusive but necessary relation with the sun & clouds.

Posted in Poetry