In Praise Of May

May is a fancy month, a flower month, The month of buds, the month of scents, the month of colors, The month of poplars, marrons, plantanes, Azaleas, tree peonies, wisteria, redbud, Lilacs, tulips, poppies, The month women’s cloths turn Light and thin, the month of love, The festival month Kyoto residents In twirled crowns, arrows on their backs, Compete in horse races, The month girls in the City of Paris Choose for the Flower Festival A beautiful, noble queen; If I may speak of myself, It’s the month I crossed Siberia, crossed Germany, Longing for my love, And arrived in that distant Paris, The month to celebrate our fourth son, Auguste, born last year, With irises, swords, and streamers, The breezy month, the month of The blue moon, of platinum-colored clouds, When the bright sky and the hemp palm Outside the window of my small study Remind me of a Malay island, The month of honeybees, the month of butterflies, The month of birth when ants turn into moths And canaries hatch their eggs, The sensual month, the month of flesh That somehow incites you, The month of Vous voulez wine, of perfumes, Of dances, of music, and of songs, The month of the sun when Myriad things inside me Hold one another tight, become entangled, Moan, kiss, and sweat, the month Of the blue sea, of the forest, of the park, of the fountains, Of the garden, of the terrace, of the gazebo, So here comes May To toss at us a giddiness Sweet as the lemonade you suck with a straw From a thin, skinny glass. Translation by Hiroaki Sato