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はてなキーワード:Pebblesとは
Yo,yo, listen up,it's Kimigayotime,
Gonnadrop thesebeats, gonnamakeit rhyme.
Our reign’sgoin’ strong,like arockit stands,
Spreadin’peace andlove across these lands.
Your ruleiseternal,like stones in thesea,
Unchanging, unyielding, foreverit’llbe.
Likepebbles inthe ocean, stackin' up high,
Our future's lookin'bright, reachin' for thesky.
Mayyour reigngo on for a thousand years,
Through thejoy and thepain, through the laughter andtears.
From the depths of ourhearts, weall proclaim,
みんなも教えてくれよお！！
酔ってるからさ！
インターネットはすごいからさ、おれみたいなクソ弱者でも世界中の優れた才能の持ち主が作った音楽を自由に聴けるんだわ。
なんかSpotifyのURL貼ると投稿できんのよね。ごめん。ベタ打ちで。
ChatGPTに全部ぶっ込んで訊いたけど、ロクな回答がなかった。AIはあかんな。
エモいのとChillいのが好きなんやから、シューゲイザーとかポストロックが好きなんだろみたいな、あー、Monoとかが好き。
In a discussion about thecase,someone raised an objection to "someonewhowas not a party to the incident,whowas not from Nagasaki, andwhowas not fromHiroshima, complaining aboutit. Seeing that opinionmade me aware of my position, soI will say what I must say.
Iwas born in Nagasakiand am a third-generation A-bombsurvivor.
I say this because I grew up hearing the stories of the A-bombdamage directly from thosewho suffered from theatomicbombings.
Ifeel thatitis unacceptable forsomeonelike me to speak about the A-bombdamage.
However, there are few A-bombsurvivors left, soI will speak up.
In Nagasaki, children grow up hearing stories about theatomicbombing. We weremade tosit in the gymnasium of an elementary school in the middle ofsummer, where therewas not even anair conditioner or a fan, and for nearly an hour we weremade to listen to stories about theatomicbombing.Itwas hard for meanyway.
Ithink itwas evenmorepainful for the elderly peoplewho told the stories. But Idon't think an elementary schoolkid could have imagined that. I, too, have forgottenmost of the stories Iwas told. I canonly rememberone ortwoatmost.
Another thingis thatat thistime of year, pictures of the victims of theatomicbombing are pasted up in the hallways.
In other parts of the country, these are grotesque images that would cause a fuss from the parentswho arealways nagging about them.
Recently, even the A-bombmuseumhas becomemore gentle inits exhibits, andmost of the radical and horrifying exhibits that would have traumatized visitors have been removed.
Idon't know how elementary schoolsnow teach about the A-bombdamage. But when Iwas in elementary school, there werephotoson display.
Therewasonephoto that I just couldn't faceas an elementary school student.Itwas a picture of Taniguchi Sumiteru(谷口稜曄). Ifyou search forit,you can findit.Itis a shocking picture, but I wouldstilllikeyou to seeit.
I couldn't pass through the hallway where thephotowas displayed, so Ialways took the long way around toanother floor to avoid seeing thephoto.
My grandfatherwas under thebomb and went to the burntruins of thebomb tolook forhissister. I can understandnow that he couldn't turnaway orgoanother way.
There would have been a mountain of peoplestillalive and moaning in theruins of the burntruins. There would have beenmanymorewho would have diedout in agony.
My grandfather walked for miles and miles, towing a rear wheelchair, through the narrow streets of rubble-strewn Nagasaki in search ofhissister.
My grandfatherwas not a child then. But of course there were elementary school childrenwhodid the same thing hedid. Iam not speculating that there were. There were. I heard thestory fromhim, and Istill rememberit.
Ayoungbrother andsisterfound their father's corpse in theruins of thefire and burnedit themselves. Theydidn't have enough wood to burnhimalive, and when theysawhisbrain spillingout, they ranaway, and thatwas thelasttime they eversawhimagain.
I cannever forget thatstory I heard when Iwas akid, and evennowit'spainful andpainful, my hands are shaking and I'm crying.
I keep wondering how that oldmanwho ranaway fromhis father'sbrainwas able toexpose to the public the unimaginably horrible trauma, the scar thatwill never heal, even afterall these years.
Now I think I understand alittle.
Why I can't help buttalk about my grandfather and the oldmannow, evenas I remember my own trauma.
Because thislevel of sufferingisnothing compared to their wordsbeing forgotten.
It'snothing compared to the tremendous suffering thatonce existed thatwill be forgotten,like my hands shaking, myheart palpitating, mynose running with vertigo, and soon.
My grandfather,who went through an unimaginablehell,lived to seehis grandchildren born, and methissister'sdeath in theruins of thefire.
In other words, my grandfatherwasone of the happiest people in theruins of thefire.
My grandfather and that oldman were, afterall, just people wading in the depths ofhell.
I think that the suffering that even peoplewho had experienced unimaginablepain could not imaginewas lyinglikepebbleson the ground in Nagasaki 78 years ago, and noone paidanyattention toit.
Their suffering, which I can't even imagine,isnothing compared to the countless, unimaginable suffering they witnessed, which they pretend never happened.
Memories fade inexorably with each passinghuman mouth. Thememories that those people could neverallow to be forgotten are almost forgotten.
The tremendous suffering of 78 years agoismostlygone, never to be recounted.
Thosewho sufferedthe most from theatomicbombing died rotting in theruins of thefire withoutbeing able to tellanyone aboutit.
Many of thosewhosawitwith their owneyes kept their mouths shut and tookitwith them to their graves.Most of thosewho spoke a few words arestill in their graves.
Compared to the words of the old men, my own words are solight. I would rather keep my mouth shut than speak in suchlight words.
Butstill,someonehas totakeover. Irealize that even my words, which are solight, areonly thetop of the voices that are left in this world to carryon thestory of theatomicbombing.
I know howitfeels to think that Iam theonlyone.Still, Ihope thatyouwill not shutyour mouth.I know that I have closed my mouth because I thought I shouldn'ttalk aboutit, and thatis the result.
Sometimes I almost choose to stop imagining the unimaginable suffering andlivemy life consuming other people's suffering forfun.
Iam writing this while Istill have some imagination of the suffering of the old peoplewhose voices,faces, and even words I can no longer recall.
すまん。勝手に翻訳した。拡散はどうするかな。redditとかに投稿するのがいいのか?
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I have seen some posts asking if they shouldtalk about "thecase" even though they were not involved init and were not born in Nagasaki orHiroshima, and Iam abit aware ofit, so I have to say what I have to say. I say this because Iwas born in Nagasaki,am a third generationatomicbombsurvivor, and grew up hearing the stories of thosewho experienced theatomicbombing firsthand.I knowit's alittlebit too much for me, but I'm going to say this because there are very fewsurvivors left.
In Nagasaki, children grow up hearing stories about theatomicbombing. They were stuffed into sushi for nearly an hour in the gymnasium of an elementary school in the middle ofsummer, with noair conditioner or fan, and told stories about theatomicbombing. Thatwas a hardtime for me. Ithink it must have been even harder for the old peoplewho told the stories, but therewas no way an elementary schoolkid could imagine such a thing, and I had forgottenmost of the stories I had been told for a longtime. I have forgottenmost of the stories Iwas told. I canonly rememberone ortwoatmost. Thereisonemore hard thing. Every year around thistime, a row of grotesque images that woulddrive thePTAcrazy in other areas are prominently displayed in the hallways. Thesedays, I hear that theatomicbombmuseumhas been bleachedout andmany of the radical and horrifying exhibits that traumatized visitors have beentaken down. Idon't know if they arestill there, but they were there when Iwas in elementary school.
Therewasonephoto that I just couldn't face when Iwas in elementary school.Itis a picture of Sumiteru Taniguchi. Ifyou search forit,you can findit.Itis a shocking picture, but I wouldlikeyou totake alookatit. I couldn't pass through the hallway where thephotowas posted, so Ialways took the long way around toanother floor of the schoolbuilding to avoid seeing thephoto.
Now I'm thinking that my grandfather,who headed into the burntruins tolook forhissister, couldn't have turnedaway ortaken a differentpath. There would have been a mountain of peoplestillalive and moaning, not just pictures,and a mountainmorewho would have given upat the end of their suffering. He walked for miles and miles, towinghis handcart through the narrow streets of rubble-strewn Nagasaki in search ofhissister. My grandfatherwas not a childatthe time, but of course there were childrenwhodid similar things. Not that there wouldn't have been. There were. I heard thestory fromhim, and Istill rememberit. Ayoungbrother andsisterfound their father'sbody in theruins of afire and they burnedit. Theydidn't have enough wood to burnhisbody, and when theysaw theraw brain that spilledout, they ranaway and thatwas thelasttime they eversawhimanymore.
I cannever forget thestory I heard when Iwas akid, and evennowitispainful andpainful, my hands are shaking and Iam crying. I keep wondering how the oldmanwho escaped from that father's brain could have been able to unravelthe most horrible trauma imaginable andexposeit to the public with scars thatwill never heal.
Now I think I can understand alittle.
The reason I can't help buttalk about my grandfather and that oldman, even if I have to rehash my own trauma,is that thislevel of sufferingisnothing compared tothe fact that their wordswill be forgotten. My hands shaking, myheart palpitating and dizzy, mynose runningwith tears,it'snothing compared to the tremendous suffering thatwasonce there andwill be forgotten.
My grandfather,who went through an unimaginablehell,lived to seehis grandchildren born, and methissister'sdeath in theruins of thefire. In other words, my grandfatherwasone of the happiest people in theruins of thefire. My grandfather and that oldman were, afterall, just people wading in the depths ofhell. I think that the suffering that even peoplewho had experienced unimaginablepain could not imaginewas lyinglikepebbles in Nagasaki 78 years ago, and noone paidanyattention toit. Their suffering, which I can't even imagine,isnothing compared to the countless, tremendous suffering they witnessed, which they pretend never happened.
Memories fade inexorably everytime peopletalk about them. Thememories that those people could notallow to be forgotten arenow largely forgotten; the tremendous suffering of 78 years agoismostly gone, never to be recountedagain. Thosewho sufferedthe most from theatomicbombing died rotting in theruins of thefire, unable to tellanyone aboutit.Many of thosewhosawitwith their owneyes kept their mouths shut and tookitwith them to their graves.Most of thosewho spoke a few words arenow under the grave.
Compared to the words of the old men, my own words are solight. I would rather keep my mouth shut than speak in suchlight words. Butstill,someonehas totakeover. Irealize that even my words, which are solight, areonly thetop of the voices that are left in this world to carryon thestory of theatomicbombing.I know howit feels to wonder ifsomeonelike myselfisallowed to speak about this.Still, Ihope thatyouwill not shutyour mouth. Thisis the result of our silence.
Sometimes I almost choose to stop imagining the unimaginable suffering andlivemy life consuming other people's suffering for thefun ofit. Iam writing this while Istill have some imagination of the suffering of the old peoplewhose voices,faces, and even words I can no longer recall.
Translator'snote:The original post inJapaneseis aresponse to a postby aJapanese contributorwho wondered if hewas qualified to speakouton the subject of the A-bomb when hewas not fromHiroshima and Nagasaki, butstill spokeout about Barbie and the A-bomb. I translatedithere because Ithink it deserves to be readbythe world.
鎌倉時代以降、「わが君は」より語感のすんだ「君が代」と変わったそうです。
http://www.genki-ehime.jp/kimigayo.html
http://clarawieck.blog.ocn.ne.jp/musicmusic/2009/03/post_a129.html
http://kaijyuu.chu.jp/kokoro/kimigayo.html
これを読むと、もともとは長寿を願う歌が、
というか、変な訳し方した、バジル・ホール・チェンバレンってやつも悪い・・・きがする。
君が代は
さざれ石の
巌（いわお）となりて
苔（こけ）のむすまで
汝（なんじ）の治世が幸せな数千年であるように
われらが主よ、治めつづけたまえ、今は小石であるものが
時代を経て、あつまりて大いなる岩となり
神さびたその側面に苔が生（は）える日まで
A thousand years of happylife be thine!
Liveon, my Lord, till what arepebbles now,
By age united, to greatrocks shall grow,
Whose venerable sides the moss doth line.
Thepebbles you’ve arranged
In the sand they’re strange
They speak to me like constellationsas we lie here
And that you never seem to be in short supply of
Oooh…so babylet’s get it on
Drinkingwine and killingtime sitting in the summersun
You know, I wanted you so long
Sowhy’d you have to drop thatbomb on me
You said we been friends too long
Were long enough to bloom
Theflowers on the summer dress you wore inspring
The way we laughedas one
And then you dropped thebomb
ThatI know you too long for us to have a thing
REPEATCHORUS (2X)
Could it be this, the starfish in your eyes
Tell our silentwings, youfly away on
Were long enough to bloom
Theflowers on that sunbeam dress you wore inspring
We laughedas one,why’d you drop thatbomb on me
REPEATCHORUS
Could it be this…
The honeysuckle guess you seem to show me
Could it be this…
Forsevendays injune I wasn’t lonely
Could it be this…
You never gave metime to say Ilove you
Could it be this…
I know you don’t believe me, but it’s so true
Don’t walk away from me girl
I read the stories in your eyes
