▼英訳版「計画停電の夜の散歩」（訳＝ブライアン・ベルグストーム）
(“A Nighttime Walk Through A Planned Blackout”)

　Tonight was the night of a planned blackout in the area where I live, so I decided to go for a walk, slipping a transistor radio in my pocket so I could listen to NHK. My house happened to be located on the border between two arbitrary groupings designated by Tokyo Electric, so lights still shone on one side of the road while the other was pitch black. The moon was out tonight, though, so it was still brighter out here than in the house. The sky was cloudless, and the stars shone so clearly. The wind from the north was cold, but walking around outside was keeping my body warmer than huddling inside had done. Indeed, out here I could see the streets in a way I would never normally be able to, think thoughts I would never otherwise think. A street with no streetlights or traffic signals seems devoid of life, utterly still. At first I thought to myself, “It’s like I’m stranded in uninhabited territory” and “I wonder how long I’ll be able walk around like this,” these kinds of dark thoughts, but as I kept walking, I gradually grew used to my surroundings, until they even began to seem familiar, as if I’d seen them some time before. And indeed I had: these streets were like the nighttime streets of my childhood. Before 24-hour supermarkets and convenience stores, this was what a street looked like after dark (though of course we had streetlights and traffic signals). Thinking of it this way, the present moment no longer seemed so unusual or special, and I decided to take the opportunity to experience a night-like night once more, as I hadn’t been able to experience one for more than a decade; I decided to take in its sights, breathe in its air. Mindful of what might happen if the worst-case scenario came to pass, I strained to inhale and exhale as much of the outside air as I possibly could as I walked. Walking through the lightless, pitch-black streets, one becomes grateful even for the fleeting illumination of a passing bicycle’s headlight -- I decided that next time I ventured out like this, I would bring my bike. People who seemed to be part of a crime-prevention patrol passed by, and I greeted them with a “Gokuro^sama-desu” -- Thank you for your hard work. I passed a young policeman directing traffic, and so to him too: Gokuro^san. I wasn’t part of a patrol, nor was I directing traffic; in this sense, I probably even looked suspicious (after all, I was wearing a black parka to stave off the cold, and over that a black hanten half-coat), but both replied pleasantly enough, “It’s dark, so please be careful.” I felt a little something in this reply of what the writer Rebecca Solnit must mean by her term “disaster utopia.” I thought about so many things as I walked. Like why there was a concept of “disaster volunteerism,” but not “disaster activism.” I thought about organizing a Bike Block Action to illuminate areas darkened by blackouts. I shouldn’t just think about it, I should really do it -- I vowed to start tomorrow, if circumstances allowed. I walked a good two hours, and I found myself thinking so many things. Breathing in the air of a night-like night once more after so long, I thought about the world I’d lived in as a child, the way I’d lived as a child ― more than think about it, I remembered. I thought that I should write about it, some time to come, when I had the opportunity. And I believe it will come -- I am sure it will.

Postscript:
　And so, the blackout ended, and in the moment all the lights in the streets switched back on (and a rather beautiful moment it was), the first thing I saw was a traffic signal, lit green; and I thought, “A good omen -- there’s one.”

　Posted by illcommonz, 2011-03-16, 23:24
　Source: http://illcomm.exblog.jp/13147909/

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▼英訳版「この怪物から、目をそむけないで、はっきりと見るがいい」
（訳＝ブライアン・ベルグストーム）
("This Monster From Which We Must Not Avert Our Eyes,
Upon Which We Must Look Directly")

　Now, looking at the nuclear plant raging and spewing in Fukushima,
　I am reminded of these lines by Hanamori Yasuji, whose birth has
　its 100th anniversary this year.

　“What's wrong with creation?” you ask, and indeed, it’s as you say.
　To avoid getting fat from the unhappiness of others;
　To avoid profiting from the exploitation of human weakness;
　To make good things, things that help us in our lives,
　And then sell them -- indeed, what could be wrong with this kind of creation?
　Companies and people who think this way, work this way:
　They too can profit, and greatly -- it’s true!
　But these days, these kinds of companies, these kinds of people,
　How many can we say there really are?
　Making things that help no one in their lives ―
　Knowing, in fact, that they may well bring ruin ―
　As long as they sell, it matters not;
　In order to sell, any mayhem wrought;
　It seems these are the only companies and people left.
　And these companies, and the government that supported and pushed them,
　Now they proclaim: Look at the prosperity we’ve made, Japan!
　It was all thanks to us! As they thump their chests.
　Really? Could this really be true?
　If so, it behooves you to take another look.
　You government, who supported and pushed such industry,
　Take another look.
　With such pride, you proclaim your creation:
　This world -- you must not avert your eyes
　You must look upon it directly.
　What is this “prosperity”?
　What is this “rich life”?
　The smoke from the factories you created in such frenzy
　Turns our skies heavy and clouded and particle-choked;
　The wastewater you pour out so blithely
　Causes our rivers and seas to grow dark and rotten and still;
　The gases emitted by the things you’ve created
　Wither our plants and trees in summer and stop their flowering in spring.
　Thanks to you, from around us, all green is lost;
　Thanks to you, we now look upon a miserable little scrap of land
　With a miserable little house built on it as a wish too distant even to dream.
　Thanks to you, we now
　Grow heartsick over whether the very fish on our tables is poison.
　But, terrible though it may be to realize,
　The blame for the horrible state of this world we live in
　Is not yours alone to bear.
　It is terrible, unbearably so, to admit,
　But as you flew into frenzy, as your vision grew bloody and red,
　As you pursued profit at the expense of all else, we who watched silently,
　Who did nothing to stop it -- the insanity was ours as well.
　We’ve lived quite long enough;
　We’ve done enough;
　We’ve reached the point where we’ve nothing more to gain, have we not?
　And so, for our children,
　And for our children’s children,
　It is time for us, all of us, to break from this crazy prosperity
　Go back where we started, and begin again from there.
　Let us face this horror we created
　And use our own two hands to make recompense.
　These things that threaten the way we live,
　These things that do nothing to help us in our lives,
　Let us take these hands that created them
　And now use them to throw them away.

(Yasuji Hanamori)

　Posted by illcommonz, 2011-03-16 01:22
　Source: http://illcomm.exblog.jp/13141169/

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　「小田／illcommonzさん、 これはモントリオール-カナダにあるマギール大学の日本語や日本文化と文学に関心を持つ学者・学生たちによるプロジェクトEAST306blogです。日本に起った大災害の後、あまりにも普通のメディアやニューズに不満がイッパイイッパイだったので、今EAST306blogでオルタナティブとして日本語で書いたいいものを見つけて、翻訳して普及しょうとしています。このポストはその中のひとつの「いいもの」です。 ここに書いてくれた事に感動して、日本語を読めず人達にも読ませたかったです。それに、書き手にありがたい気持ちをカナダからお伝えしたかったのです。英訳を一応でましたので、ご覧になって下さい。本当にありがとうございました。これからも、よろしくお願いいたします！」

　はじめまして、そして、どうもありがとうございます。自分の文章はクセがあって、とても訳しにくいので、英語にするのはさぞかし骨が折れたと思います（ブライアンさん、ありがとう）。自分はともかくとして、花森の文章を英語でよんだのははじめてで、英文でよんでも好い文章だと思いました。こちらこそ、これからもよろしくおねがいします。