Raisin I.
"On Tuesdays, I like to eat my father.
It tastes of venison.
Bread dough is what he's made of.
I know he's really a woman, but you can't say this to his face
or his eyes will turn hollow.
When the fire is hot and the sun goes down,
his dead brother whispers in his ear, you're a woman.
He's made of bread dough.
His nipples are raisins.
The eyes of a woman he went to see in prison yesterday
were also raisins.
My father has black nipples.
I've never seen them.
They're buried deep in the flesh of his chest.
Like mother and daughter, they lie side
by side in a cold sweat.
Once a day, they wake up and leap out
of his flesh like a scream.
My father tells me about them because he
knows I'll like them.
But he doesn't show them to me.
He presses them back into place before I open my eyes.
Usually, I eat my bread cold.
As I chew, I feel the warmth of his flesh.
I chew and chew, and imagine I am continuing to chew.
In reality, I stop chewing and look around
and find the raisins in the oven.
They're burned and smell like the shadow of a stag.
A woman once lived in this house.
When my father moved in, she was abducted.
I can no longer recall the woman's face.
I feel annoyed and go on eating.
I sit down on the chair and go on eating,
for I like eating my father.
It makes him think of the woman and repeat her words, which
he taught to her.
Whoever sits on the chair must want to stand.
Whoever stands in the kitchen must want to fly.
I could fly without effort if I stopped eating.
But I go on eating, and grow heavier and heavier.
I wish I were made of raisins.
In the language of raisins, I say,
do not call me by your place name.
Do not give me women's shoes.
It is the night of the festival of girls.
My father gives me a woman's spoon.
I can't sleep when my bed smells of burnt venison.
My father tells me he used to be a man.
When he ate bread from the oven, he became a woman.
He shouldn't have told me that.
I knew everything about him.
The bread dough told me ages ago.
Now we can no longer go on eating under one roof.
I run away from home and have nothing left to eat.
At the edge of town stands a house.
The door is ajar.
From the house comes the smell of venison.
I go in and see a bed.
It has three legs.
In the bed lies my father, who can't possibly be here.
His belly is soft and warm.
In his belly, my mother sleeps.
I'd have to wait a long time for her to be born.
He doesn't want to let her go yet,
otherwise I'll have to keep eating away at his belly
until I reach her.
I stand in the garden and ask the apple tree
what will become of her.
I can hear two people breathing in unison.
One sleeps in the other's belly.
The belly is made of bread dough.
I'm not hungry.
I don't have to be hungry to want to eat the bread.
It is dark now, and the lantern casts the shadow of a hunter.
If it is my father, I will kill him
before he can shoot the sleeping woman.
It is my father.
I have no gun.
He gives a cry and falls.
A fatal bullet is embedded in his belly
as proof of the murder.
I didn't do anything.
From his belly, two raisin eyes peer out.
Two people are dead, and a third survives."
朝一番の大きな卵が太陽のお尻から産み落とされ 新宿３丁目の舗装通りに打ち砕かれて
ジュージューと焼き上がる
まだ柔らかい黄身の上を バスが通る 市電が走る
市電の中で「ハクショイ」とくしゃみした あなたの唾が床に落ちて
干からびたチューインガムから 芽が出る 花が咲く
花に水をやるあなたのじょうろがどんどん軽くなり あなたは空へと舞い上がる
風は西風 光る空
[音声なし]
言葉
Kot, Bar.
口の中から
Kutsche, Norm, Nagel, Kakao, Bad.
飛び出す
Topf, das.
唾と一緒に
Tabak, treu, ich schon, nee.
花咲く
Hahn, nah, Sack.
咲く
Sack.
口が裂ける
[INAUDIBLE]
咲き乱れる
転がり出る
Köln, Gader
単語
Tango.
遠くまで
Türklingelmade?
止まらない
Tunnelmaler, nein.
一度
Ich dumm.
動きだしたら
Hugo Kinder starb im Taler.
言葉
Kot, wahr.
翻る
Hildegard, roh.
誰のもの
Da rennt Mond.
でもない
Des Monstrums, nein.