hello :)Seeing as classes won`t start until monday and I felt like working on my Japanese translating skills a bit, I translated some parts of Yoshimoto Banana`s collective stories 'パイナツプリン', meaning either Pineapple-, or Pinenuts pudding. I`m not sure,but since sources on the internets call it by both, I`ve decided on the better sounding name of Pineapple Pudding.
I`ve actually been starting reading her works since not to long ago when I was told her works are fun to read and, although commercial, supposedly portrayed an image of an changing Japan seen through the eyes of a younger generation. Well, that, and the terrific artwork on the covers, of course.
Undoubtly I have made some errors in the translation itself, and anyone having read this short story is very welcome to show me the error of my ways :`D
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
吉本バナナ
パイナツプリン
Pineapple pudding
パイナツプリン
Pineapple pudding
About the author
Even though during interviews I often get asked the question of why I write novels (well, off course..), at times like that I would just respond with a ‘well, it just came naturally to me’. Coincidentally, for some reason wanting to become a writer held the same kind of allure to me as jobs such as a pilot or a kindergarten teacher. I have been open about this all along and there was not a single change in these feelings of mine. I often get told `you must be used telling you just felt like wanting to become a writer huh? But it is talent, and luck’, but I have a troubling feeling that is really not the case. Over thinking such things as ‘talent’ and ‘luck’ won`t change a single thing. But at times like that, when quietly continuing to work I can`t help but feel this nagging feeling coming up to me. Guess I’ve written stuff similar to Murphy’s laws eh? However, ever since a child I have sensibly thought I wanted to be a pilot, but through realistically striving at it I must have come to the realization that I couldn`t. well, maybe I could, you know, even though I know becoming the president of the United States, or say, a giraffe, would be impossible. Be that as it may, lately I have found myself thinking; could it be that an individual is only restricted by the limits he sets for himself? I think People that know their own forte are just wonderful. I too would like to become like that. Even though as a child I would lose sight of any possible conceivable limit, I felt that because the residue of the things one achieves each day retains in one’s hands, heart as well as mind, becoming an adult is really a great thing. Writing is one of those techniques I have been fortunate enough to acquire.
The other day I was at the funeral of an acquaintance where I ran into an old friend from my time at elementary school. Even though I often meet her, she is truly an individualistic person and I have never met anyone living quite as free as her. I suppose you could say that living in this kind familiar reality is possible by not thinking too much about anything. I vividly remember the past days my friend would come over whenever she got rejected, she would come to my house to eat dinner, followed by an ‘I`m off to bed’ and passed out sleeping. I am quite envious of the sense of ‘relying on people’ my friend has at mind. Put simply, the expression of unhappiness. That brute of a woman is terrific at one particular pastime. Ever since a child she would, without exception, find a special ‘something’ in interesting media such as books, TV-shows and Manga. That something that prevents us from boredom, that something that at a certain time matches our mood. This thing, which may be called taste, was something my friend had plenty of.
It was raining on the day is visited the grave, and cold. The cemetery was at the end of the grounds, and of an unusually large size. My friend and I walked on to the burial grounds sharing the same umbrella. She asked me, ‘hasn`t your new book come out yet?’. ‘Nope’, I`d reply. When I told her so, she said, `Tell me when it does, all right? They`re mostly pretty interesting`. Relieved as I was, I respond with a ‘ah, uhuh’ and somehow felt as though I was getting closer to being able to become a writer.
I wonder if i was right.
About about the author
Even though I rarely meet my ‘friend’, ‘佐久間さん’, she often figures in my stories. Of the times I have met her I can remember how I am always taken aback and especially recall the sensation of profound influence she bestowed on me. I believe that experience is a thing thoroughly carved out of something deep within your own body, and if that turns out to be a blissful thing, all the better. The other day we met again after not seeing each other for a while, and she was as offbeat as always. If you think about the way people that are as out of the ordinary to the extent she is live in the nooks of cities, it makes you wonder just how many interesting people are living in today`s Japan.
It excites me.
バナナの密室
The sealed room of the banana plant
I often get asked as to the origins my name, and well, I think that is more than normal. In such cases I would suitably as well as appropriately say; ‘because I like the flower of the banana plant, you know’.
I was still a waitress named ‘Puuko’ when I first laid my eyes on the flowers of the banana plant for the first time. Every week the plant on that big central table, which at that time was looked after by some shop somewhere in Aoyama, gave birth to a number of the most magnificent of flowers. Seeing as it was an awfully crowded store, I was sure the plant was hardly looked after properly. But I was proven wrong, seeing as the waitresses of the place ended up spending every minute of every day gazing at that flower atop that table. It was on one such day the bananas came. In any case, the flowers were enormous. I would say it was an objet d'art, rather than a flower. Exactly like the flowers in Little shop of Horrors, or my favorite illustrated book little Gabriellza(1). There, in that hulking flowerpot, what a single dynamic flower it was. In that single glance, and while I was gazing it in the days following, I fell in love. I was just delighted by the simple fact that such a big weird thing could exist in our world. The leaves and the thick stem were just so cool. When I told how much I loved it, one evening the shop owner let me have the flower when they finished displaying the plant…well, that is putting it plainly, but the total length would be about a meter and as heavy as lead. Furthermore, because I went drinking instead of going straight home the people at the bar kept hassling me about it, asking what it was. It was all the more pitiful how the plant, that had always been warm inside, and it being cold midwinter Japan, ended up dying.
The banana plant in the flowerpot in my home right now was a celebratory gift from my classmates from my days at elementary school. Even though it doesn`t have any flowers it is chillingly big. ‘We thought we should give you a banana plant as a group’, said class representative Hamagawa.‘wow, thanks’ I said frankly. ‘‘Just, absolutely don’t regret it huh?’ Hamagawa said. ‘?’ I thought, but the pot itself seemed big enough in itself to regret it. While has a considerable less leaves now, at first my small room was just full of bananas.
As a matter of fact, the child that brought that enormous pot over at my home at that time suddenly died a few days ago. When I heard the news of the death of the child that said ‘it`s fine, it`s fine’ when helping carrying the heavy pot through the rain to my house that one time, I felt that that concluded it. Somehow, it is a story about destiny. I have to treat the banana plant at my home with great care. But right when I thought if you could you really keep a banana plant in Japan, I witnessed the most terrifying sight.
When one day my friends said ‘let`s go look at Hydrangeas in Kamakura!’ we went to a place called ‘Hase’ to enjoy ourselves. While there we, by chance, met an attractive middle aged man working at a certain publishing company. After feeling quite moved after meeting his wife and children and coming up to his balcony overseeing the sea, I mentioned how I loved the sea and the Hydrangeas, and he took us to a famous temple nearby. On the mid-slope of the admirable hillside was a wild banana plant with a width of over 3 meters and flowers that made me think they were as big as two fisted hands, whistling in the sea breeze. It was a tremendous spectacle. Everyone looked up on impulse, and every person all in turn amazed about the banana plant. Being even more moved than I was about the Hydrangeas, I thought, ‘This name, Banana, isn`t that bad`.
About the sealed room of the banana plant
After I got home, I was surprised to find the pots with branched of banana plants were all gnawed up by my dog. Not surprisingly, these big banana plants that are just impossible to keep in an apartment in Japan would even lose out to a puppy. It is not a rare thing for me to come across the flowers of the banana plant, but now and then just having the feeling of being reunited with them brings a smile to my face.
(1) ガブリエリザちゃん：A Japanese children`s book.
Even though during interviews I often get asked the question of why I write novels (well, off course..), at times like that I would just respond with a ‘well, it just came naturally to me’. Coincidentally, for some reason wanting to become a writer held the same kind of allure to me as jobs such as a pilot or a kindergarten teacher. I have been open about this all along and there was not a single change in these feelings of mine. I often get told `you must be used telling you just felt like wanting to become a writer huh? But it is talent, and luck’, but I have a troubling feeling that is really not the case. Over thinking such things as ‘talent’ and ‘luck’ won`t change a single thing. But at times like that, when quietly continuing to work I can`t help but feel this nagging feeling coming up to me. Guess I’ve written stuff similar to Murphy’s laws eh? However, ever since a child I have sensibly thought I wanted to be a pilot, but through realistically striving at it I must have come to the realization that I couldn`t. well, maybe I could, you know, even though I know becoming the president of the United States, or say, a giraffe, would be impossible. Be that as it may, lately I have found myself thinking; could it be that an individual is only restricted by the limits he sets for himself? I think People that know their own forte are just wonderful. I too would like to become like that. Even though as a child I would lose sight of any possible conceivable limit, I felt that because the residue of the things one achieves each day retains in one’s hands, heart as well as mind, becoming an adult is really a great thing. Writing is one of those techniques I have been fortunate enough to acquire.
The other day I was at the funeral of an acquaintance where I ran into an old friend from my time at elementary school. Even though I often meet her, she is truly an individualistic person and I have never met anyone living quite as free as her. I suppose you could say that living in this kind familiar reality is possible by not thinking too much about anything. I vividly remember the past days my friend would come over whenever she got rejected, she would come to my house to eat dinner, followed by an ‘I`m off to bed’ and passed out sleeping. I am quite envious of the sense of ‘relying on people’ my friend has at mind. Put simply, the expression of unhappiness. That brute of a woman is terrific at one particular pastime. Ever since a child she would, without exception, find a special ‘something’ in interesting media such as books, TV-shows and Manga. That something that prevents us from boredom, that something that at a certain time matches our mood. This thing, which may be called taste, was something my friend had plenty of.
It was raining on the day is visited the grave, and cold. The cemetery was at the end of the grounds, and of an unusually large size. My friend and I walked on to the burial grounds sharing the same umbrella. She asked me, ‘hasn`t your new book come out yet?’. ‘Nope’, I`d reply. When I told her so, she said, `Tell me when it does, all right? They`re mostly pretty interesting`. Relieved as I was, I respond with a ‘ah, uhuh’ and somehow felt as though I was getting closer to being able to become a writer.
I wonder if i was right.
About about the author
Even though I rarely meet my ‘friend’, ‘佐久間さん’, she often figures in my stories. Of the times I have met her I can remember how I am always taken aback and especially recall the sensation of profound influence she bestowed on me. I believe that experience is a thing thoroughly carved out of something deep within your own body, and if that turns out to be a blissful thing, all the better. The other day we met again after not seeing each other for a while, and she was as offbeat as always. If you think about the way people that are as out of the ordinary to the extent she is live in the nooks of cities, it makes you wonder just how many interesting people are living in today`s Japan.
It excites me.
バナナの密室
The sealed room of the banana plant
I often get asked as to the origins my name, and well, I think that is more than normal. In such cases I would suitably as well as appropriately say; ‘because I like the flower of the banana plant, you know’.
I was still a waitress named ‘Puuko’ when I first laid my eyes on the flowers of the banana plant for the first time. Every week the plant on that big central table, which at that time was looked after by some shop somewhere in Aoyama, gave birth to a number of the most magnificent of flowers. Seeing as it was an awfully crowded store, I was sure the plant was hardly looked after properly. But I was proven wrong, seeing as the waitresses of the place ended up spending every minute of every day gazing at that flower atop that table. It was on one such day the bananas came. In any case, the flowers were enormous. I would say it was an objet d'art, rather than a flower. Exactly like the flowers in Little shop of Horrors, or my favorite illustrated book little Gabriellza(1). There, in that hulking flowerpot, what a single dynamic flower it was. In that single glance, and while I was gazing it in the days following, I fell in love. I was just delighted by the simple fact that such a big weird thing could exist in our world. The leaves and the thick stem were just so cool. When I told how much I loved it, one evening the shop owner let me have the flower when they finished displaying the plant…well, that is putting it plainly, but the total length would be about a meter and as heavy as lead. Furthermore, because I went drinking instead of going straight home the people at the bar kept hassling me about it, asking what it was. It was all the more pitiful how the plant, that had always been warm inside, and it being cold midwinter Japan, ended up dying.
The banana plant in the flowerpot in my home right now was a celebratory gift from my classmates from my days at elementary school. Even though it doesn`t have any flowers it is chillingly big. ‘We thought we should give you a banana plant as a group’, said class representative Hamagawa.‘wow, thanks’ I said frankly. ‘‘Just, absolutely don’t regret it huh?’ Hamagawa said. ‘?’ I thought, but the pot itself seemed big enough in itself to regret it. While has a considerable less leaves now, at first my small room was just full of bananas.
As a matter of fact, the child that brought that enormous pot over at my home at that time suddenly died a few days ago. When I heard the news of the death of the child that said ‘it`s fine, it`s fine’ when helping carrying the heavy pot through the rain to my house that one time, I felt that that concluded it. Somehow, it is a story about destiny. I have to treat the banana plant at my home with great care. But right when I thought if you could you really keep a banana plant in Japan, I witnessed the most terrifying sight.
When one day my friends said ‘let`s go look at Hydrangeas in Kamakura!’ we went to a place called ‘Hase’ to enjoy ourselves. While there we, by chance, met an attractive middle aged man working at a certain publishing company. After feeling quite moved after meeting his wife and children and coming up to his balcony overseeing the sea, I mentioned how I loved the sea and the Hydrangeas, and he took us to a famous temple nearby. On the mid-slope of the admirable hillside was a wild banana plant with a width of over 3 meters and flowers that made me think they were as big as two fisted hands, whistling in the sea breeze. It was a tremendous spectacle. Everyone looked up on impulse, and every person all in turn amazed about the banana plant. Being even more moved than I was about the Hydrangeas, I thought, ‘This name, Banana, isn`t that bad`.
About the sealed room of the banana plant
After I got home, I was surprised to find the pots with branched of banana plants were all gnawed up by my dog. Not surprisingly, these big banana plants that are just impossible to keep in an apartment in Japan would even lose out to a puppy. It is not a rare thing for me to come across the flowers of the banana plant, but now and then just having the feeling of being reunited with them brings a smile to my face.
(1) ガブリエリザちゃん：A Japanese children`s book.
You... Translated this, last night? Get some sleep dammit!! xD
BeantwoordenVerwijderenIt is a very nice translation though =)
thanks :D well, I wasn`t very sleepy :p
BeantwoordenVerwijderen