In Karuizawa
Akutagawa's "In Karuizawa" is a sequence of sharp, whimsical, and unsettling image-fragments rather than a conventional narrative poem. Written in 1925, it turns the resort town of Karuizawa into a surreal field of perceptions: hotels coated in honey, mountains scratched open like soap, angels winged with gramophone records. The piece moves by association, wit, and visual shock, blending elegance with absurdity in a distinctly modernist style. Many lines read like flashes from a notebook, where society figures, landscape, religion, and memory all become strange objects of scrutiny. The closing farewell gives the whole sequence a retrospective tone, as if the speaker were taking leave not only of a place, but of an earlier, more lyrical phase of life.
The landscape is reflected in a black horse.
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Let us eat our morning bread together with pinks.
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This flock of angels has gramophone records for wings.
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At the edge of town stands a single chestnut tree. Beneath it, ink has been spilled.
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Try scratching those blue mountains. Surely bars of soap will come tumbling out.
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Wrap cucumbers in an English-language newspaper.
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Someone is spreading honey over that hotel.
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Madame M: a butterfly is sleeping on her tongue.
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Mr. F: the hair on his forehead is begging.
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Mr. O: that mustache of his must be an ostrich feather.
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The words of the poet S. M.: The plumes of silver grass are fur, aren't they.
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The face of a certain pastor: a navel!
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A road slipping down into lace and napkins.
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The moon above Mount Usui, and even on the moon moss is faintly growing.
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The death of old Mrs. H: the fog resembles a French ghost.
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Horseflies have swarmed all the way to Mercury.
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The irritating feeling of a hammock against one's forehead.
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Thunder is hotter than pepper.
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On the mountain with the rock called "The Giant's Chair," one unblinking face can be seen.
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That house has pink gums.
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Please serve fern leaves with mutton.
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Farewell. Farewell, town of accordions, farewell, my age of lyric poetry.