- Published on
Eastern curlews migrate from the northern hemisphere to Western Port. Photo: David Adam
By Etsuko Yasunaga
IT WAS June, around the winter solstice. Like so many things that happened in the last two years, I can’t exactly recall which phases of the lockdowns we were in at that time. Regional Victoria may have had relative freedom but our annual holiday to the Far North wasn’t going to happen yet again. I was walking alone on the beach under the cloudy sky. The air on my face was bitterly cold. I strode against the headwind with my head down, as if I needed more hardship to prove my resilience. Then I caught a swift movement in my peripheral vision. I looked up the sky, and here it was – a migratory bird of some sort. It wasn’t a big bird but her flight was strong. I could sense the determination of this little creature to reach her destination somewhere far away. Suddenly the image of me flying away as a bird was conjured in my mind, and the theme of my first French poem was set firmly.
We just studied the “conditional mood” in French so I tried to incorporate this in my poem to express the subtlety of my feeling. I looked up many words I didn’t know in French in my dictionary, and kept my expression simple. Instead of using complicated structures, I emphasised the intensity of my feeling by repetition. Ultimately my feeling was universal, especially in the global burden of suffering from Covid for so long. I was confident that everyone would understand my strong sentiment even with my limited French.
Word by word, sentence by sentence I continued to compose my poem in my third language. The intensity of my emotion surprised me. I realised I had buried the acute pining simply because it was too much to bear. The process of composing a poem allowed me to open the floodgate to my deepest yearning. I felt I finally had a permission to feel and express the feeling which was kept under control for a long time. Once it opened, the longing flowed with ferocity, and continued to intensify. I let it deluge and let it wash over me. At last I could sit with my feeling comfortably. I quietly acknowledged that, like everyone else in the world, I also suffered significantly.
Word by word, sentence by sentence I continued to compose my poem in my third language. The intensity of my emotion surprised me. I realised I had buried the acute pining simply because it was too much to bear. The process of composing a poem allowed me to open the floodgate to my deepest yearning. I felt I finally had a permission to feel and express the feeling which was kept under control for a long time. Once it opened, the longing flowed with ferocity, and continued to intensify. I let it deluge and let it wash over me. At last I could sit with my feeling comfortably. I quietly acknowledged that, like everyone else in the world, I also suffered significantly.
At the recent French Christmas gathering, we received very special gift. Our teacher Bernadette compiled a book of our poems and gave a copy to each of us. We took turns to recite our own poems in French. My poem was fairly long hence the writing on the page was quite small. Unfortunately I forgot my reading glasses on that day, so I sometimes struggled to read every word properly. As soon as I started reading I was transformed to that winter day at the beach when I first conceived the idea. My helplessness and yearning rekindled. I kept on reading. They were my feelings and my words. They belonged to me. No one else could express them in the way I did, even in a different language. Yet, I also knew that what I expressed belonged to all sentient beings.
Every word was destined toward expressing the intense pining for my mother. I had a lump in my throat when I reached the words ‘but I’m not a bird, I can’t fly’. I wept. I felt the warm touch of my friend’s comforting hand on my left shoulder, and I heard her voice in my mind. “It’s OK Etsuko, it’s OK.” Bernadette was crying and I saw tears of empathy from fellow students. I took a deep breath then finished reciting my poem. I never felt so safe and protected. I felt everyone’s caring hearts in that instance and I was so glad that I have expressed my innermost feeling and shared it amongst my dearest friends.
I’ve translated my poem to English.
If I could
If I could I would turn into a bird
A little beautiful bird with powerful wings
So that I can fly long distances
If I could I would fly like a little bird
I would fly over Australia, cross the equator, to the northern hemisphere
I would reach Japan where my dear mum lives
I'll find her home and perch on her window sill
I would sing a beautiful song for my mum
So that she notices me among the other birds
She would speak to me with her soft and gentle voice
Where do you come from? You must have travelled a long way
She would feed me grains of rice and vegetables
I would eat grains of rice with my little beak
I would keep singing for her
I would look at her with nostalgia
I would cherish the precious moments with my dear mum
Even though she doesn't know it's me
Because I would be with her finally
Anytime, soon
I will fly to my dear mum
But I'm not a bird, I can't fly
If I could I would turn into a bird
A little beautiful bird with powerful wings
So that I can fly away to see my dear mum
Every word was destined toward expressing the intense pining for my mother. I had a lump in my throat when I reached the words ‘but I’m not a bird, I can’t fly’. I wept. I felt the warm touch of my friend’s comforting hand on my left shoulder, and I heard her voice in my mind. “It’s OK Etsuko, it’s OK.” Bernadette was crying and I saw tears of empathy from fellow students. I took a deep breath then finished reciting my poem. I never felt so safe and protected. I felt everyone’s caring hearts in that instance and I was so glad that I have expressed my innermost feeling and shared it amongst my dearest friends.
I’ve translated my poem to English.
If I could
If I could I would turn into a bird
A little beautiful bird with powerful wings
So that I can fly long distances
If I could I would fly like a little bird
I would fly over Australia, cross the equator, to the northern hemisphere
I would reach Japan where my dear mum lives
I'll find her home and perch on her window sill
I would sing a beautiful song for my mum
So that she notices me among the other birds
She would speak to me with her soft and gentle voice
Where do you come from? You must have travelled a long way
She would feed me grains of rice and vegetables
I would eat grains of rice with my little beak
I would keep singing for her
I would look at her with nostalgia
I would cherish the precious moments with my dear mum
Even though she doesn't know it's me
Because I would be with her finally
Anytime, soon
I will fly to my dear mum
But I'm not a bird, I can't fly
If I could I would turn into a bird
A little beautiful bird with powerful wings
So that I can fly away to see my dear mum
Comme c'est beau! (how beautiful it is).
Many people know how talented as a writer you are in English (your second language).
But not many people know how brillant, elegant, grammatically intelligent, full of feelings your French is! (your third language).
I truly admire your persistence.
For you, 'good enough' is simply not enough, in whatever you do! (quoique vous fassiez).
I am so proud to be your French teacher and a friend.
Ce monde est meilleur parce que vous y êtes.
Si je pouvais
Si je pouvais, je me transformerais en oiseau
Un petit bel oiseau aux ailes puissantes
Pour que je puisse voler sur de longues distances
Si je pouvais, je volerais comme un petit oiseau
Je volerais sur l'Australie, traverserais l'équateur, à l'hémisphère nord
J’atteindrais le Japon où ma chère maman vit
Je vais trouver sa maison et je me percherai sur le rebord de sa fenêtre
Je chanterais une belle chanson pour ma maman
Afin qu'elle me remarque parmi les autres oiseaux
Elle me parlerait avec sa voix douce et gentille
D'où viens-tu ? Tu dois avoir voyagé un grand chemin
Elle me nourrirait de grains de riz et de légumes
Je mangerais des grains de riz avec mon petit bec
Je continuerais à chanter pour elle
Je la regarderais avec nostalgie
Je chérirais les précieux moments avec ma chère maman
Même si elle ne sait pas que c'est moi
Parce que je serais avec elle enfin
N'importe quand, bientôt
Je vais voler vers ma chère maman
Mais je ne suis pas un oiseau, je ne peux pas voler
Si je pouvais je me transformerais en oiseau
Un petit bel oiseau aux ailes puissantes
Afin que je puisse voler pour voir ma chère maman
This is one of my favourites, if not my favourite.
I'm reminded of your strength and beauty when I read your words 'I was walking alone on the beach under the cloudy sky. The air on my face was bitterly cold. I strode against the headwind with my head down, as if I needed more hardship to prove my resilience.'
Thank you for sharing. Whilst reading your article and poem I could feel the depth of your sadness and pain. I had that yearning desire to hold your hand and walk on the beach together.
Your love for writing and poetry shines through. Congratulations on all that you endeavour. You continue to bring light and love and meaning to those you meet.
My favourite verse:
I'll find her home and perch on her window sill
I would sing a beautiful song for my mum
So that she notices me among the other birds
And I want to hear you recite it in French next time we meet.
I might fly down and see you soon and sit on your sill and sing to you until you let me in x