Even more unusual is the calligraphy of the author:
Over fifty years later, I have come across it again. Here is an attempt to translate it:
Enter the park which they
call dead and gaze:
The shimmering of smiling shores beyond ·
The unexpected blue of pure clouds’ haze
The shimmering of smiling shores beyond ·
The unexpected blue of pure clouds’ haze
Illuminates the patchwork
paths and pond.
Take there the deep-toned
yellow · the soft grey
Of birch and boxwood · where
but warm winds stray ·
The final roses aren’t
quite wilted still ·
Select and kiss them,
braid the wreath at will.
And these last asters you
must not forget ·
The purple round the
straying stems of vine
That too which might
remain of green life twine
In what is autumn’s countenance as yet.
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