2021年12月1日、僕は祖国の日本に帰れなくなった。そのとき僕は初めて、在外邦人として自身が括られてしまうことを知った。そして僕は在外邦人のためのマスクをベルリンで作ることにした—これは全ての在外邦人、1,344,900人の口に捧げる詩と映像である。

This mask is my personal pray for this current miasma, dedicated to all the 1,344,900 mouth who lives outside of Japan.

On the December 1st, 2021, the Japanese government declared the suspension of flight to overseas nationalities (在外邦人) for 2 days. Thus I couldn't go back to my home country, Japan for the short period. At that time, I was realized myself being categorized as 在外邦人. To pray, I've been making poetry and masks for them in here, Berlin, Germany.

15回目でベルリンに亡命した中国出身の詩人、廖亦武。彼の小説『武漢病毒襲来』で、ドイツから故郷の武漢へ戻った歴史学者の主人公・艾丁は、強制隔離先のホテルの窓から遺体運搬車が行くのを見る。怖気付いた艾丁はグラス一杯の酒を注ぎ、たまたま手に取った宋の時代の詩人・李清照の宋詩、「声声慢」をホテルの一室で読む。

艾丁は一人つぶやいた。「これのどこが李清照なんだ。どう見てもこの艾丁、おれのことじゃないか。古人はどんなことでも書ききってしまうんだな」

With the 15th try, Chinese poet, Liao Yiwu (廖亦武) was exiled to Berlin, Germany from his home country in 2011. In his novel, "Wuhan", the historian and protagonist Ei Ding (艾丁) went back from Germany to his home country, Wuhan. After he saw the mortuary trolley from the window of a mandatory-quarantine hotel, he got intimidated and poured a glass of liquor. Trying to ease himself, he took a book of ancient Chinese poet, Li Qingzhao (李清照) accidentally and read "声声慢(Slow slow song)" in the room of the hotel.

Ei Ding said, "How this could be by Li Qingzhao? This is exactly like me, Ei Ding. Ancient poets could write anything."

僕は漢字は読めるけど中国語はまだわからない。漢詩の連なる漢字は氷のようで、凝縮された語の意味を口に出して部屋の空気へ溶かしていく。一層と暗い冬の夜、僕はベルリンのアパートメントでこの詩を読んでは溶かした。

昨年4月からベルリンに住み始めた僕は、初めは訳のわからない言語に囲まれて、温泉のようなそのわからない心地よさに浸かっていた。それも束の間、徐々に僕は己を守るためか母語の日本語でひとりごとをつぶやくようになった。犬かわいいな、夕飯はポトフでも作ろうか、ペットボトル持ってくんの忘れたーおそらく通りの誰もわからない言語で、マーキングするかのごとく、ぶつくさと結構な声量でつぶやいて満たしていく。

So far I could read Kanji, but not understand the whole Chinese itself. The flow of Kanji in ancient Chinese poets looked like frozen ices to me. I'm melting these ices - the Kanjis with its meaning inside - into my room. On a dark, cold typical night, I'm melting the poet in my apartment in Berlin.

Since April 2021, I've been living in Berlin. In the beginning, I was like bathing in a wordy hot spring, surrounded by unknown words. Gradually, might be 'cuz I was wearing a mask, but I began to mutter in my mother tongue, Japanese. 犬かわいいな、夕飯はポトフでも作ろうか、ペットボトル持ってくんの忘れた - Like a dog who marks around the street, I mark while I was walking by a little louder mutters.

2022年3月17日現在、僕は先週中国出身の友人と行った廖亦武とのインタビュー映像を編集している。彼は文筆業のためにドイツ語を習わず、ベルリンにいながらもっぱら中国語で生活していると云う。そのためインタビューは全編中国語で、時たま翻訳してくれる友人を頼りに行われた。

彼の自宅でハイネケンビールと大きな苺を振る舞ってもらう。中国語がわからない僕を懸命に見つめる眼差し、過酷な半生を淡々と語る中国語の響き、窓越しに庭が覗く晴れた初春のベルリンの土曜日。印象的だったのは、「自身の人生を記録するために書いている」という彼の言葉だ。そして彼に自身のアイデンティティを訊いたとき（ベルリンの人はよく自身を「ベルリーナー（Berliner）」だと名乗る）、彼は自身を故郷の「四川人（Sichuaner）」という語で括る。

おもむろに彼は席を立ち上がり、天安門事件の死者へと捧げた彼の詩「黄河的水乾了」のCDをかける。叫びのような彼の歌声が一室の空気へ溶けていく。いわく東洋から西洋に着いて初めて歌った詩だと云う。

Currently, I am editing the videos of the interview with Liao Yiwu and my Chinese friend, made the last weekend. Liao speaks basically in Chinese in Berlin as well, to pursue his writing. Therefore, the interview was all in Chinese, and my Chinese friend was a translator to me at that time.

We were drinking Heinekens and eating big strawberries on Liao's treat in his home. His intent gaze to me who can't understand his original words, his rhythmical Chinese accent with his harsh experiences, and it was a sunny Saturday in the early spring of Berlin - as if the grasses outside were breathing.

What impresses me was his words, saying "I do write to record my life". Also, his answer to my question asking about his identity, answered with "Sichuaner(四川人)" not as Berliner.

Slowly he stood up and put his singing of his poet, "黄河的水乾了(The water of the Yellow River is dry)" which was dedicated to the people in the Tiananmen Square Incident. His singing sounded like a scream - which was melted into the room we were in. He says that this was the first song he sang when he first arrived in the Western world.

ふと泣きたくなる時がある。ベルリンの冬の魔力のせいだと人は言うけど、本当にあるときふっと重力が無くなるように、僕がここにいる意味が突然わからなくなってしまう。重力を取り戻すために詩を読む。かつてここで息をしていた在外邦人たちの詩が僕をここに繋ぎ止めてくれる。

2022/03/17
ドイツ・ベルリンの自室にて
小林 颯

All of a sudden, I get a feeling that I want to cry. People say it's typical coming from Berlin's winter. However, for real, I suddenly lose my purpose to live here as if I were in zero gravity. Reading poetry is a way to drag me back into gravity. Those poetries from the past overseas nationalities let me know how to breathe outside of my home country.

17/03/2022
In my room, Berlin, Germany
hayate kobayashi