Another one bites the Sand: essay poem (slightly NSFWかも）また一人が砂を噛んだ:エッセイ詩 (和訳WIP)

Another one bit the Sand. また一人が砂を噛んだ
(又なにかが滅びたの意味、英語の諺another bites the dustを書き換えたものです. --- a rearrangement of the English idiom "another one bites the dust".")
 

this song plays in my head when I wrote this:
(書いている時に頭の中で再生している歌：）

lyrics JPN, ENG see appendix
和英歌詞・付録で 
………………………………………………………..
Another one bit the sand---
At night, in Paris, France:
Through the end of one dark and stormy night, sultry with vigor.
On the water in a wooden pail placed in front of an old inn,
A little bit of trash fell unscrupulously in,
Stealthily, as the drunkards and protestant students did go,
Out from the door, who had
Argued and blamed; or sung beer-smelling drinking songs.
Violence or violent prostitution, within.
Come morning, the inn keeper goes out,
Saw the trash floating, carelessly and free,
He says then, what one must agree,
By some unknown inmost within us, their divine decree---
“Well, Man,
Another one bit the sand.”
 
In the morning, in the Holy City, crapulent,
In the solemn ceremonial month of repenting, Sun’s High.
Some Muslim and Jewish friends were in different temples and different weeks fasting.
Sweats coming down counting, prostrating,
The Sun in the midday’s sky counted down dropping
And during the night, done with their pious duty,
and went out carouse drinking,
They ate good mutton and beef sausages,
And some good coconut wine (just sour coconut juice, unalcoholic!)--- a bit too much.
One lets out a belch, and others cordially would laugh,
One back in the corner though, gloom-faced, says as such,
 
“Well, Man,
Another one bit the sand.”
Believe it as I would so, so much.
 
 
In the noon, in British India,
An elephant driver on her soft, embossed leather seat,
Covered with yellow satin, sewn with deep Persian sorrows’ blue and black hues,
Upon some Turkish rugs purple and green, rests thunderingly her feet.
A train of silent Pariah walkers---mourning for those tears--- desiccated like leaves in the blazing
Indian afternoon. Brown-skinned coolies, slaves of their golden masters.
Salty, salty, even without sea-breezes;
The elephant lulls and lightly rumbles, upon the dry waves.
Gentle and sure its destiny; but what!
The leviathan stumbles upon a rebel---and the ship keels over.
A chance monster--- chance would have and topple it-----a wave that is a solid stone.
Apparently, what haunts the high and above cannot see much what’s beneath.
…thus farted…
And the coolies immodestly laughed, and some even played a tune.
With some green leaves taken in their long travel, to some other palace.
And as the coolie servant girl came to the elephant and driver, offering her hand.
Somewhere distant from the broad road, a beggar
With a lame and old dog for his company and holds
a spacious and full treasure trove that is his empty rice-bowl, says: (as his stomach groans)
Something is going on down the road; thunder rolling, I have heard it, but where is it? Is it an army?
And his faithful company says,
“Well Man,
Another one bit the sand.”
 
 
The man must thus ruminate,
As if in a beer-stand later with his own dog;
When he drinks most Indian from a rice-bowl of
Slightly sandy punch full of Indian punch!
 
In the afternoon, among some shady streets, of Basil in Swiss,
Adjacent to some cheap lodgings for university-goers,
are places that serve coffee instead of beer or gin.
When a lover, woken from warm southerly siesta, and ate some lover’s spaghetti,
Leisurely leaning out from the window of the all lovers’ tavern, smoking a carved Japanese water-pipe.
The purple rice-smoke of the most regal East rises and billows (der purpurne Reisraunch reist sich kaiserich resend auf).
Comely for the well-at-ease Western college-village in the Switzerland,
Surrounded often by green hunchback titans that are called mountains,
With as their hood and fasteners, faint rustlings and murmurings of fluid, fleeting things, wet or warm, secretive.
Light and shadows-----but stopped in their flight, a call for her name—
Which drew her from the window to the door---that was some hurrying call
From above the rolling hills with the university on their crest- a man---
Dressed up in a black fur coat----black scarves and old black felt hat.
The ground rumbled as he passed running angrily a-tumbling---with a heroic smile.
A bag holding shimmering francs- yellow- singing- ringing francs--- he stumbled
Down the mountains like a charging whirlwind, leaping, jogging, wrecking, and dancing in circles.
And with bags of crushing momentum, resounding,
he strike true upon the Brothel’s wide dinner table---gold, veritable gold!
Sheepishly therefore the most loyal brazen servants to his golden Will
---The serving wenches submit and observing most obediently
Obeisance, in funeral but for the sake
of ever turning birthing-ancestral, procession proceeds
Yes, yes, yes. That girl
went up with him to get a room. Vulgar, vulgar noises!
“Well Man,
Another one bit the sand.”
 
Magic…
So, the Sun passes….
When eventide is to come, and the proprietress,
Pondering if she should take down the sign,
As the golden sunlight from the window was came,
Would with fainter and dying, though no one to blame,
sighs and moaning make their daily egresses.
In a decaying and somber wooden tea-house
that serves the pink flesh and white nectar of blued Peach-flowers upon sheets of clean bamboo.
A boy did come, a boy of around 40 (years, years, years are old!).
In his blue-and-white stripped pajama and dark blue sleep-hood did come, he,
Walks steady and lithe, like a panther
under the moonless sky darkly prowling
or a sleepy-head knight-errant through the field of poppies
upon a big, agile, sallow saddle-cat merrily ridding.
Upon the avenue of life that are full of the hurtful needles
dropped by mindless flowers from their extended petals---that bloomed too mad.
Carrying with him a swad of soaked notes written with blue inks---worthless poetry—
Which last night he folded and sunk into the river in the forest outside the town’s expanses---
Drunken, ill-written boats in blue, boyish ink that floated up and down—up and down—mindless.
Up and down, up and down, under the fiery stars of the firmamental canopy.
Up and down, up and down, under the eerily glowing and vacillating blue, bloody full moon
(wanted but one corner, bitten by a dog perhaps) .
Up and down, up and down, glowing jelly-fishes
(he set them on fire too, with some chemicals so they glow blue).
Till either they through tributaries went out to the moon-lit sea,
or were scooped back to security and sleep sound within his hand.
(that stupid escapade which was, upon being woken by the noise of insects at midnight,
One was first driven to thirst over the rivers under the scorching stars,
To quench the blackness in one’s soul
then for the adventures in the seas and the ocean under the infernal moon,
To bleach it even more darkly glossy like polished ebony leaves.
the nightly sojourn of a young boy metamorphosed into a reckoninglessly old
blind and white Indian bird searching for jelly-fishes to eat)
In the desert that is called the yellow ocean, to fetch shining jelly-fishes—small, swimming golden fishes--
To eat,
“Well, Man,
Another one bit the sand.”
 
 
He emptied his shoes filled with yellow sand
withdrawn from that cooler and more solvent bank (bank!),
Wrapping the golden grains up with the rubbish in his hands, and tossed,
Them out of the window like flying ballon-birds of passion—
---to make love and die, perchance perched upon tree branches
in some unknown murderous jungles in the very very South.
And then asked for a cup of cola, some tea, cubed sugar
to chew with and smoked some Indian tobacco;
up he went the room, and mulling over through a quiet and self-reflecting hour,
was back with the man or beast clad in a panoply of full black fur—
-his own brother in blood, for sooth, his own veritable self he forgot to bring along with;
To that moonlit sojourn with ink-money-crafted boats floating on a cool running stream!
One is quite shameful, the other so joyous.
But as both are so satisfied with the pleasure of the flesh,
Out he and himself went to the door and went travelling—
-without paying heed to what happens outside the window!
-without so much as paying too! (the gold is apparently counterfeit)
(and the words are useless being drenched in tears---fake bank-notes too)
“Well, Man,
Another one bit the sand.”
 
 
Hours during the sunny afternoon-----and still not yet satisfied.
An hour when the Sun is about to set-----and both those who has arrived
early and too late found their satisfaction.
What happens in the room?
Man, it is easy to make moral judgements
and make moral statements,
but do not deviate from the fact that
this happens in a flesh-house.
Boys! Boys! Do you want chaste love?
Or more? Can you still be a boy when you ask for more?
Is it happier to be the beast of the middle day or the wise human in the twilight?
I know not, I know not.
But the proprietress has closed shop,
the sun went beyond the horizon of good and evil,
pub-goer louts went for beer again,
the university library announced that
they would love to close shop too, and
it is time for students to go home and waste time,
on the other hand, I just ate a full plate of bacon, 6-7 eggs, bitter green salad,
a jug of fresh milk from the neighbouring farm,
and fatty Indian mutton curry.
I was so full and lonely, wandering the streets as the blackish purple stone
and concrete miasma rising from the city
of Edinburgh are blocking and obscuring my sight
and I was misled and driven towards something
furthest from the true and beautiful, unfulfilling;
The smoke from a bad and broken brown water-pipe from China
that has been without usage for such a long period.
There is nothing green here,
only the grey and barren earth.
And the mist sublimed from the stone and concrete
of the black tombs that pile upon one stratum after another
like layers of antediluvian earth strata that pile up
and form the sea bed of any dark and unfathomable abyss,
owing to the displacing and shaping tides—
-of history and ideas. And I see an evil golden star that does shine.
Atop the tower trained with stony vines and concrete thorns that bind.
Unknown Babel urged with forces mort cruel,
Than suffering blood and machine oil,
The tower taints and dyes-----it dies by itself too. Over the tower was thrown--
A coverlet of rainbow and the Sun----drizzling out from the ash-turned soil,
From the black and doomed ocean her crown---made with seven stars
Set within the maze of seven snake-saints’; seven sets of merciless, dripping, blue bared fangs
---Seven treasured jewels clasped in the snakes’ coils biting into her voluptuous bosom---
--with Sun’s golden rays were concealed
Seven-coloured plumes of incense float from
the Seven Plutonic fanes of
of undying pale flame of shame---dark and moody
spoils they claim for themselves, perishing and ruining
themselves too like solid sulphur
were tossed into and dissolving in the bright sea of the Sun.
The Sun is borne of the Earth, risen up and dissipates into despondence.
The sun carries seven indestructible unmanly thoughts—-all virtues’ end,
immortal mortal’s last recoil.
In place of horns upon a King that mercy to women does show—
--for the sake of fear to drive the unready away home.
(Crowns)
She possesses the horn of an evil Wench that talks---too many words,
words reverberating in the black abyss down beneath.
“From yet another aeon unknown to thee I was born,
And since birth I was the daughter and mother of the Sun, favoured
As her mistress and husband---I was,
Given her wisdom-mantle to play with, and as
My loincloth, which I thus shall show,
Its width and breadth can tell easily,
Comparing the respective virtues’ calibre,
How little a man thou truly art, as even,
Since my days as a child playing in the garden of solar blooms (Eden),
A woman that is clad in the Sun and, sewn with the rainbows of Man.
Has made and will definitely make more beautiful girls pregnant—
In Earth or in Heavens than thou couldst-----and dost thou call thyself a lady’s man-at-arms?
With a short and roughly bound spear---not so often tearing flesh,
This feeble weapon would so soon break and relent?
Mine ever since adolescence, would never bend.
I have taken all the ladies you wanted…
To the Sun with me in the garden enscented,
Through the laps of Hours in marital bliss enchanted,
Black and evil boomed the taunting voices of the artificial happiness,
Luscious yet with distress, horror and dampened, darkened hopes,
Amidst the verdant grooves of palm tropical and breed-worthy resounded.
When all the pure and innocent were humiliated,
Would have run and run and returning to thee again.
Discarding-----
All your desires, thus have all been plucked and polluted,
In the whiteness that is not of thee, or born from thee.
Jealous then, of the afterglow. Twilight that are alien
and would perish from thy sight and touch,
When I take all the pretty blue flowers to the tomb beneath.
That thou hast claimed to be your origin, but which thou canst never return to …
Orpheus. thou hast failed (at least in this). The sky is for the Sun, the land is
For the beasts, and the underearth is for the seeds. Which are all
My attributes, my domain---if you want love thou hast to,
Love under my decree- viler passion---nay.
All things erotic and generative in this universe belong to me,
The Sun clad in a woman’s clothes.”
Is there a way to fight her? Is she my nemesis?
Is she the ultimate, the worthiest foe?
Should I devote my own death to her demise?
Sometimes I fear the Sun will set but only with her own afterglow…
Would my love be taken from me by her?
Well then, well then.
“Well, Man,
Another one bit the sand.”
 
 
Is that opium I smell? Do I have to pay for one night in the Chinese opium-and-flesh-selling teahouse to learn the beauty within a woman? Is Eros at the end bound by the cheap golden liquid drug in a phial one must first mine, then filter, distil, purify, and bind as if trying to put sunlight leaking through the window locked in a cramped cell of a jail where you are the sole prisoner?
And to what end? Gold turns into sand. Sand is blown all over and mystifies my being with its golden mist. This is an illusion. I am not at a Chinese opium-and-flesh-selling teahouse. I did not pay for bad coffee and prostitutes. I eat honest bread well-fermented without left over sourness. I drink tea without sugar. I eat meat to grow flesh. Seafood is too expensive and too difficult to cook. I am not a farmer. Not a merchant either. I read sometimes and wander or wonder mostly. I travel often but not on foot.
How about her? She was born before my destiny----she is not part of my destinations, she had power beyond what little changes my own intervention I could hope to bring-----before I was born and made potent as a man--- and after I die and made impotent as a man---she would still be powerful over the beautiful and good while I am rendered unable to stand up in my grave-----much longer length, much wider width, much more virile and young, vigorous.
This Power----"long long before you are has already been enjoyed, and in this sense I have already taken and enjoyed all that you call your love; and long long after you have died it will be the same---- the more so bitter and sour for you turning in your grave as all what you have strived to love--- all you have loved---- not only your desired spouse but your issues will too join my harem to be my enjoyment----You can never triumph. You have already lost. You will become motherless, wifeless and daughterless"
Someone told me this, veritable words of the devil herself:" sour, sour, you will always be sour, even before you die, even when you die, even after you are dead. pathetic. continue on keeping sour. Unmensch. Ab-Schaum"
So did I ferment from my sourness? Weinbereitung aus dem Schaum ab Schäume. 
If there is really a thing that is praeternatural--- that is, implying powers beyond reason and the reaches of Art, I would call this to be one specimen of it. This must be what a real devil looks like. A she-devil clad in the Sun, or the Sun clad in the devil that is her.
“and in some strange afterglow she and one of her many members of her harem (one of the many born and perished stars) rest drowsy and easy upon the yellow satin bed which is the sun, with her feet triumphant like her smile upon sun-bleached pariah slaves (that are humans); the long whip thorny and blood-drawing, black and short-handled which is called “Dispensation” is  supported up gently by the little table next to her of scented wood made from felled and dead trees of “Imagination” upon her bed as the symbol of her tyrannical dominance and sadism against all things manly / virtuous. The canopy above her bed where she made love was filled with bright stars being tortured in carnal fire by her decree. Seeds shoot from unknown galaxes that were her henchmen and paramours covered the room with white starstuff from burnishing shooting stars, participants too in this cosmic orgy of destruction. And she found in herself with her harem the strange afterglow like a billow of purple rising smoke that all men want to partake in, and as early as possible, as much as possible, even beyond death, and even luckier if before birth…the spiritual fate to be understood as a purely carnal and monetary object.”
It is with such fear I saw that aethereal star made of flesh rise, and with such jealousy I watched it fall… yet once again. The Sun truly holds all the secrets and all evils. It has its apparent halos---rays that are tender and flaccid above the horizon of one’s eye, but its long dark and killing spears eternally stretch, pierce and taking blood from young or old boys beneath what one can hope to see. How does one become victorious against her? Thus? The Sun? The invisible Sun?
Hence, I must surrender when it needs must, there is nothing for me to do. It has already risen, been written upon the desert, and is already set in words.
“Well, Man,
Another one bit the sand.”
 

…………

Appendix:
(translated by AI Claude from Poe.com)
(Poe.comのAI Claudeより和訳された）

歌詞
史帝夫わかれて通りを歩く
帽子を深々とかぶっている
音にはただ足音だけ
機関銃は発射準備完了

この迫り寄る瞬間に耐えられるのか
席の端に掛け合っているのか
扉の外側から弾丸が飛び込む
ビートのリズムに合わせて

もう一人食いちぎられた
もう一人食いちぎられた
また一人失われた、また一人失われた
もう一人食いちぎられた
おまえも私に引っ掛かるぞ
もう一人食いちぎられた

おまえなしでは何ができると思う
おまえがいなくなった時
私の全てを奪い逃げ出した
一人ぼっちにした

満足できるのか、楽しめるのか
この熱さに耐えられる時間はどれくらい
扉の外側から弾丸が飛び交う
ビートのリズムに合わせて

もう一人食いちぎられた
もう一人食いちぎられた
もう一人食いちぎられた
もう一人食いちぎられた

男を傷付ける方法はたくさんある
地面に叩きつけることが出来る
殴れば蹴れば
さもなければ裏切れば
倒れた時に見捨てる
でも私は気持ちが整っている
自分の二本の足で立っている
扉の外側から弾丼が飛び交い
ビートのリズムが繰り返されている

lyrics

"Another one bites the dust" by Queen
"Steve walks warily down the street,
With the brim pulled way down low
Ain’t no sound but the sound of his feet,
Machine guns ready to go
Are you ready, are you ready for this
Are you hanging on the edge of your seat
Out of the doorway the bullets rip
To the sound of the beat

Another one bites the dust
Another one bites the dust
And another one gone, and another one gone
Another one bites the dust
Hey, I’m gonna get you too
Another one bites the dust

How do you think I’m going to get along,
Without you, when you’re gone
You took me for everything that I had,
And kicked me out on my own

Are you happy, are you satisfied
How long can you stand the heat
Out of the doorway the bullets rip
To the sound of the beat

Chorus

Another one bites the dust
Another one bites the dust
Another one bites the dust
Another one bites the dust
There are plenty of ways you can hurt a man
And bring him to the ground
You can beat him
You can cheat him
You can treat him bad and leave him
When he’s down
But I’m ready, yes I’m ready for you
I’m standing on my own two feet
Out of the doorway the bullets rip
Repeating the sound of the beat"