/lit/ - Literature

An elderly Japanese man and I have been discussing Yukio Mishima over the past few months, and he has just shared with me his favorite authors besides Mishima.

I thought /lit/ would be interested.

"If you like novelists
Ryunosuke Akutagawa
Nagai Kafu
Ogai Mori
Kensaburo Oe
Ango Sakaguchi

If you like poets
Kenji Miyazawa
Chuya Nakahara
Takayuki Kiyooka
Sakutaro Hagiwara
Shinpei Kusano
Takaaki Yoshimoto"

I can share it in Japanese as well if some of the names end up being incorrectly translated.

An elderly Japanese man and I have been discussing Yukio Mishima over the past few months, and he has just shared with me his favorite authors besides Mishima.

I thought /lit/ would be interested.

"If you like novelists
Ryunosuke Akutagawa
Nagai Kafu
Ogai Mori
Kensaburo Oe
Ango Sakaguchi

If you like poets
Kenji Miyazawa
Chuya Nakahara
Takayuki Kiyooka
Sakutaro Hagiwara
Shinpei Kusano
Takaaki Yoshimoto"

I can share it in Japanese as well if some of the names end up being incorrectly translated.

Who is this handsome guy?

I faltered and stuttered as I explained myself, and Tsurukawa listened to me with an Expression of surprise and impatience. When I had finished even this short speech, the Perspiration was Streaming down my face, as though I had said something shameful. Tsurukawa was the only Person to whom I had revealed my strange attachment to the Golden Temple. Yet in his Expression there was nothing but the usual fretful look that I was accustomed to seeing in People who were trying to make out my stuttering. These are the faces that confront me. When I reveal important secrets, when I Appeal to People about the resounding Feelings with which the sight of Beauty fills me, when I try to bring my very Viscera into the open - what confronts me is a face like this. This is not the sort of face that People usually turn on others. With perfect fidelity this face in copying my own Comic fretfulness, it is, so to say,a terrifying mirror of myself. At such times, however beautiful the face may be, it will be transformed into an ugliness exactly like my own. As soon as I recognize this, the important Thing that I wish to express collapses into something of no importance whatsoever, like a rooftile