# data[].attributes.body
Since this poem discusses how it feels to be in love, its intended audience can appear to be anyone experiencing or curious about love. It is shared in a lighthearted and inexplicit way that perhaps many young individuals can reflect on the whimsical and sometimes irrational feelings that come with love. The poem could address anyone rather than a specific person or group, as it captures the universal and relatable human emotions tied to romantic affection—innocence, possessiveness, and willingness to share everything with the beloved.

# data[].attributes.body
I believe the title "Meeting Mother" holds deep emotional significance, suggesting not just a personal encounter with a parent but also a reconnection with the past and cherished memories where Tanikawa confronts the themes of loneliness, death, and life. The word "meeting" can imply a reflective or symbolic interaction, representing Tanikawa's yearning and revisit to past memories. The "mother," potentially the girl in the poem, can represent more than just a literal family member—it could symbolize the speaker’s connection to his old days and the passage of time.

# data[].attributes.body
The narrator feels estranged from both their own body and the world, "There is a phone by the bed, and it's connected to the world but there is no one with whom I wish to speak," a sense of disconnection

The narrator reflects on whether being a poet truly defines them

The narrator mentions the passage of time but feels they haven’t emotionally matured (the narrator describes themselves as still naive, despite growing older)

The narrator likens themselves to a child, "chasing pretty butterfly words," suggesting that even after years of writing, they remain somewhat naive about the world and unaware of how they have impacted others

The narrator has a bittersweet reflection on aging, recognizing that time has passed yet feeling that they remain emotionally unchanged, possessing the "spirit at three"

# data[].attributes.body
To be in love—how does it feel?
It feels like sitting together gazing spellbound,
thinking even yawns and sneezes are charming,
And finding yourself wanting to lick your love.

To be in love—how does it feel?
It feels like wanting to show it off
But not wanting anyone else to touch it,
So you also want to shut it away somewhere.

To be in love—how does it feel?
Like wanting to give away your most precious plastic model,
And then also your treasured postage stamps,
And to top it all you even add a comic book.

# data[].attributes.body
I have chosen Shuntarō Tanikawa because his poetry uniquely blends traditional Japanese themes with modern perspectives, offering philosophical depths and deep reflections on life and human connection–topics that quite intrigue me. This combination of timeless themes and contemporary sensibilities greatly resonates with my interests.

# data[].attributes.headline
Poem: Two Billion Light-Years of Solitude

# data[].attributes.subject
Poem: Two Billion Light-Years of Solitude

# data[].attributes.body
"The universe has no center.

That is why it is lonely everywhere."

# data[].attributes.body
"There are some things that bind us together far deeper than remembrance and memory."

I find this line powerful because it carries immense emotional depth that captures the essence of human connections that transcend time and physical presence. The line shows the impermanence of goodbye and that the connections between people go beyond physical absence. It speaks to me that our ties to others can’t easily be broken and that human connections, particularly with those we’ve lost, transcend the boundaries of time, place, and memory.

# data[].attributes.body
I went alone back to the old days.

Butterflies are fluttering under the cloudy skies of those old days.

A girl is watching them,

sitting all alone on the grass.

When and where did the feeling of loneliness begin?

As I sat beside the silent girl

I watched the butterflies mating.

This girl may have been my mother.

A road no one has ever walked along vanishes into the horizon.

Only the faint sound of a stringed instrument

links me to this world.

The day when the distant future has become the old days

I'll be here still,

having learned to love

and even to find joy in dying.

# data[].attributes.body
Having parted with the evening glow I meet with night.

But the angrier red clouds go nowhere

and just hide in darkness.

I don't say goodnight to the stars

for they always hide in daylight

The baby I once was yet remains

in the center of my growth rings.

No one ever, I think, vanishes.

My dead grandfather grows like wings on my shoulders.

He takes me to places outside of time

along with seeds left by dead flowers.

‘Good-bye' is a temporary word.

There are some things that bind us together

far deeper than remembrance and memory.

If you believe that, you needn't look for it.

# data[].attributes.body
People on the street,
walking alone,
glance at me briefly
and go on their way.

The universe has no center.
That is why it is lonely everywhere.

Born and living in the depths of loneliness,
I,
two billion light-years’ worth of gravity
pulls at my body.

# data[].attributes.body
My toes seem terribly far away
The five digits, like five complete strangers,
sit close together, coldly indifferent

There is a phone by the bed, and it's connected to the world
but there is no one with whom I wish to speak
Ever since I can remember my life has been nothing but one errand after another
yet neither mother nor father taught me how to make small-talk in this world

Forty years spent writing, relying only on line breaks
When asked "who the hell are you?" it feels the most reassuring to say I am a poet-
How strange that is, too

When I abandoned my girl, was I a poet
Eating my favorite baked sweet potato, am I a poet
Is this man with thinning hair a poet
There are hoards of such middle-aged men, though they are not poets

Chasing pretty butterfly words, I am nothing
but a child ignorant of the world
The spirit at three
remains so naive, not even noticing how it has hurt others,
and heads toward one hundred

Poetry
is absurd

# data[].attributes.body
To be in love—how does it feel?
It feels like sitting together gazing spellbound,
thinking even yawns and sneezes are charming,
And finding yourself wanting to lick your love.

To be in love—how does it feel?
It feels like wanting to show it off
But not wanting anyone else to touch it,
So you also want to shut it away somewhere.

To be in love—how does it feel?
Like wanting to give away your most precious plastic model,
And then also your treasured postage stamps,
And to top it all you even add a comic book.