This poem portrays how a seemingly minor
inconsistency in notation, discovered while writing a report covering six
years, unexpectedly expands into a major revision. What begins as a routine
editorial correction becomes a reflection on the poet’s
discomfort with the Japanese era-name system and his personal resistance to the
cultural and historical framework it represents. Through this ordinary experience,
the poem vividly and humorously reveals the workings of habit, conviction, and
the all-too-human reluctance to undertake tedious corrections.
Resistance to Revision
I was writing a report manuscript covering
six years.
Having nearly finished it, I paused for a
breath.
I was satisfied that the overall flow was
sound.
All that remained was to check the details.
Then I noticed a major mistake.
Japanese era names and Western calendar
years were mixed together.
I began revising them to make them
consistent.
For some reason, one year was missing.
I felt disappointed in myself for such a
careless error.
It was no longer something that could be
fixed with a simple correction.
My spirits sank.
I let some time pass.
I struggled to keep my concentration from
scattering.
I spread the materials across my desk once
more.
The review began again from the very
beginning.
The cause of my reluctance was the notation
of years.
I had always written in Western calendar
years.
The era-name system felt plainly unnatural
to me.
Era names originate in the imperial system.
Apparently, people are thought to differ in
character depending on whether they are divided into Showa, Heisei, or Reiwa.
Resisting this distinctly Japanese
spiritual climate, I stumble here.
My stubbornness undermines my first step
toward revision.
The task feels even more irritating.
With a wry smile, I steel myself and know I
must begin.
Well then, shall I get to it?
What a nuisance!
Written on May 14, 2026. There is still
time before the deadline. Even so, era names continue to interfere with my
thinking.