Classic Poem

For a long time
these things have always been placed
in front of us women:

a pan of a reasonable size
suited to one's strength,
a pot in which it's convenient for rice
to begin to swell and shine, grain by grain,
the heat of the fire inherited since the very beginning—
in front of them there have always been mothers, grandmothers, and their mothers.

What measures of love and sincerity
they must have poured
into these utensils—
sometimes red carrots,
sometimes black seaweed,
sometimes crushed fish

in the kitchen, always accurately
for morning, noon, and evening, preparations have been made
and in front of the preparations, in a row, there have always been
some pairs of warm knees and hands.

Ah without those persons waiting
how could women have gone on
cooking so happily?
their unflagging care,
so daily a service they became unconscious of it.

Cooking was assigned oddly
as the woman's role,
but I don't think that was unfortunate;
because of that, her knowledge and position in society
may have lagged behind the times
but it isn't too late:
the things we have in front of us,
the pan and the pot, and the burning fire,

in front of these familiar utensils,
let us also study government, economy, literature
as sincerely
as we cook potatoes and meat,

not for vanity and promotion
but so everyone
may be served for mankind
so everyone may work for love.