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Will, and: Cleft, and: The South, and: A Fight, and: Prayer, and: Dream, and: Sigh, and: Red Berry

Will, and: Cleft, and: The South, and: A Fight, and: Prayer, and: Dream, and: Sigh, and: Red Berry Selected Poems By Kim Myŏng-sun Translated by Eunice Lee Wi l l O Chosŏn, when death does us part, Toss me by the brook; draw my blood out in the fields; Misuse me some more, misuse my dead body. If that’s not enough, Abuse the next person born like me, Abuse them to your heart’s content. Enemies, we shall then part perfectly— Chosŏn, O brutal place, you brutal place. 357 Cl e f t When I close my eyes, it’s neither night nor day. In a dark blue fog, on a pebble path, a beggar girl. Searching for something, she looks forward, then back, and her face goes blank. I retrace my steps to a moment clear in my mind’s eye. Three years ago, on a cloudy fall morning, I was on my way to school when I saw a shadow glide towards me. I heard its undeniable voice ask, “Where are you going?” I didn’t have time to stop. I had to hurry by like an arrow, swift, wordless. My heart’s bluebird— pet of only three years— I released it onto the path. I wept. Why, when I clear my mind’s eye, do these old sorrows come back? http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Azalea: Journal of Korean Literature & Culture University of Hawai'I Press

Will, and: Cleft, and: The South, and: A Fight, and: Prayer, and: Dream, and: Sigh, and: Red Berry

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Publisher
University of Hawai'I Press
ISSN
1939-6120
eISSN
1944-6500
DOI
10.1353/aza.2022.0015
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

Selected Poems By Kim Myŏng-sun Translated by Eunice Lee Wi l l O Chosŏn, when death does us part, Toss me by the brook; draw my blood out in the fields; Misuse me some more, misuse my dead body. If that’s not enough, Abuse the next person born like me, Abuse them to your heart’s content. Enemies, we shall then part perfectly— Chosŏn, O brutal place, you brutal place. 357 Cl e f t When I close my eyes, it’s neither night nor day. In a dark blue fog, on a pebble path, a beggar girl. Searching for something, she looks forward, then back, and her face goes blank. I retrace my steps to a moment clear in my mind’s eye. Three years ago, on a cloudy fall morning, I was on my way to school when I saw a shadow glide towards me. I heard its undeniable voice ask, “Where are you going?” I didn’t have time to stop. I had to hurry by like an arrow, swift, wordless. My heart’s bluebird— pet of only three years— I released it onto the path. I wept. Why, when I clear my mind’s eye, do these old sorrows come back?

Journal

Azalea: Journal of Korean Literature & CultureUniversity of Hawai'I Press

Published: Jul 14, 2022

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