I don’t know where the hole appeared – Poetry from Korea

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I stand still, forgetting that you are crying, just watching them.

How should I console you? How do I stop the clouds from drifting?

Eon Kim, an eminent poet from Korea, the Land of Morning Calm, shares his poetry

Eon Kim -Korea-SindhCourierPoet professor Mr. Eon Kim was born in Pusan, South Korea, in 1973. He has published seven books of poetry, including “The Breathing Tomb” (2003), “The Giant” (2005), and “Let’s Write Novels” (2009). His other works include a prose collection, “Everyone Has Sentences in Their Heart” (2017); the book of poetics, “Poetry Doesn’t Talk About Parting” (2019); the book of criticism, “Beyond the Writing of Violence and Charm” (2023); and the book of reading prose, “Old Reading Books” (2023). Poet Eon Kim has received several awards, including the Midang Literary Award (2009), the Park In-hwan Literary Award (2012), the Kim Hyun Literary Plaque (2021), and the Daesan Literary Award (2021). Since 1998, he has emerged as a pivotal figure in the Korean poetry scene, with a series of works marked by strong existential thought. He currently serves as a professor of creative writing at Chugye University for the Arts.

busan-south-korea-haedong-yonggung-templeI don’t know where the hole appeared

When I opened the door, I saw you crying in the bathroom. I saw you hunched over the toilet, crying. Why are you crying?

I almost asked but stopped. You wouldn’t tell me anyway. Still, why are you crying?

I almost asked again but stopped once more. It would be useless. I don’t know what or who caused it, but a person who cries is just a person who cries. Someone who has already overflowed. Asking to stop the tears is already too late.

I watch the bathroom, waiting for the sobs to stop, for the tears to clog up. Or for the tears to dry up.

I look at you. Luckily, the bathroom doesn’t have a small window.

There’s no outside for the sobs to leak to.

There’s no outer wall for the tears to trickle down.

If there had been a window, the clouds of this morning would have surely been visible, drifting past the living room window.

I stand still, forgetting that you are crying, just watching them.

How should I console you? How do I stop the clouds from drifting?

I am an outsider. A loved outsider. A hated outsider. An indifferent outsider.

Whichever it is, I am the drifting cloud and the still outsider of this morning.

One outsider is enough, but two is overwhelming.

I am stopping an outsider from drifting away. I hold back the clouds in front of the bathroom.

I felt something flowing like water leaking out. I don’t know where the hole appeared.

***

Busan-1어디서 구멍이 났는지 모른다

문을 여니까 화장실에서 울고 있는 네가 보였다. 변기에 웅크리고 앉아 울고 있는 네가 보였다. 우니?

물으려다가 관두었다. 어차피 말하지 않을 것이다. 그래도 우니?

물으려다가 관두었다. 어차피 소용없는 일이다. 무엇 때문인지 누구 때문인지도 모르겠으나

우는 사람은 우는 사람이다. 이미 흘러넘치는 사람이다. 막으려고 물어봐야 이미 늦었다.

울음이 그칠 때까지 눈물이 막힐 때까지

아니면 눈물이 마를 때까지 기다리면서 화장실을 본다.

너를 본다. 다행히 화장실에는 작은 하나가 없다.

울음이 새어나갈 바깥이 없다.

눈물이 흘러내릴 외벽이 없다.

창이 있었다면 당연히 보였을 오늘 아침의 구름이 거실 창밖으로 흘러 흘러가고 있다.

그걸 보느라고 네가 우는 것도 잊은 멈추어 있다.

너를 어떻게 달래야 할까? 구름을 어떻게 멈추어야 할까?

나는 타인이다. 사랑하는 타인. 증오하는 타인. 상관없는 타인.

어느 쪽이든 흘러가는 구름과 멈춰 있는 오늘 아침의 타인.

사람으로도 충분한 타인이 사람으로도 벅찬 타인을

멈춰 세우고 있다. 화장실 앞에서 구름을 참는다.

물이 새듯이 흘러내리는 무언가를 느꼈다. 어디서 구멍이 났는지 모르겠다.

***

Busan-2Structure

 A structure where the first floor is built, then the second. A structure where the second floor is built without a first. A structure that climbs to the third floor without a second. A structure that keeps rising to the top, then builds another layer on the rooftop. I am looking down at it. How did it come to this? I thought it was out of greed, but it does not know the basement. It doesn’t know the indifferent silence that lies within the earth, supported by the underground. If it did, it would collapse from the first floor. It would disappear from the second. In this neighborhood, where only the rooftop remains, floating magma cools from the top down.

***

구조

1층을 쌓고 2층을 쌓는 구조. 1층도 없이 2층을 쌓는 구조. 2층도 없이 3층까지 올라간 구조. 그렇게 꼭대기까지 올라간 구조에서 옥상옥을 다시 짓는 구조. 나는 그것을 내려다보고 있다. 어쩌다가 여기까지 왔을까. 욕심이 많다고 생각했고 그것은 지하를 모른다. 지하가 떠받치는 지구 내부의 어떤 무관심한 침묵을 모른다. 안다면 1층부터 허물어지겠지. 2층부터 사라져버리겠지. 꼭대기만 남아서 옥상옥을 이룬 동네에서 둥둥 있는 용암이 꼭대기부터 식는다.

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Read: The rose that left this world – Poetry from Korea

 

 

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