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RA HEE-DUK Three Poems TRANSLATED BY KEVIN O’ROURKE COLLOQUY Nothing exists except the ladybird and me; we both stole into this room to avoid the cold. The ladybird crawls laboriously along the floor, flails the air in upside-down collapse, sits abstractedly on the open page of a book, and – as if suddenly remembering – unfolds its tail wings for a zing dusting. The zing of the wings cuts the heart like a tiny electric saw. Through the window winter sunlight illuminates the ladybird’s dappled back. And when it also illuminates the eyes that are watching the ladybird’s back, the inch worm within me addresses the ladybird within you. We’re both a bit insect-like; what colloquy can we share? An odour given off; a buzz as we circle each other; a joint flailing of the air as we get turned upside down; an idle stirring of pollen 174 BANIPAL 43 – CELEBRATING DENYS JOHNSON-DAVIES
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GUEST LITERATURE – KOREA as we slither between pistil and stamen? What warmth can we – part insect as we are – share before we desiccate in a window nook? A handful of winter sunlight short as the stumpy tail of a roe. THE TWO ROOMS OF THE HEART Obliterate me! I opened the window onto the street and called thick fog into my rooms. Fog that obliterated the traffic lights. The fog evaporated after crossing the window sill.a Even fog loses its way here. Obliterate me! Material things gulp down the thick fog. Still they rub dry, sandy eyes. Fill me up! Thick fog crept like the tide through the window that opens to the sea. Fog that obliterated the horizon. The fog flowed into me after crossing the window sill. Even fog reels here. Fill me up! Fog wet the chair; fog wet the mirror. Material things suddenly were one with the fog. The heart has two contiguous rooms, each careful in its movements not to waken the other. All that moved between the rooms was the silent, restless, undulant fog. BANIPAL 43 – SPRING 2012 175

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RA HEE-DUK

Three Poems

TRANSLATED BY KEVIN O’ROURKE

COLLOQUY

Nothing exists except the ladybird and me; we both stole into this room to avoid the cold.

The ladybird crawls laboriously along the floor, flails the air in upside-down collapse, sits abstractedly on the open page of a book, and – as if suddenly remembering – unfolds its tail wings for a zing dusting.

The zing of the wings cuts the heart like a tiny electric saw. Through the window winter sunlight illuminates the ladybird’s dappled back. And when it also illuminates the eyes that are watching the ladybird’s back,

the inch worm within me addresses the ladybird within you.

We’re both a bit insect-like; what colloquy can we share?

An odour given off; a buzz as we circle each other; a joint flailing of the air as we get turned upside down; an idle stirring of pollen

174 BANIPAL 43 – CELEBRATING DENYS JOHNSON-DAVIES

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