Skip to main content
Read page text
page 190
DO JONG-HWAN Poems TRANSLATED BY PARK KYUNG-RI IVY That is a wall. When it feels like just one of those walls, then, the ivy silently climbs the wall. When it is called a wall of despair, without a drop of water, and not a single grain of seed could survive, the ivy moves forward without haste. Even a short span is scaled together, hand in hand, until all despair is covered blue, – there is no letting go of that despair. When we shake our heads before an insurmountable wall an ivy leaf leads thousands of ivy leaves and eventually conquers the wall. BETWEEN THREE TO FIVE O’CLOCK The face of a wild cherry tree leaf is turning redder than a red dragonfly The seasons of the universe are passing by autumn, and the time of my life is between three to five in the afternoon My life between twelve to one o’clock was intense, but what followed was mostly worm-eaten Though already distanced from the centre of time, I am grateful that there are still a few hours before dark, and happy at the 188 BANIPAL 43 – CELEBRATING DENYS JOHNSON-DAVIES
page 191
GUEST LITERATURE – KOREA thought of being granted yet another brilliant spectacle of clouds illuminated by a twilight sky just before the sun goes down Soon, winter will arrive There will come a day when ice melts at the northern end of the earth, sending ice chunks all the way to seaside villages Even then, the woods will embrace my dimming body and shadow The flowers and trees are well aware of how much I loved the cork oaks, squirrels, children and pansies last spring and summer, and how hard I fought to protect them The earth will raise its tranquil hand as my witness I still have a few hours left and the time now is between three to five o’clock EVENING FOREST In memory of Scott Near ing It is evening, when even the peony closes its flowers. Watching the birds call out to one another in the same cry and nesting on the branches, I rest my axe. At this hour when the forest gathers its final scent for beans and potatoes planted yesterday, and for squirrels and deer, the sound of wood-splitting will not be comforting. While neatly stacking pieces of firewood under the rafters, I thought of you. When you moved to the Vermont forest after twice being dismissed from mainstream society, you had lost hope for the progressive movement and were thoroughly shunned by the world. However, you escaped from the engulfing madness, destruction and devastation. I washed my forehead with the flowing water, sat down on a rock and thought. Unlike you, after a day of hard work, reading, and writing I did not experience harmony with nature. Just like arranging the scattered blocks of wood and sprigs BANIPAL 43 – SPRING 2012 189

Page Text

View plaintext

DO JONG-HWAN

Poems TRANSLATED BY PARK KYUNG-RI

IVY

That is a wall. When it feels like just one of those walls, then, the ivy silently climbs the wall. When it is called a wall of despair, without a drop of water, and not a single grain of seed could survive, the ivy moves forward without haste. Even a short span is scaled together, hand in hand, until all despair is covered blue, – there is no letting go of that despair. When we shake our heads before an insurmountable wall an ivy leaf leads thousands of ivy leaves and eventually conquers the wall.

BETWEEN THREE TO FIVE O’CLOCK

The face of a wild cherry tree leaf is turning redder than a red dragonfly The seasons of the universe are passing by autumn, and the time of my life is between three to five in the afternoon My life between twelve to one o’clock was intense, but what followed was mostly worm-eaten

Though already distanced from the centre of time, I am grateful that there are still a few hours before dark, and happy at the

188 BANIPAL 43 – CELEBRATING DENYS JOHNSON-DAVIES

read next page

My Bookmarks

Buy this Book
Skip to main content