Mountain Mist, and: Chimney Birds No Longer Live in Chimneys, and: Salt, and: Poems on Snow, and: A Tear, and: I Snipped the Magic Flower
- Mountain Mist, and: Chimney Birds No Longer Live in Chimneys, and: Salt, and: Poems on Snow, and: A Tear, and: I Snipped the Magic Flower
Mountain Mist
Had I long, long hair, I’d unwind a strand sufficient to wrap you round. [End Page 115]
Chimney Birds No Longer Live in Chimneys
Only people sleep with their mouths open; that’s how tiring life is. Chimney birds no longer live in chimneys. Behold the life, the lost life of the chimney bird! When everything is gone, there’ll just be people left, people sleeping on this earth with their mouths open. [End Page 116]
Salt
is sea sores— not too many know! Salt is sea pain— not too many know! Salt when it falls like white snow on the tables of the world— not too many know— is sea tears. And because of those tears everything in the world has savor. [End Page 117]
Poems on Snow
Some write poems on paper; Some write poems on people’s hearts; Some write poems on an empty trackless sky. I write my poems on December snow. When the snow melts, the poems dissolve. [End Page 118]
A Tear
Look into sadness; it’s bright within, as if someone had lit a lamp or a few sprigs of parsley had bloomed. Look carefully: I’m lying in that parsley patch, arms outstretched, a parsley seed tear balanced on my eyelid. A blink would send it flying away! [End Page 119]
I Snipped the Magic Flower
I walked into the garden of the world. There was a round flowerbed in the middle of the garden, and a flower in bloom in the center.
The flower was like a light; a single glance dazzled. I passed the other flowers in bloom and moved toward the flower in the center.
It was midday. The way felt exceedingly long. I had to hurry. Whose flowerbed it was I didn’t know, but it seemed in that moment to throw open its world to me.
I walked into the brilliance. Dazzled by the light, I snipped the magic flower. In that moment I saw the flowerbed suddenly lose its light, I saw it become a wasteland.
The flowers all around lost virility, drooped. The magic flower in my hand was just an ordinary withered flower. [End Page 120]
Ryu Shiva (or Ryu Sihwa in Korean, 1958-) is another of the many younger poets who studied at Kyung Hee University. The sheer creativity of his imagination embodies the best of old Korea, as in the shijo imagery of “Mountain Mist,” which he combines with a profound awareness of modern city life, and in “Chimney Birds No Longer Live in Chimneys.” His poems have a spiritual quality, a real touch of fresh air.
Kevin O’Rourke, professor emeritus (Kyung Hee University), has published many translations of classical and contemporary Korean literature including Looking for the Cow (Dedalus, 1999), The Book of Korean Shijo (Harvard, 2002), The Book of Korean Poetry: Songs of Shilla and Koryo (Iowa University Press, 2006), The Book of Korean Poetry: Choson Dynasty (Stallion Press, 2014), and Selected Poems of Kim Sakkat (Koryo Press, 2014), as well as a personal memoir, My Korea: Forty Years without a Horsehair Hat (Renaissance Books, 2013).
