[Afternoon Poem] May/Ryu Sunghoon

On days when I wanted to sleep so long that my soul would sink into the pillow,

I dig out my own itchy sleep from inside my ears.

When was the last time we all lay together over a gentle, simmering warmth?

When was the last time we stretched our feet under the same blanket?

Today, as I hung out lives on the drying rack-lives that came alone, then were not alone, then thought they were not alone, then wished not to be alone, but in the end became alone-the distance between the moon and the earth was at its farthest.

I learned for the first time that planets and satellites can grow farther apart or closer together. There lived a family that was neither distant nor close.

I was not living anywhere at all.

In the month of family, there are families, there is hope without family, and there are families without hope. So perhaps it is not so bad to live without hope; after all, it is just a word, and maybe more like a typo.

For example, when you mean to write "to live" but type "to love" instead, life is always a mistake, and so it appears beautiful. There were times when I was grateful to be writing.

Within sleep,

Outside of sleep,

Or perhaps in this final world,

I wanted to see more springs.

■ "Always love life. And constantly declare your survival." This sentence is from the will left by the French philosopher Jacques Derrida. However, I have yet to read the original text of this sentence. So I do not know whether "life" and "survival" are the same, or perhaps slightly different, or what exactly "survival" means. I also do not know whether "and" is simply functioning as a conjunction linking two sentences, or if it establishes equivalence, or if it implies simultaneity. Still, I do feel that "love" is not merely an abstraction or an idea, but, like "declare," already an event in action. Perhaps, as the poem says, "life is a mistake." But it is not that life appears beautiful "because" of that. Rather, it means that, even if it arises from a "mistake," when "to live" and "to love" overlap, our lives may suddenly become beautiful. Writing is the place where such "mistakes" are born countless times. In fact, it must always be so. Did Derrida not teach us? "Love" is an ethic that must "always" and "constantly" be enacted. Poet Chae Sangwoo

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