[Afternoon Poem] Like Gwakgong (郭公) / Jang Seokwon

My person

The holes left where you, you have passed grow bigger and bigger like the moon, and when they burst, every day again and again I fill those holes full, flowing, overflowing, seeping into every crack and crevice of my body so that I, who have seeped in, do not grieve, deeply and deeply, clear and clear, under the shade of the flower tree tree tree tree of the new spring new spring afternoon, deeper than the slow, hanging scent I hold, the scent scent scent that penetrates continuously deeply, more deeply, deeply, please blow deeply into my chest

My person who gives me strength

Please reject me, say I am dirty, why do you clutch my chest at the sharp end of your words? Walking and walking home, the darkness deepened, how hateful it is, even if you handle that warm body as you please, I am not happy yet, I have not engraved the proof that you love me on my body, will you receive a brand that says you are mine? You have tied me to waiting for you

My person burning red

If you, you hold me tightly, fiercely, more fiercely, if you embrace me, if you insert inside, I will forever, forever return to your warm embrace, your warmer face, the flowing embrace and tears, like putting a near-extinct tumor into a tumor cavity, like a timid bird entering a nest, secretly, secretly, secretly, I will return to love, to love. Even if my chest is scratched by leaves, branches, vines, rough dragonflies, thorns, even if scratched by the tongue of the wind like sandpaper, I will sleep and wake in your nest as a young bird, an abandoned bird, and embrace your arms. I will bury and fill myself

■ ‘Gwakgong’ is a cuckoo. The cuckoo secretly lays eggs in another bird’s nest. Therefore, the “abandoned bird” is a baby cuckoo. How pitiful, “young bird.” However, reading this poem reminds one of Han Yong-un and also Kim Sowol. Han Yong-un naturally because of the poem’s internal structure, and Kim Sowol clearly because of the rhythm. But the ‘you’ written in this poem is a ‘fake mother bird,’ and the rhythm does not hesitate to be transformed and divided. Continuing tradition cannot be done by repetition or imitation. That is merely stealing. Tradition is a future forged and resurrected through negation and renewal. Just like this poem. ? Poet Chaesangwoo

This content was produced with the assistance of AI translation services.