Category Archives: Kim Kyeong-mi

I like all frustrated things by Kim Kyeong-mi

(translated from the Korean by geul)

 

Sleet that failed to become plush snow
Cow wheat that failed to become magnolia blossoms
The call that doesn’t come and the plundered savings
*** account.
Your letter
that passes me by to go to another address

*

I like the attitude of the frustrated
With the forehead to the floor
Things that have looked down at the world of roots
Transparently like a window pane
Like a god in heaven who gets on all fours and looks
***down

 

poem in Korean

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Memo to Myself by Kim Kyeong-mi

(translated from the Korean by geul)

 

About the time the sunflower, exhausted from the sun, leaned its thin neck on the wall to rest a while. I woke up and found that I was twenty-four years old.

*

God was a haughty hide-and-seek game, in which even though I hid, fretting up to my hair, He didn’t make an effort to find me, so it was always less enjoyable; and as other people seemed, as always, like pointless tears.

*

In the twenty-fourth year autumn arrived as sound of voices fumbling. Exterior to dreams, each day someone seemed to be standing outside so I ran out and opened the door to find the cosmos flower greeting me shaking the dew from its shoulders as if nothing were happening. I wanted to embrace its thin waist, come inside and have a child. A child with red gums like the inside of a pomegranate.

*

It might have been all right to have become a little bit happier at twenty-four, in which year nothing happened, after all. It might have been enjoyable to have engaged the young man with the thick lips, who seemed like an outlaw, in a battle of lies. Perhaps now only a child with teeth like snow could smile at this much happiness and deception remaining. Though it appears nothing is happening.

*

Could not a flower bloom on a cliff could you not walk on the river could you not continue a letter left unfinished if you suddenly wake to find yourself twenty-five? I am sorry you have not heard from me for a long time. It was because I wanted to live lightly like a piece of thread. Without being weighed down by anything at all.

 

poem in Korean


Anchovy Love by Kim Kyeong-mi

(translated from the Korean by geul)

 

Remove the shit pull off the head and nothing left to eat – small anchovy

Press it and water comes out any old place

hydrophilicity

Crime of making itself sad for too long

Love you can swallow whole bones and all can’t be common

 

original Korean