Poem
Kim Hyesoon
DON’T Day Forty-Nine
The warm buoyant breaths don’t miss youThe winds that have left for reincarnation before you, that brush against the
lips of your childhood don’t miss you
The winter, the woman’s ice-heart, dead from sickness, drifting away in the
infinite blue sky
with thin needles stuck all over it doesn’t miss you
The leaves blow away, leaving their prints on the frozen river and
the one-hundred, two-hundred-story high buildings crumble all at once and
the spectacles with spectacles, shoes with shoes, lips with lips, eyebrows with
eyebrows, footprints with footprints swept into a huge drawer don’t miss you
The river is frozen eighty centimeters deep, a tank passes over it, and the fish
beneath the ice don’t miss you
The dog tied to the electric pole in front of the tobacco shop for fourteen years
doesn’t miss you
While the big wind takes away thousands of women dead from madness
the sound of the “you’s” of your whole life, your hair falling
all of the winter landscape, wailing and wielding its whip doesn’t miss you
Thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of snow flurries don’t miss you
Don’t descend all over the world, howling, murmuring, searching for your
snowman-like body buried in the snow, don’t miss you and say love you or whatever as if unfolding a beautifully folded letter
Don’t miss you just because you’re not you and I’m the one who’s really you
Don’t miss you as you write and write for forty-nine days with an inkless pen
© Translation: 2018, Don Mee Choi
From: Autobiography of Death
Publisher: New Directions, New York, 2018
From: Autobiography of Death
Publisher: New Directions, New York, 2018
JOU NIET dag negenenveertig
een warme adem drijvend in de lucht mist jou nietde zacht de lippen beroerende wind uit je jeugd die ter wedergeboorte eerder vertrok dan jij mist jou niet
de winter waarin zij bij het vervlieten van de grenzeloze blauwe hemel stierf van pijn,
want in het ijzige hart van de vrouw volop fijne naalden, mist jou niet
terwijl op de dichtgevroren rivier gevallen bladeren volop hun vingerafdrukken achterlaten
terwijl gebouwen van honderd tweehonderd verdiepingen in een keer instorten
terwijl de brillen onder elkaar de schoenen onder elkaar de lippen onder elkaar
de wimpers onder elkaar de voetsporen onder elkaar een enorme lade in gespoeld worden, mist jou niet
tot tachtig centimeter diepte vriest de rivier dicht, eroverheen passeert een tank, onder dat ijs de vissen, ze missen jou niet
voor de tabakszaak aan de elektriciteitspaal een hond veertien jaar lang vastgebonden, hij mist jou niet
de enorme wind vliegt ervandoor met duizenden van waanzin gestorven vrouwen
het ginnegappen van de jijen uit jouw hele leven, de neer gutsende haren
het hele winterse landschap huilt wanhopig zwiept met de zweep, mist jou niet
al vallen er duizenden tienduizenden sneeuwvlokken, ze missen je niet
dalen neer over de hele wereld, ze lamenteren, snateren, houden op te zoeken naar je lichaam als een in de sneeuw begraven sneeuwpop, houden van je als het openen van een mooi samengevouwen brief, nou ja, soms, missen je niet
ik mis jou niet, want jij bent niet jij en ik ben precies jij
neem de pen ter hand waarmee zo’n negenenveertig dagen lang niet werd geschreven en schrijven maar en schrijven, mis jou niet.
© Vertaling: 2021, Lucas Hüsgen
마요 마흔아흐레
공중에 떠가는 따스한 입김 하나가 너를 그리워 마요너보다 먼저 윤회하러 떠난 네 어릴 적 그 입술에 살랑 닿는 바람이 너를 그리워 마요
무한 창공 떠가는 아파서 죽은 그 겨울 그 여자의 얼음심장에
가느다란 바늘이 가득 꽂히면서 너를 그리워 마요
떨어진 이파리들이 언 강물 위에 지문을 가득 붙여가면서
1백 층 2백 층 건물이 일시에 무너져 내리면서
안경은 안경끼리 신발은 신발끼리 입술은 입술끼리
눈썹은 눈썹끼리 발자국은 발자국끼리 커다란 서랍 속으로 쓸려가면서 너를 그리워 마요
80센티미터로 강물이 얼어붙고, 그 위로 탱크가 지나가고, 그 얼음 밑에서 물고기들이 너를 그리워 마요
담배 가게 앞에 14년째 전봇대에 묶인 개가 너를 그리워 마요
커다란 바람이 미쳐서 죽은 여자 수천 명을 데리고 날아가는데
네 일생의 ‘너’들이 웃어젖히는 소리, 쏟아지는 머리칼
겨울 풍경 전체가 울며불며 회초리를 휘두르며 너를 그리워 마요
눈발이 수천 개 수만 개 수억만 개 쏟아지며 너를 그리워 마요
온 세상에 내려앉아서 울며불며 수런거리며 눈 속에 파묻힌 눈사람 같은 네 몸을 찾지 마요, 예쁘게 접은 편지를 펴듯 사랑한다 어쩐다 너를 그리워 마요
너는 네가 아니고 내가 바로 너라고 너를 그리워 마요
49일 동안이나 써지지 않는 펜을 들고 적으며 적으며 너를 그리워 마요
© 2016, Kim Hyesoon
From: Autobiography of Death
Publisher: Moonhaksilheomsil, Seoul
From: Autobiography of Death
Publisher: Moonhaksilheomsil, Seoul
Poems
Poems of Kim Hyesoon
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DON’T Day Forty-Nine
The warm buoyant breaths don’t miss youThe winds that have left for reincarnation before you, that brush against the
lips of your childhood don’t miss you
The winter, the woman’s ice-heart, dead from sickness, drifting away in the
infinite blue sky
with thin needles stuck all over it doesn’t miss you
The leaves blow away, leaving their prints on the frozen river and
the one-hundred, two-hundred-story high buildings crumble all at once and
the spectacles with spectacles, shoes with shoes, lips with lips, eyebrows with
eyebrows, footprints with footprints swept into a huge drawer don’t miss you
The river is frozen eighty centimeters deep, a tank passes over it, and the fish
beneath the ice don’t miss you
The dog tied to the electric pole in front of the tobacco shop for fourteen years
doesn’t miss you
While the big wind takes away thousands of women dead from madness
the sound of the “you’s” of your whole life, your hair falling
all of the winter landscape, wailing and wielding its whip doesn’t miss you
Thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of snow flurries don’t miss you
Don’t descend all over the world, howling, murmuring, searching for your
snowman-like body buried in the snow, don’t miss you and say love you or whatever as if unfolding a beautifully folded letter
Don’t miss you just because you’re not you and I’m the one who’s really you
Don’t miss you as you write and write for forty-nine days with an inkless pen
© 2018, Don Mee Choi
From: Autobiography of Death
Publisher: 2018, New Directions, New York
From: Autobiography of Death
Publisher: 2018, New Directions, New York
DON’T Day Forty-Nine
The warm buoyant breaths don’t miss youThe winds that have left for reincarnation before you, that brush against the
lips of your childhood don’t miss you
The winter, the woman’s ice-heart, dead from sickness, drifting away in the
infinite blue sky
with thin needles stuck all over it doesn’t miss you
The leaves blow away, leaving their prints on the frozen river and
the one-hundred, two-hundred-story high buildings crumble all at once and
the spectacles with spectacles, shoes with shoes, lips with lips, eyebrows with
eyebrows, footprints with footprints swept into a huge drawer don’t miss you
The river is frozen eighty centimeters deep, a tank passes over it, and the fish
beneath the ice don’t miss you
The dog tied to the electric pole in front of the tobacco shop for fourteen years
doesn’t miss you
While the big wind takes away thousands of women dead from madness
the sound of the “you’s” of your whole life, your hair falling
all of the winter landscape, wailing and wielding its whip doesn’t miss you
Thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of snow flurries don’t miss you
Don’t descend all over the world, howling, murmuring, searching for your
snowman-like body buried in the snow, don’t miss you and say love you or whatever as if unfolding a beautifully folded letter
Don’t miss you just because you’re not you and I’m the one who’s really you
Don’t miss you as you write and write for forty-nine days with an inkless pen
© 2018, Don Mee Choi
From: Autobiography of Death
Publisher: 2018, New Directions, New York
From: Autobiography of Death
Publisher: 2018, New Directions, New York
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