Book : Poems of 99 Modern Korean Poets

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Today i was searching some substance for my paper in library, but when i get into the row of books with number 800-802 (i guess), i found something that interesting. Poems of 99 Modern Korean Poets. As you know i’m so in love with poems. Then after i finished reading some books about electric motor, i came back to the row of books about Korean literature and take this book. I read and note some interesting poems in my notebook, but i just note some poems about season and some about life.

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Poems of 99 Modern Korean Poets
Edited by Je-Chun Park
Translated by Chang Soo Ko


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Poems of Jeong-Ju So
Forty-Five

            Forty five is an age
            When one can see ghost come and stand by you
           
            Like the bambo grove
            Like the bambo grove

            It is an age when one can see
            Unmarried girls’ ghosts
            Return home and stand by you,
            Reeking of winter garlic

            It’s an age
            When one can face unmarried girls’ ghost
Though he may not be old enough
To groom the ghost


Poems of Jong-Gil Kim
Spring Day

            The white magnolia bud in the back lane
Is opening it’s eyes
As on a tambour

The Bukhan  mountain,
In the milky midday mist,
Lies in repose, as if after a childbirth,
With her back turned

Am I a larva just out of the chrysalis?
I wriggle too
I too open my eyes


Autumn

The distant hill looms much closer

The light and shade
And the contours of things
Emerge much clearer

It’s autumn

Ah, it’s yet another autumn
My life greets

But my hair gets much thinner,
My shadow thinner still

The day has become thinner


Poems of Kyung-Whan Yoo
To The Roots

The thin roots of the grass flower.
I listen to the breaths of Spring
shoving out the earth,
like the silk yarn with which
Grand ma used to darn flower-design socks.

Forshythia and azalea flowers will come down
from the hills.
They hold in their hands the flower trumpets,
gathering the many-colored sunbeams.

It’s the white yarn roots in the field
that tenderly unravel the wide field.
I listen keenly to their precious breaths.


Poems of Jeong-Hee Park
Be So Fragrant

The flower one meets alone is lovely.
If watched together with others
It’d look more lovely.

It’ll be more fragrant
If one does not feel lonely
Looking at the flower.

Do you suffer pain
Because of me?

If you smile
Without suffering pain,
It’ll be more fragrant.

Looking at the uncultivated flower
Deep in the uninhabited  mountain.
           
The mountain dove’s wings will flap
More roundly more peacefully.

If you smile
Like a flower,
You’ll smell more fragrant.


Poems of Tan Lee
Where the Clouds Have Passed

What stays
where the clouds have passed?
What stays?
Even with that notion in mind,
my eyes reflect
not a speck of cloud.
The sky remains a mere sky.


Poems of Chae-Young Yang
Falling Blossoms

The dream of that flower petal
faling on the bleak wind;
Into what will the dream turn?
The head of water is too vast
to solace anyone’s soul.
The struggling things on this earth
are pressed down beneath the flower petals.


Poems of Shin-Seon Hong
The Old Man of the Duman Family

The house is an expanse of space
on the Harvest-Moon Day,
after all the children have left.

The late rice plants are weary with fruition.
The evening light briefly shadows
the gaunt scruff of their necks.
The belated cornfield close its gate
toward the rice paddy and the barley field
sear as dried squash slices.

The working hands have not yet stopped.


Poems of Yong-Tae Min
City, Love, Letters

There are no crickets,
Nor are there grass insects.
Cockroaches, and
a mosquito.

I’m a cockroach
rather than a mosquito.
Cockroaches have no klaxons.
I convey mosquito love
by using a mosquito’s tiny horn.

Though it may tickle you,
listen with patience:
“I love you.”
The designs at the bottom of a punctured tire
and it’s inner flesh
reveal themselves.


Poems of Hyang-Rim Noh
Evening Glow

The desolate road leading to Singal
not yet traveled
The profile of a man with a thin beard
has just left the road
to fare it’s outer sphere.

into the autumn grasses
gaunt with anxiety
into the red flesh of cockscombs
outside the isolated hedge.


Poems of Suk-San Yoon
Death, Into It’s Strange Time . III

To live is to endure time.
It is to thrust a dagger of futility
into one’s own bosom.

As much as thickening rust,
as much as the edge of the dagger
glittering ans sharpening.


Poems of Young-Choon Lee
Recognition of Things

If i could have become
As clear as that sky
Mysterious as those clouds
Abstruse as those hills
I wouldn’ttten poetry.

What i watch and survey
Is only throbbing breasts,
A mere trifle of the land setting foot.
I write poetry with an empty bosom resembling redemption,
Adding one more sin each night and day.


Poems of In-Hwan Bae
Sketch of a Flower

When the soul permeates the earth

The earth opens it’s eyes

The earth bleeds

It sheds clear and cold blood
Resembling the water of heavenly lake.

It puts out a flower of the spirit

That lights up the good earth.


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Indira Pratiwi

Jakarta based ilustrator & dreamer. Born on 90's era. So, i like everything about 90's. More artwork, lets check: grafolio.com/1996_eirram

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Hello, I'm Indira, born in 90's era. Welcome!

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