The blue hill is my desire,
the green stream my beloved’s love.
Even if the stream flows away,
how can the hill ever change?
Never forgetting the hill, I wonder,
does the stream cry as it leaves?
translated by Ko Won
Korean poet
untitled poem 1 by Hwang Chin-i
I cut in two
A long November night, and
Place half under the coverlet,
Sweet-scented as a spring breeze.
And when he comes, I shall take it out,
Unroll it inch by inch, to stretch the night.
translated by Peter H. Lee
A Purple Cloud by Sowol Kim
A purple cloud drifts away
and the sky begins to clear.
The snow fallen stealthily in the night
bursts the pine grove into blossom.
Millions of flashing flakes
dazzle in the sunlight.
I gaze on them forgetful
of what happened during the night.
A purple cloud drifts away.
translated by Jaihiun Kim & Ronald B. Hatch
Reed Flute by Ha-Woon Han
I play a reed flute
On a Sprıng’s hill,
Longing for old home.
I play a reed flute
On a blooming hill,
Longing for childhood days.
I play a reed flute
In human streets,
Longing for earthly things.
I play a reed flute
On an endless wandering
Over the vales of tears.
Blue Birds by Ha-Woon Han
When I die,
I’ll become a blue bird.
I’ll fly over
Blue Sky and blue field.
I’ll sing blue songs
And blue laments.
When I die,
I’ll become a blue bird.
Going Up To The Capital by Song Shi-yol
The green waters roar as if angry,
the blue mountains hush, as if frowning.
Musing on the mountains and waters I realize
they hate my going into the world of wind and dust.
translated by Kim Jong-gil
Ordinary Autumn Evening by Dong-Jip Shin
On an ordinary autumn evening
Ordinary fruit is better.
Sometimes ordinary words
With no particular savor
Suit me better.
Hearing in memory
The last car depart,
I step over
The membrane of sleep,
And a fruit falls in my dream.
I will ask the wind
That departs in the morning
To what depths the fruit has fallen.
Rock by Chi-Hwan Yu
When I die,
I will become a rock,
never touched
by compassion, joy or anger.
While being torn down by wind and rain,
It will only whip itself inwards
in eternal, impersonal silence,
and at last forget its own existence;
Floating clouds, distant thunder!
Though it may dream,
it will never sing.
Though broken in pieces,
it will never utter a word.
I will become such a rock.
Invocation by Sowol Kim
O, name shattered.
O, name vanished into thin air.
O, name without response to my call.
O, name I will be calling till death.
You’ve gone before, I have said,
one last word etched on my heart.
O, my love nearest my heart,
nearest my heart.
The red sun hangs over the western peaks.
Even a herd of deer laments.
I am calling to you
as I stand on a lone hill.
I call to you till sorrow chokes me,
sorrow chokes me.
But my voice rings hollow in the vast void
between heaven and earth.
Should I turn to stone
I will be calling to you.
O, my love nearest my heart,
nearest my heart.
translated by Jaihiun Kim & Ronald B. Hatch
Slow Chrysanthemums by So Ko-jong
The chrysanthemums are slow to bloom this year,
I have found no autumn joy by the eastern hedge.
Heartless, indeed, is the west wind: it blows
into my greying hair, not yellow chrysanthemums.
translated by Kim Jong-gil
Leonard Durso 