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Subject FOR NIRVANA /Korean Seon(zen) Master Cho Oh-Hyun àääÀ Ùöߣ ðÆçéúè -1 | ||
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Name °ü¸®ÀÚ | Hit 3421 |
FOR NIRVANA
108 ZEN SIJO POEMS
CHO OH-HYUN
introductory by KWON YOUNGMIN
translated by HEINZ INSU FENKL
Associate professor of English and Asian studies at SUNY New Paltz.
1
BITTER FLOWER
in my younger days, my name
was wild apricot tree in a fertile field
bees and but butterflies, the jealous spring......
I did not know about flowers then;
but on the day that Suni
went over the wall,
I new that blood was red
2
DAYDREAM
White bellflower in the mountain
dandelion in the meadow;
the faint memory of my birthplace
-a pensive face in the well.
Just once, I want to see her again-Suni,
who stood with her back to the outfield wall.
I do not know if the light scent of wormwood
has yet begun to rise
over that hill, where 10 li is such a long way;
under the moon, too bright,
a small village secretively appears
as I tread upon this indelible image.
This night-drink it and it does not fill,
but memory's glass cannot be emptied.
It is a storage jar with a burning in the belly,
somewhere, a spreading anxiety;
only echoes hang over the place
where one awakens from sleep.
My life in this world-I've lived it badly to the last.
But with the first water drawn from the well at dawn,
a single candle stick, and a bowl of rice,
my mother's mother prayed over
this prince who was not allowed to play
beside the stone statue that day.
3
DISTANCE HOLY MAN
Today, this one day
on this one day called today
I saw the whole of the sun rise
and saw it all set
Nothing more to see-
a swarm of gnats laying eggs, dying
I am still alive,
long past my time to die,
But consider-today, I don¡¯t feel
as if I¡¯ve lived even this single day
He may live a thousand years,
but the holy man
Is but a distance cloud of gnats
4
ELM TREE & MOON
she a dragonfly¡¯s wings,
a filmy, rustling silk skirt,
and a peacock shaft,
a mole upon her body
rise high, shine far
rise high, shine far
5
DESIRE, DEEPER THAN THE MARROW
You can¡¯t throw away an entire lifetime
Even for the sake of a god
Not rising, not sinking,
The mountain peony, just being,
Desire, deeper than the marrow,
Simply enfolded in its leaves
6
WHAT I¡¯VE ALWAYS SAID
Love is the hand of a creeping vine,
green leaves that suck up
the taint of pollution, thye taint of death,
the bright-red liquid metal
rust-water
that flows beneath
a steel-frame rebar concrete wall;
it embraces the whole world all at once.
It¡¯s a clutching clot of leaves.
Love is not talk-
it is the root of life.
You cannot name it, cannot draw the shape
of its heart and mind.
It is a clutching clot of leaves,
the dirty seed-leaf of the wild rose,
the bud-leaf of an oriental oak.
7
THE SOUND OF ANCIENT WOOD
One hears the sound of ancient wood
In the heart of an old tree
Only when the core is surely rotten
When all the straight limbs have snapped
And, naturally, some woody toxin
Remains in the crooked stump
8
THE DANCE & THE PATTERN
Late fall afternoon,
when death
crack-crackles underfoot,
sitting in a half-tub
of creek water,
I feel my forehead-
the thrum of ironing sticks
I¡¯ve not heard
Since my mother passed.
9
SPRING
even April exhausted, all agleam
with its nightly rain-
my mother, knuckles bit and bloodied,
salved with wormwood-
why only azaleas blazing
on her grave?
flowers blown and faded till
the whole mountainside¡¯s bruised
and over the pass to Shooting Star shrine
a cuckoo¡¯s cry
rises up, fresh,
like a wound in the heart
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