Reading

A Poetry Reading by Poet Shin Dalja "A Bell Ringing"
A Poetry Reading by Poet Shin Dalja "A Bell Ringing" Detailed Information Date: 2016.12.30 Provider: LTI Korea Running Time: 01:24 Writer: Shin Dalja Language: English More information on Korean literature writers http://www.koreanliteraturenow.com http://library.klti.or.kr
A Poetry Reading by Poet Shin Dalja "Offering a Flower"
A Poetry Reading by Poet Shin Dalja "Offering a Flower" Detailed Information Date: 2016.12.30 Provider: LTI Korea Running Time: 01:11 Writer: Shin Dalja Language: English More information on Korean literature writers http://www.koreanliteraturenow.com http://library.klti.or.kr
A Poetry Reading by Poet Shin Dalja "Two Hands"
Reflections on long-accumulated suffering A poet who captures the will to overcome suffering Detailed Information Date: 2016.12.30 Provider: LTI Korea Running Time: 03:36 Writer: Shin Dalja Language: English More information on Korean literature writers http://www.koreanliteraturenow.com http://library.klti.or.kr
"Song of Peace" by Hwang Tong-gyu
Song of Peace I’m told we are a puny race. Doors locked even in daytime, bathing our eyes with “Trust Drops,” we read light essays, hugging the stove. Dragging the anguish of no place to hide like a soldier with one or two chevrons on the arm, you travel the country from Kimhae to Hwachon,* winter fatigues hanging on you, a canteen flapping at your side. Wherever you turn, barbed wire, at every wire, a checkpoint. I do not understand this love, this smothering jealous love. I spread my gloved hands, palms up. Snow falling for some time now, a...
"Wind Burial 27" by Hwang Tong-gyu
Wind Burial 27 When I leave this world I'll take my two hands, two feet, and my mouth. I'll take my dim eyes, too, carefully covering them with my lids. But I'd rather leave my ears, Ears keen to catch the sound of late night rain As it gives its arm to autumn’s shoulder. Ears that know which autumn tree stands in rain Only by listening Will be left.
"Canzone Napoletana" by Hwang Tong-gyu
Canzone Napoletana Coming out of the lounge for retired professors, Failing to conclude the inconsequential debate on the death of literature (Hey, have I been kicking against empty air all my life?) I started the car and turned on the audio. The Canzone Napoletana sung by the old Tenor Stephano, On the Circular Road, suddenly my eyeballs are brimful with cherry blossoms. Opening the windows and driving slowly to pull up at the sidewalk, I accompany my humming with the songs. Thirty years ago, The azure-blue waves lapping against the Napoli seashore, When the aroma of orange flowers invaded my...
"The Land of Mists" by Kim Kwang-Kyu
The Land of Mists In the land of mists, always shrouded in mist, nothing ever happens. And if something happens nothing can be seen because of the mist. For if you live in mist you get accustomed to mist so you do not try to see. Therefore in the land of mists you should not try to see. You have to hear things. For if you do not hear you cannot live, so ears keep growing bigger. People like rabbits with ears of white mist live in the land of mists.
"North South East West" by Kim Kwang-Kyu
North South East West In spring a flood of tender green goes rising, spreading northward, northward. Unhindered by barbed wire or military demarcation line it journeys north. Rising over mountains crossing plains, azaleas and forsythias cross the border north. In summer the cuckoo’s call, the croak of frogs, are just the same in every place. In fall a flood of golden hues comes dropping spreading southward, southward. Unhindered by demilitarized zone or lines forbidding access it journeys south. Crossing rivers passing over valleys cosmos flowers and crimson leaves cross the border south. In winter the taste of ice-cold pickle the...
"Spirit Mountain" by Kim Kwang-Kyu
Spirit Mountain In my childhood village home there was a mysterious mountain. It was called Spirit Mountain. No one had ever climbed it. By day, Spirit Mountain could not be seen. With thick mist shrouding its lower half and clouds that covered what rose above, we could only guess dimly where it lay. By night, too, Spirit Mountain could not be seen clearly. In the moonlight and starlight of bright cloudless nights its dark form might be glimpsed, yet it was impossible to tell its shape or its height. One day recently, seized with a sudden longing to see Spirit...
"The Twentieth Century" by Kim Nam Jo
The Twentieth Century I loved the Twentieth Century. I met my life as my betrothed and through my life-studies (fated to begin most miserably on fields of war and death) I was awakened to pure and passionate yearning and the nobility of life. I loved the Twentieth Century. I loved its shuddering, suffering, and trembling hope. I loved the sublime loneliness of my contemporaries, those talented people, distant as stars and quite as beautiful, with their superabundant civilizations and deeply thoughtful intellectual traditions. I felt greatly honored to be graced by their light. I loved the Twentieth Century. I loved...

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