Chewing Gum: Six poems
- onJanuary 5, 2017
- Vol.34 Winter 2016
- byKim Ki-taek
- Chewing Gum
My Eyes Met His
My eyes met his for a moment.
His face was familiar,
But I couldn’t remember who he was.
Bewildered by the odd familiarity of unfamiliarity
I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
He, too, seemed to ponder who I was.
He was rummaging through a garbage bag.
He was inside the skin of a cat.
As if he were used to standing upright,
To walk with four feet appeared awkward.
As if complaining to me, who had disturbed his ransacking,
Meow, he let out with feeling.
But unexpectedly the strange sound like a baby crying
Seemed unbearable even for his own ears,
And he immediately shut his mouth.
He didn’t run away like other cats.
As if angry over his own sad figure being caught,
He lowered his head, turning slowly, back arched,
And moved off into the distance for a long time.
On my way home after a drinking party
For over an hour
The smell of the meat has been lingering on my body.
My pores, my wrinkles, my fingerprints
Are full of the blood cooked by fire, the flesh turned into smoke.
The savory fragrance I tasted hastily, being hungry
Has gone away;
Onl y the strong stench of meat right before slaughter has survived,
Blocking up my nostrils like cotton balls.
With a smell of meat like the halo of a saint
I get off the subway.
In the spot where I was standing on the subway
A mould in the shape of my body covered with the smell of meat
Is still holding onto the train strap, looking out the window
At me, who is leaving up the station steps.
When I arrive at ground level,
A refreshing breeze sends away the smell of meat.
While I take in the cool air deeply,
The smell of meat briefly flies up like a swarm of flies
And attaches its sticky feet to my body.
It keeps holding onto my hands, which sizzled its body at the table,
And my teeth, which gnashed its body.
The blood-rank smell which still holds a scream and its death throes
Keeps permeating my body
In which a carcass is buried.
* Korean–style grilled pork belly
Killing a Cat
An object, black like a shadow, without the sound of walking
Dashed abruptly into the street.
I stepped on the brakes,
But the speed forged on ahead.
My car didn’t rattle in the slightest, even less than if going over a tiny stone,
But something soft seemed to permeate the tires.
I promptly looked in the side mirror, and found something that looked like a comforter
Dropped in the middle of the street.
What ate up all the wild animals from long ago
Was neither the teeth nor claws of tigers or lions,
But tires, soft as gum, which the little cat had no idea about.
The buffer of car tires, comfortable to drive in
Swallowed something mushy; crushed it, without a sign.
The texture of tender meat like the beef ribs of a well-known steakhouse,
So tender that it would melt in anybody’s mouth without even chewing
Rushed instantaneously into my body through the tires.
Death that had been softly squashed pierced my body
Then licked it from corner to corner
Appreciating my chewy texture for a long time.
Smacking the blood-soaked, engraved pattern with their lips,
The tires sped up, as if to satisfy the rest of their appetite.
At an Orphanage