KIM, Sowol
    
      
    
      
    Invocation
    
      
    
      
    A name shattered in pieces:
  
A name vanished in the air:
A name with no response
    Yet will I be calling it, till I die
    
      
    
      
    My dear,
  
Oh, My dear
You are gone at length.
    And I did not tell you how much I’d loved you.
    
      
    
      
    The bright sun sets over the mountain.
    
      
    Even the deer cry put hear-broken.
    
      
    I call to you
    
      
    Standing on a lone crest of a mountain.
    
      
    
      
    I am calling you in teats.
  
    I’m calling you in teats.
    
      
    But, oh, too hollow is the space between
    
      
    the heaven and the earth
    
      
    For my voice to reach you.
    
      
    
      
    I’ll be calling you till my death
    
      
    Even if I be turned into a stone
    
      
    My love.
  
    My dear love.
    
      
    
      
    
      
    Oh, Mother, Oh Sister
    
      
    
      
    Oh, mother and sister,
  
Come live with me by the river.
In garden, glows of golden sands in glitter
Hums of reeds outside rear-gate.
Oh, mother and sister,
    Come live with me by the river
    
      
    
      
    
      
    Wild Flowers of the Mountains
  
    
      
    In the mountains are blowing flowers,
  
there the flowers blow,
autumn, spring and summer through,
there the flowers blow.
    
      
    In the mountains far and near,
  
In the mountains everywhere,
there the flowers bloom and blow,
so lovely, wild and fair.
    
      
    In the mountains are singing birds,
  
where the flowers blow;
There they sing the seasons through
because the flowers blow
    
      
    In the mountains are blowing flowers,
  
and there the flowers wilt;
autumn, spring and summer through,
there the flowers wilt.
    
      
    
      
    Unable to Forget
  
    
      
    Unable to forget, you recall your love;
  
Yet let life pass away, though in pain.
One day you may be able to forget.
    
      
    Unable to forget, you recall your love;
  
Yet just bid the years to slip away.
    Unable to forget, you may still forget a little.
    
      
    
      
    
      
    The Sea
  
    
      
    where are the waters
  
whose waves pulse, rise, fall, swell—
as the seaweed grows red?
    
      
    where are the waters
  
whose fishermen lie in their boats—
singing songs of love and chance?
    
      
    where are the waters
  
whose skies die gently at twilight—
cobalt from grey from cool black?
    
      
    where are the waters
  
whose wandering birds build flocks—
more massive as they recede into distances?
    
      
    where are the waters
  
I would cross over, without a thought—
    the last sea without land on the other side?
    
      
    
      
    
      
    Azalea Flowers
  
    
      
    When you feel disgusted looking at me
  
And if you feel like leaving me
I will let you go without whining a word
    
      
    I will go to Yongbyon's Yaksan 
    (Mountain)
  
I will bring an armful of azaleas
I will lay the azalea flowers on the path you'd take
    
      
    Softly, lightly,
  
take one step after another on the fresh flowers
as you're going away
    
      
    You may go away if you feel disgusted looking at me
  
I will not let a single tear drop fall
I'd rather die if you leave me, though
    
      
    
      
    Road
  
    
      
    Yesterday again
  
at an inn
I spent a sleepless night with the cawing crows.
    
      
     Today
  
how many more miles
on my journey I don't know whither?
    
      
     Shall I climb the hill
  
or walk on the field?
Wanted nowhere, I cannot go any farther.
    
      
     Don't mention my home
  
at Kwaksan, Chongju,
where trains go and boats too
    
      
     Look at the geese
  
in mid air.
Are they flying so well because there's a path?
    
      
     Look at the geese
  
in mid air.
I'm standing right at a crossroads.
    
      
     Of all the roads branching
  
to all directions,
There's none for me to take readily
    
      
    
      
    Song of the Stream
  
    
      
    If you had been born as a wind!
  
In the middle of an empty field by the stream at moonrise
    you would blow loose all the ties of my clothes.
    
      
    
      
    Or if we had been born as wriggling white bugs!
  
We would try dreaming that foolish dream
    of a rainy black night at the foot of some hill.
    
      
    
      
    If only you had been born as a rock on a cliff
  
where the sea comes to its end,
    the two of us would embrace and tumble in.
    
      
    
      
    Let my body be the spirit of fire
    
      
    burning in your heart the night through,
  
    the two of us burn to ash and vanish
    
      
    
      
    
      
    I didn't know till now
  
    
      
    That the moon rises nightly, in spring or fall,
  
I didn't know till now.
    
      
    How much I'd suffer from longing
  
I didn't know till now.
    
      
    That the moon is there, no matter how bright,
  
I didn't know till now.
    
      
    That the moon is for all the sorrow
  
I didn't know till now.