"1:48 - voices from within the korean diaspora"
guest: Kim Park Nelson
reporting by: kim thompson
interview conducted by: Steve Hatherly for TBS radio in Seoul
"Kim Park Nelson is an assistant professor of American Multicultural Studies at the Minnesota State University at Moorhead. Her research explores the many identities of adult Korean adoptees, as well as the cultural, social, historical and political significance of over 50 years of Korean adoption to the United States. Her recently completed Ph.D. research is titled “Korean Looks, American Eyes: Korean American Adoptees, Race, Culture and Nation.” She is the lead organizer of the Second International Symposium of Korean Adoption Studies which will take place in Seoul on August 3, 2010 as part of the International Korean Adoptee Associations Gathering, a week- long conference for and about Korean adoptees. She born in Korea and adopted to the United States in 1971."
LISTEN HERE:
ABOUT 1:48
This is a report that will air once every 3 weeks and will feature korean adoptees who are artists, activists, and philosophers.
I will do the reporting and through the suggestions of others as well as my own contacts bring on different voices from within the adoptee community who live both in Seoul and abroad. For the time being it will air as a regular report that is featured on the "Steve Hatherly Show"
The reason that I've named the report thus is due to this fact (which I extracted from an article by Jane Jeong Trenka )
"since 1953 about 200,000 korean children have been sent to the west for adoption. with korea having a population of approximately 48 million this means one in every 48 korean citizens is affected by adoption. this show will feature some of those 200,000 who have returned home."
HOW TO BE A PART OF SUPPORTING THIS SHOW:
It is to our knowledge the first consistent featuring of a report like this on the radio. Your comments and feedback and listening participation are vital. PLEASE make sure to email Tim Alper at TBS radio with your support for the show and tell him how you heard it (either live or on my blog)
Tim Alper: tda7@hotmail.com
If you have guest or topic suggestions please email me (Kim Thompson) at: kimmer_t@hotmail.com
* The purpose of this show is to feature the voices of Korean adoptees
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Saturday, December 26, 2009
disparities of separation anxieties
1 in 48
the marriage of academics and the arts
ibyang kyopo korean korean
the vocabularies being created...
a generation rising up from weariness of standing still in white
sideways glances
... taking it all in
we are here we are here
here we are
... blowing up the blogosphere
we are here
... lucky
pitiful
ping pong balls
... (i could sit at this coffeeshop for something like ever and a day)
... (ive) so many questions
of what is and will be
artists are the first voice she tells me
... first voices...
conduits
translating academia for the masses
academia listening to these first voices for what is being said
"is dual citizenship just another bandaid for an unstoppable wound?"
i used to think loss could only be claimed by us
(father forgive such arrogance)
... i used to think there could be some kind of solution for a thing for which there can be no absolution only... only...
reconciliation.
so this is what we walk towards
... the reconciling of ourselves
of our parents both blood and legal
... how are we supposed to fix a thing when we're the ones who were torn away?
but who else will?
malcom x and martin luther king jr rose to the challenge
and now we rise to ours
... one in forty eight
legislations...
korea you ask us to fight for you in your armies before the age of 30
but i cannot help but ask
"why should we fight for you when you did not fight to keep us?"
"what is it that we would be defending? when you left us so without defense... a lifetime of building our own walls that now we work to deconstruct"
yes
i like to party and rock the mic loud
yes
i like the beauty of the svelte in high heeled black boots click clacking down the streets
yes
i like to be inane
but why im here
is not for frivolities
im here for my own
reconciling
with a past that cannot should not
be changed...
you ask me what if everyday
ask me the impossible
when there is no answer
... so i work to help create the language for the questions.
what ifs will only make us crazy
one in forty eight
ask me how we are reconciling our statistics
ask me how we are working past the scotch tape of bandaids
... one in forty eight we are trying to increase the gap of such a ratio
so that one day it could become rare to none
... one day
ask me what i believe in
and i will tell you point blank truth that is me
- i believe in one days
i believe in the marriage of three worlds and words
- theirs
- yours
- ours
... i believe in hoping for everything and never giving up
so inbetween the nights you see me in
there are another set of hours spent daily reconciling the anxieties of my and our separations
the marriage of academics and the arts
ibyang kyopo korean korean
the vocabularies being created...
a generation rising up from weariness of standing still in white
sideways glances
... taking it all in
we are here we are here
here we are
... blowing up the blogosphere
we are here
... lucky
pitiful
ping pong balls
... (i could sit at this coffeeshop for something like ever and a day)
... (ive) so many questions
of what is and will be
artists are the first voice she tells me
... first voices...
conduits
translating academia for the masses
academia listening to these first voices for what is being said
"is dual citizenship just another bandaid for an unstoppable wound?"
i used to think loss could only be claimed by us
(father forgive such arrogance)
... i used to think there could be some kind of solution for a thing for which there can be no absolution only... only...
reconciliation.
so this is what we walk towards
... the reconciling of ourselves
of our parents both blood and legal
... how are we supposed to fix a thing when we're the ones who were torn away?
but who else will?
malcom x and martin luther king jr rose to the challenge
and now we rise to ours
... one in forty eight
legislations...
korea you ask us to fight for you in your armies before the age of 30
but i cannot help but ask
"why should we fight for you when you did not fight to keep us?"
"what is it that we would be defending? when you left us so without defense... a lifetime of building our own walls that now we work to deconstruct"
yes
i like to party and rock the mic loud
yes
i like the beauty of the svelte in high heeled black boots click clacking down the streets
yes
i like to be inane
but why im here
is not for frivolities
im here for my own
reconciling
with a past that cannot should not
be changed...
you ask me what if everyday
ask me the impossible
when there is no answer
... so i work to help create the language for the questions.
what ifs will only make us crazy
one in forty eight
ask me how we are reconciling our statistics
ask me how we are working past the scotch tape of bandaids
... one in forty eight we are trying to increase the gap of such a ratio
so that one day it could become rare to none
... one day
ask me what i believe in
and i will tell you point blank truth that is me
- i believe in one days
i believe in the marriage of three worlds and words
- theirs
- yours
- ours
... i believe in hoping for everything and never giving up
so inbetween the nights you see me in
there are another set of hours spent daily reconciling the anxieties of my and our separations
Friday, December 11, 2009
mirrors
she
she is me
i
i am her
she is me
i am her
she in me sees her
i in her see me
she sees what she would like to forget
she sees what she did wrong
she sees her guilt
her secret
in me
she sees her wrongs
so she
runs
and hides
only placing calls
i know this
because it is how i am too
when confronted with a painful truth
we are one
i am her
she is me
me is her
her is i
... last night i dreamt a hand in mine
so real was the dream i knew the flesh
she
she is me
i
i am her
spitting image
mirror
she
hurts to see herself in me
i
hurt to know what she is seeing
herself in me
and a mistake she can never unmake
so she does as i
runs and hides
behind the safety of half involvement
never quite cutting ties
but never having time to build
... i
see me
in her
... i
see what it is she sees
her one and only replica
that can no longer be kept
away
she is me
i
i am her
she is me
i am her
she in me sees her
i in her see me
she sees what she would like to forget
she sees what she did wrong
she sees her guilt
her secret
in me
she sees her wrongs
so she
runs
and hides
only placing calls
i know this
because it is how i am too
when confronted with a painful truth
we are one
i am her
she is me
me is her
her is i
... last night i dreamt a hand in mine
so real was the dream i knew the flesh
she
she is me
i
i am her
spitting image
mirror
she
hurts to see herself in me
i
hurt to know what she is seeing
herself in me
and a mistake she can never unmake
so she does as i
runs and hides
behind the safety of half involvement
never quite cutting ties
but never having time to build
... i
see me
in her
... i
see what it is she sees
her one and only replica
that can no longer be kept
away
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
"1:48 Voices from within the Korean diaspora" feat Maja Lee Langvad TBS radio Seoul
"1:48 Voices from within the Korean diaspora" feat Maja Lee Langvad TBS radio Seoul from 7 Dec 09.
the Steve Hatherly show. Reporting by Kim Thompson. Featuring Korean adoptee Danish writer Maja Lee Langvad
the Steve Hatherly show. Reporting by Kim Thompson. Featuring Korean adoptee Danish writer Maja Lee Langvad
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
a thought
dearest fellow ibyang employed by holt in eugene oregon and others who live in the house,
please do not think that i am standing in a place of judgement...
i spent about 28 years of my life believing i was white - wondering what the hell all those bitter adoptees were bitchin' about... denouncing it... avoiding korean adoptees or any one who looked asian... i didnt want to be associated with what i was not - i didnt want my identity to be mistaken...
and unlike all those bitter adoptees... i was not bitter... i was fine...
around 29 i began to suspect i wasnt white... and that maybe claiming asians and specifically korean adoptees as friends wasnt such a bad thing... slowly i began to feel less ashamed...
slowly i began to realize... it wasnt that i thought everyone whod already claimed their roots or who were outspoken against int'l adoption was bitter... it was that i was... ashamed.... of being ... of looking... like a korean.
and then ... i began to truly desire to return to the place that i had been born... id always wanted this but id tried to forget... id told myself that only the weak needed to do that... that i was already well adjusted... and sure... id had some rough spots in my coping... but who doesnt?
- i mean everyone drinks away a good five or more years of their life... theres nothing abnormal about being 5'2" and being able to put away 3 plus liters of vodka and a liter of whiskey a week 52 weeks a year for 3 or 4 years without any noticeable side effects... theres nothing abnormal with sleeping around for the sake of it and being completely incapable of admitting to how much i cared about some of them... theres nothing abnormal about having extreme internal panic attacks that id never see someone again when a friend would go to another room for whatever normal mundane reason (i.e. to get a glass of water, to use the bathroom, to answer the phone) - for them to be away for even 5 minutes and to completely convince myself in those 5 minutes that they had forgotten me and probably hated me and probably never really liked me... absolutely nothing abnormal about any of this... we all have shit to deal with... and i was just typical... i wasnt coping anyways... i was just living my life... and being adopted definitely didnt affect my mental or emotional state...
... and then it began to hit me... that maybe this wasnt normal... or at least maybe not healthy... that maybe these things were what the western world calls "coping mechanisms" ...
... and then it began to hit me that maybe... there was something to be said for the fact that to this day i still struggle with the fact that my first mental response when something feels too out of control or painful my first thought for how to deal with it is to go buy a few bottles... or go find some available person to take home...
... and only in the past months have i even been able to begin to fully address these things...
only in the past couple years have i been able to begin to start to want to change these patterns... and in doing so... looking at what it was i wasnt admitting...
and in that... looking at ... what i felt ashamed of...
i was ashamed of being korean.
i was ashamed of this body... this face... this skin...
i was so ashamed that i couldnt even let myself get indignant ... or acknowledge that i cared ... because if i did that ... then id have to admit to myself... not only my shame... but just how much... i have never stopped mourning the loss of my umma - my mother...
and to admit that would be to admit just how very human my heart really is...
and somehow the costs of not admitting were easier... pissing people off... offending them... making them think that i was disrespectful of what theyd asked of me - even when i respected what they asked i didnt have the ground to stand on to be able to prove to them that i was speaking the truth... i never lied to anyone... but i lied to myself a lot...
and so...
my fellow ibyangs... who work for holt... who think adoptees like me who believe that there needs to be a HUGE and DRAMATIC shift and change in int'l adoption policies and most likely be put to an end... those who think me... us... bitter
... i cannot judge you... because i spent most of my life living in "the house"... its only been oh so recent where i have decided to return to "the field" that i was born of... my friends can attest to this...
keeping me grateful for the reality and possibilities that evolution allows us...
... and all of this is only the prelude to what i want to ask you
...
how can you work for a place like that?
a place that has lied about so many of us in order to make money?
how can you work for a place that continues to deny adoptees access to personal background information?
is it because you think that if you do not you will be classified as bitter?
is it because you feel so indebted to a white society that raised us?
is it because you say as i once did "im not really korean... i just look it... im more white than korean" or "im not like those others - theyre so weak and bitter... complaining all the time - they dont get how lucky they are"
is it because... those in the field remind you of your precarious position in the house?
is it because you... (like me... like most of us... have been... ) ashamed?
is it because... this whole thing affects you so much more than your heart can bear? that you have never stopped missing her? that you have never stopped knowing just how much this hurts?
is it because if you admit to all of that... if you admit how fucked up this leaves you feeling... youd probably break down and cry for days?
is it because ... you hate how much it affects you... and so its easier to say it doesnt really matter and you dont really get it when others make a big deal out of it?
is it because... youre worried that if you admit this... you will risk hurting your adoptive parents feelings... and if you hurt them... then you risk losing them? and the thought of losing another set of parents... is unbearable...
is it because
unlike me and others like me - you never had a real addiction... you have only had healthy dating relationships... you have a wonderful relationship with your parents... youre not one to be so affected by the actions of others... you are never scared of being left ... you see no point in looking to the past... youre well adjusted and well educated... you are strong - you dont let your emotions dictate you use the brain you were given... you have god and the church... you have a good comfortable life... youre not the complaining type... you hate when people complain...
... whatever your reasons are...
its ok
... but its also ok you know... to admit... to yourself... that youve never stopped wondering or missing her... and at times hating her...
its ok to admit that maybe you feel betrayed by your country and your people so why invest into them when they invested so little into you...
its ok to admit that...
you think people should be applauding celebrities for adopting... cuz we all kinda wish that someone irrevocably wealthy had adopted us... i know i sure do...
its ok
that you like being in the house...
im not writing this to say you have to leave
... but i am writing this to say...
one day
if you ever decide
it is worth every piece of courage it will take
to walk out of the house and go into the field
because you will be welcomed home with open arms...
and when you cry...
we will cry with you
and when you rejoice
we will rejoice with you
and when you are confused
we will be confused with you
and when you make an ass of yourself due to bad coping mechanisms
we wont kick you out...
and maybe you will decide to return to the house
but maybe you will realize not only do you love this field
but just how much you have missed and needed this field
... - me
Sunday, November 29, 2009
바다
"바다" she tells me
"baaahh dahhh" i repeat like a sheep incompetent
one year later and i sit staring at the same crayon drawing of the sea
reading "바다" and remembering
how we wrote chalk notes on the board
hello
hi
youre cute
youre hot
youre beautiful
how are you
... 바다 has brought me here again
for you
or me
i do not know
"baaahh dahhh" i repeat like a sheep incompetent
one year later and i sit staring at the same crayon drawing of the sea
reading "바다" and remembering
how we wrote chalk notes on the board
hello
hi
youre cute
youre hot
youre beautiful
how are you
... 바다 has brought me here again
for you
or me
i do not know
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
rainy day
today
(i am)
the sight
the size
the sound
of this rain
memories flash in dreams
somehow i still can speak all the words i have forgotten
god bless this lonely billie holiday
god bless this miles davis
god bless coltrane and all that jazz
even buses run more slowly
the coffee is black
and the shop just changed its hours for smoking indoors
its ok i could use the exercise...
god bless the first kiss
the first touch
the first moments of uncertainty
something of the rain reminded me
what thats like
all that nervousness
and skin full of tremulations
... god bless the poet wordsmiths the re-inventors
... i like to keep my life close to me
like to have it all within reach or short walking distance
umbrellas pass by so slow... ly
i like the sound of rain
its like the sound of sitting in the dark of hannah's flat in long beach
brown carpet
california pacific air
jumping on the bed
its like the sound of oregon in the summer
its like a thousand seven plus sounds lived before
all sheeting down so slow as one long swipe across the city pavement
never seen
only heard
somewhere in the distance
... i like this wooden spoon... perhaps i'll take it home with me
but first now to exercise by stepping out beneath the awning
to watch the rain and fill the air with what my lungs are taking in...
(i am)
the sight
the size
the sound
of this rain
memories flash in dreams
somehow i still can speak all the words i have forgotten
god bless this lonely billie holiday
god bless this miles davis
god bless coltrane and all that jazz
even buses run more slowly
the coffee is black
and the shop just changed its hours for smoking indoors
its ok i could use the exercise...
god bless the first kiss
the first touch
the first moments of uncertainty
something of the rain reminded me
what thats like
all that nervousness
and skin full of tremulations
... god bless the poet wordsmiths the re-inventors
... i like to keep my life close to me
like to have it all within reach or short walking distance
umbrellas pass by so slow... ly
i like the sound of rain
its like the sound of sitting in the dark of hannah's flat in long beach
brown carpet
california pacific air
jumping on the bed
its like the sound of oregon in the summer
its like a thousand seven plus sounds lived before
all sheeting down so slow as one long swipe across the city pavement
never seen
only heard
somewhere in the distance
... i like this wooden spoon... perhaps i'll take it home with me
but first now to exercise by stepping out beneath the awning
to watch the rain and fill the air with what my lungs are taking in...
none of it really makes any sense (at all)
what is... would have
could have
been
better
for each
and every
one
of
us
i did not want to go to julliard
because i knew it was not
possible
but you
wanted
what was possible
because nothing said it could not be
and so we both sat dreaming the impossible
so i dont know now what it is /
is
not
better
to have been here
or there
but still we share one thing
loss.
and i cannot forget
how much we still want
and youre this
this
this
julliard
and i
i
im this
romeo'd
its how the story writes itself
every cliche is true tonight
and no ones gonna come outta this happier
we're just gonna end up
honest.
anyways thats all i really ever wanted.
i could never go to julliard
that is where the rich go
but we like to dream this coulda/shoulda
just like how i dream here
and am hurt each and every day by letting go (of) my own coulda/ shoulda
cuz there is none
there is
neither
and its ok
cuz what else is there?
save cept but for a buncha broken dreams
save cept but for a buncha broken wishes
... and anyways no one reads this
save cept but for the dreamers
and what i want when 5 down under plus
is only exaggerated by the five and plus
when really all i mean to say is
- i dont know.
i never will.
she didnt want us
she had different ways of showing it
and now shes happy sending kimchi
like the tears of cabbage is a remedy...
then again...
maybe
it is ...
Monday, October 26, 2009
the hope of flowers
and maybe the flowers will tell us today
if we just ask the pavement
"where is she?"
perhaps the leaves will answer
"we saw her over there on our way down to this street"
the sisters behind barking dogs and closed gates
chant
"we dont know go away"
the churches turn their eyes towards god too busy to help
so maybe the flowers will answer
maybe the persimmons will whisper
"she stands gazing here each day at noon come back here tomorrow"
the lazy policemen do their best
giving rides to places we've already looked
the cat with the skin off its back just stares
wounded... we are all so wounded
3 lost girls
wandering the streets
trying to find absolution to the heart wrenching questions carried for one small lifetime
- where is she
ask her maybe she knows...
maybe he knows
the man with the patch o'er his face
maybe he can tell us
where she went
mumbling phonetically "mah-chee-so" "mah-chee-say... mah-chee si... mah-chee si si-yo"
she breaks the moment with a pair of socks
knee high
we smile
for the absurdity of the moment
wondering
- will the flowers tell us?
do they even know?
i doubt the birds will speak
when even halmunis amble off
and god's workers are too busy lighting candles / saying prayers
if this were america i would tell you that the policeman was fat and sitting behind a desk chewing on his bakers dozen donut...
but this is korea
so instead he was average height and weight and giving us vitamin drinks happily chattering on about his son and how neighborhoods get re-assigned and how he should do better at his job
if this were america i would tell you that inbetween the search we got id'd for beers
but this is korea
and we chewed thoughtfully on fried dried squid ordering a second round of something new - something blue...
i do not know if and when the trees will choose to speak
what they and they alone know the answer to
for they were there at birth
and are witnessing the return with seeming utter indifference
only caring about their own seasons
with little time to answer us
and the cat seemingly deaf to its own horrific wound just stares
and the policeman returns home to call his son
and we smoke cigarettes behind vans to not be seen
to take another taxi
to walk another street
to wander counting numbers - knocking ringing doors
the half full moon turned yellow
is telling us the answer
but we lack the language
muttering only phonetic repetitions of new words learned
gurgling like babies
meandering like sheep
some look on with suspicion others round the corner looking for the tv host and fame
the flowers
maybe they know
come now... take my hand... and we'll all three go and ask them...
if we just ask the pavement
"where is she?"
perhaps the leaves will answer
"we saw her over there on our way down to this street"
the sisters behind barking dogs and closed gates
chant
"we dont know go away"
the churches turn their eyes towards god too busy to help
so maybe the flowers will answer
maybe the persimmons will whisper
"she stands gazing here each day at noon come back here tomorrow"
the lazy policemen do their best
giving rides to places we've already looked
the cat with the skin off its back just stares
wounded... we are all so wounded
3 lost girls
wandering the streets
trying to find absolution to the heart wrenching questions carried for one small lifetime
- where is she
ask her maybe she knows...
maybe he knows
the man with the patch o'er his face
maybe he can tell us
where she went
mumbling phonetically "mah-chee-so" "mah-chee-say... mah-chee si... mah-chee si si-yo"
she breaks the moment with a pair of socks
knee high
we smile
for the absurdity of the moment
wondering
- will the flowers tell us?
do they even know?
i doubt the birds will speak
when even halmunis amble off
and god's workers are too busy lighting candles / saying prayers
if this were america i would tell you that the policeman was fat and sitting behind a desk chewing on his bakers dozen donut...
but this is korea
so instead he was average height and weight and giving us vitamin drinks happily chattering on about his son and how neighborhoods get re-assigned and how he should do better at his job
if this were america i would tell you that inbetween the search we got id'd for beers
but this is korea
and we chewed thoughtfully on fried dried squid ordering a second round of something new - something blue...
i do not know if and when the trees will choose to speak
what they and they alone know the answer to
for they were there at birth
and are witnessing the return with seeming utter indifference
only caring about their own seasons
with little time to answer us
and the cat seemingly deaf to its own horrific wound just stares
and the policeman returns home to call his son
and we smoke cigarettes behind vans to not be seen
to take another taxi
to walk another street
to wander counting numbers - knocking ringing doors
the half full moon turned yellow
is telling us the answer
but we lack the language
muttering only phonetic repetitions of new words learned
gurgling like babies
meandering like sheep
some look on with suspicion others round the corner looking for the tv host and fame
the flowers
maybe they know
come now... take my hand... and we'll all three go and ask them...
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
upon return
so im re-instating this blog now that ive moved (back) to korea
... just that statement... is fully loaded
move to
or
move back
... wrapped up in the conundrum of being korean born western raised
leading to thoughts and questions of
- how exactly am i perceived here
korean americans"kyopos" - which is to say those who grew up in the states with korean parents who made a choice to leave korea - tend to not view korean adoptees as being korean...
korean adoptees often do not see themselves as being anything but white
... theres a lot of writing going on right now about this whole identification and its evolution
today i read something that struck a chord
to be an ibyang - an adoptee
- you spend much of your childhood identifying as western and white
and then for many (not all) around one's 20's/30's - there is a... beginning... in which reclaiming ones "korean-ness" begins
and so as the writing stated - this is often perceived by others as being... "wishy washy" - when really it is a slow evolution that is ongoing...
... it is often believed / thought amongst ibyangs that "korean koreans" (those who were born and raised in korea) - see kyopos as ... traitors because they chose to leave...
ibyangs... we believe ourselves to be perceived differently because it is understood in the very definition of our label that a choice was made for us without our consent... before the age of consent...
... but the truth is... i dont know if any of us really know how "korean koreans" perceive any of us...
maybe they see us as we see ourselves... but i dont think that is likely... seeing as there is no way to explain what it is like to spend the good part of your life believing yourself to be white and quite often doing things to ensure that the rest of your social circles perceive you as no different than them
... who knows... maybe we are just another search/reunion tv show to be watched by ahjumas and halmonis...
maybe we are... these strange outsiders that no one really knows what to do with - and its not like any of us as individuals can help because we're so busy trying to figure out how we see ourselves as individuals...
... in a sort of egoism that is wrapped up in trying to understand my own identity... i cant help but look at my "korean korean" friends and think:
"how exactly do you see me? do you see me the same as any other foreigner? do you see me like a kyopo? do you see me as someone to be pitied? do you even really care that you - you my korean korean brothers and sisters have lost over 200,000 of YOUR own people to international adoption and that there is a 1 in 68 chance that you or a family member knows a korean whose life has been directly affected by adoption... do you feel this loss?"
... i think a lot about... how choosing to search for my umma... was also an unknowing commitment to the possibility of insanity...
since finding her for all the amazing good... how exactly do or could i ever explain what it means to be almost 33 (34 korean) and have your entire sense of self flipped inside out... and for the months that have followed since to still feel so uncertain of what my reactions will be to any given situation...
situations that i used to be able to predict my reaction to
... and im not sure exactly when it is that i will re-discover this ability to predict my own reactions...
... and i have absolutely NO idea as to if/when i will ever feel any true sanity about having found my umma
... on one hand yes - the story of finding is akin to a fairy tale - and i remain mindful everyday of just how fortunate i am... and how i NEVER want to appear to my fellow ibyangs as complaining when i know so many would give everything to have this... to have even just a name or a photograph...
... but on the other hand... it is the most lonely frustrating uncertain thing... there are no role models for this ...
i dont know how im supposed to react
... and to live in that inbetween of being soooo happy to have her in my life again and to feel her happiness... and yet to feel constantly that i remain her dirty little secret...
... i dont know exactly why i am here in korea... why i decided to move
what i do know though is that ever since i was a small child i promised myself and whatever kind of god i then and now believe in - that if i ever found her and if she wanted to know me i would do whatever i needed to - to move here
so this is a 3 plus decade old promise...
... and yes... i do feel a sort of resentment - that i have to give up so much for the person who for whatever valid reasons lacked a courage and continues to lack... i do not know if and when she will ever fully claim me as her own... yes i am her daughter and i am her eldest... but im not allowed to say her name aloud... im not allowed to reveal other potentially identifying family history... in private behind closed doors with trusted folk - yes... but never in public - i am not allowed to claim this... to say what most any other child can say without hesitation to anyone - "my mom's name is.... i have this many brothers/sisters/none" etc...
but i also feel the freedom of choice... i made the choice to look for her... and i made the choice to move here and to get to know her... and i made the choice to do this on her unspoken conditions...
i also made the choice to be a part of this evolution... to move here
to live in this very peculiar inbetween for which very little if any precedence has been set... if anything i think that it is our generation of ibyangs (meaning those of us adopted out in the 70s and very early 80s) that are the ones who are setting ... a sort of precedence... a precedence that is based largely on the fact that there will never be any real strong set of rules or standards or guides for others to look to... because
because
how can you set a standard for something that is so messy
that the more we seek to untangle the more we discover the amount of strings and strands...
i dont know how korean koreans see me... or us... and if they will or could ever see us as what we are - which is one of their own...
because i dont know if we ourselves will ever be able to see us for what we are... which is... one of theirs...
... because the very nature of our existence and our returning is also a reminder of a shameful secret... not just for ummas but for the government and the korean people - each time we appear we are a reminder that the land and country that is so full of beauty and pride
also took part in something so...
abhorrent
... and so i wonder
maybe its easier to keep us at arms distance and remind us how we dont know the language or the food - whilst neglecting the very true reality that there is a reason why we dont know the language or the food and that these reasons have absolutely nothing to do with a choice that we made...
maybe it is easier to only focus on all the things that make us "not korean korean"
to focus on the exciting reunion stories of ibyangs who find their ummas
to ignore that every korean korean has benefited in some way by the selling of us - because we netted profit not just for the agencies but for the korean gov't...
to ignore that not just a few - but many of us were stolen/kidnapped or coerced out of our umma's lives...
to ignore that there is always a possibility that your cousin or brother or sister was sent away and for whatever reasons someone in your family didnt do anything to stop this...
maybe it is easier to instead remind us of just how korean we are not... and how ungrateful we are if we say that we are confused and sad and angry and grateful and
because then all the shameful things can be ignored
because then no one has the responsibility to make sure that the rights of unwed mothers are protected and that those in impoverished circumstances are taken care of...
it means that you dont have to look at me for who and what i am
- one of yours who for reasons that are so messy and complicated was sold to another country to another culture... for money for profit... and no one here did anything to stop it
and no one stopped the selling of 200.000 korean nationals who were sold from their people as babies/small children...
....
yes
it is more than good to be back here
and yes when my korean korean friends refer to me as "unni" or accidentally turn to me and speak korean... that feels so good
... and it is those little things that i hold onto
and that is how i intend to reclaim what was taken
little by little
bit by bit
... just that statement... is fully loaded
move to
or
move back
... wrapped up in the conundrum of being korean born western raised
leading to thoughts and questions of
- how exactly am i perceived here
korean americans"kyopos" - which is to say those who grew up in the states with korean parents who made a choice to leave korea - tend to not view korean adoptees as being korean...
korean adoptees often do not see themselves as being anything but white
... theres a lot of writing going on right now about this whole identification and its evolution
today i read something that struck a chord
to be an ibyang - an adoptee
- you spend much of your childhood identifying as western and white
and then for many (not all) around one's 20's/30's - there is a... beginning... in which reclaiming ones "korean-ness" begins
and so as the writing stated - this is often perceived by others as being... "wishy washy" - when really it is a slow evolution that is ongoing...
... it is often believed / thought amongst ibyangs that "korean koreans" (those who were born and raised in korea) - see kyopos as ... traitors because they chose to leave...
ibyangs... we believe ourselves to be perceived differently because it is understood in the very definition of our label that a choice was made for us without our consent... before the age of consent...
... but the truth is... i dont know if any of us really know how "korean koreans" perceive any of us...
maybe they see us as we see ourselves... but i dont think that is likely... seeing as there is no way to explain what it is like to spend the good part of your life believing yourself to be white and quite often doing things to ensure that the rest of your social circles perceive you as no different than them
... who knows... maybe we are just another search/reunion tv show to be watched by ahjumas and halmonis...
maybe we are... these strange outsiders that no one really knows what to do with - and its not like any of us as individuals can help because we're so busy trying to figure out how we see ourselves as individuals...
... in a sort of egoism that is wrapped up in trying to understand my own identity... i cant help but look at my "korean korean" friends and think:
"how exactly do you see me? do you see me the same as any other foreigner? do you see me like a kyopo? do you see me as someone to be pitied? do you even really care that you - you my korean korean brothers and sisters have lost over 200,000 of YOUR own people to international adoption and that there is a 1 in 68 chance that you or a family member knows a korean whose life has been directly affected by adoption... do you feel this loss?"
... i think a lot about... how choosing to search for my umma... was also an unknowing commitment to the possibility of insanity...
since finding her for all the amazing good... how exactly do or could i ever explain what it means to be almost 33 (34 korean) and have your entire sense of self flipped inside out... and for the months that have followed since to still feel so uncertain of what my reactions will be to any given situation...
situations that i used to be able to predict my reaction to
... and im not sure exactly when it is that i will re-discover this ability to predict my own reactions...
... and i have absolutely NO idea as to if/when i will ever feel any true sanity about having found my umma
... on one hand yes - the story of finding is akin to a fairy tale - and i remain mindful everyday of just how fortunate i am... and how i NEVER want to appear to my fellow ibyangs as complaining when i know so many would give everything to have this... to have even just a name or a photograph...
... but on the other hand... it is the most lonely frustrating uncertain thing... there are no role models for this ...
i dont know how im supposed to react
... and to live in that inbetween of being soooo happy to have her in my life again and to feel her happiness... and yet to feel constantly that i remain her dirty little secret...
... i dont know exactly why i am here in korea... why i decided to move
what i do know though is that ever since i was a small child i promised myself and whatever kind of god i then and now believe in - that if i ever found her and if she wanted to know me i would do whatever i needed to - to move here
so this is a 3 plus decade old promise...
... and yes... i do feel a sort of resentment - that i have to give up so much for the person who for whatever valid reasons lacked a courage and continues to lack... i do not know if and when she will ever fully claim me as her own... yes i am her daughter and i am her eldest... but im not allowed to say her name aloud... im not allowed to reveal other potentially identifying family history... in private behind closed doors with trusted folk - yes... but never in public - i am not allowed to claim this... to say what most any other child can say without hesitation to anyone - "my mom's name is.... i have this many brothers/sisters/none" etc...
but i also feel the freedom of choice... i made the choice to look for her... and i made the choice to move here and to get to know her... and i made the choice to do this on her unspoken conditions...
i also made the choice to be a part of this evolution... to move here
to live in this very peculiar inbetween for which very little if any precedence has been set... if anything i think that it is our generation of ibyangs (meaning those of us adopted out in the 70s and very early 80s) that are the ones who are setting ... a sort of precedence... a precedence that is based largely on the fact that there will never be any real strong set of rules or standards or guides for others to look to... because
because
how can you set a standard for something that is so messy
that the more we seek to untangle the more we discover the amount of strings and strands...
i dont know how korean koreans see me... or us... and if they will or could ever see us as what we are - which is one of their own...
because i dont know if we ourselves will ever be able to see us for what we are... which is... one of theirs...
... because the very nature of our existence and our returning is also a reminder of a shameful secret... not just for ummas but for the government and the korean people - each time we appear we are a reminder that the land and country that is so full of beauty and pride
also took part in something so...
abhorrent
... and so i wonder
maybe its easier to keep us at arms distance and remind us how we dont know the language or the food - whilst neglecting the very true reality that there is a reason why we dont know the language or the food and that these reasons have absolutely nothing to do with a choice that we made...
maybe it is easier to only focus on all the things that make us "not korean korean"
to focus on the exciting reunion stories of ibyangs who find their ummas
to ignore that every korean korean has benefited in some way by the selling of us - because we netted profit not just for the agencies but for the korean gov't...
to ignore that not just a few - but many of us were stolen/kidnapped or coerced out of our umma's lives...
to ignore that there is always a possibility that your cousin or brother or sister was sent away and for whatever reasons someone in your family didnt do anything to stop this...
maybe it is easier to instead remind us of just how korean we are not... and how ungrateful we are if we say that we are confused and sad and angry and grateful and
because then all the shameful things can be ignored
because then no one has the responsibility to make sure that the rights of unwed mothers are protected and that those in impoverished circumstances are taken care of...
it means that you dont have to look at me for who and what i am
- one of yours who for reasons that are so messy and complicated was sold to another country to another culture... for money for profit... and no one here did anything to stop it
and no one stopped the selling of 200.000 korean nationals who were sold from their people as babies/small children...
....
yes
it is more than good to be back here
and yes when my korean korean friends refer to me as "unni" or accidentally turn to me and speak korean... that feels so good
... and it is those little things that i hold onto
and that is how i intend to reclaim what was taken
little by little
bit by bit
Monday, April 20, 2009
today...
all this feeling
exhaustion
joy
fullness
memories of there and here
people in my heart
people to sit and cheers with
images to remind
4 months here
forever over there
every little thing is making me happy
even the rotten mouse
- ok no... not the rotten mouse
but every other little thing... brings a smile
and its all like one big dream
even when it happened
especially when it happened
like nothing i have known before like nothing i could ever know again
... and all these friends here
hugging from the heart
telling stories that make julie's eyes roll
and unkle pat me on the back
and josina chuckle
and tricia ohhh
and it just feels good
right
that now is here
that now was there
that there is still so much more to come
i miss korea
because i love her
but i love here
because i missed here
my heart is not torn
but rather
built
expanded
bigger
than before leaving
and so i can be polygamous in my loving
loving here and there
and i can still love just only one
whilst loving so so so so so many others
this is good
this is really good
it was good
it was really good
...
Saturday, April 18, 2009
ends as it begins
and it ends as it began
and it begins as there is no end
not now
not yet
i go from love
to love
i go
what i came here looking for
i found beneath the moon
"that which was lost"
now
now
... is found
glory be to something high
glory be to something large
glory be to something small
glory be to trinity's in pairs
... i go from love
to love
i go from home
to home
i go
what i came here looking for
was behind two doors
- never shall hope for finding cease
in september i still will knock
in september i still will seek
but today
i go
to return
to another life
- a flat without pets
- a car with leather seats and sunroof named "juma weeps"
- a neighborhood that ive dubbed gayborhood
- to friends
i return
to
friends
to tell them stories
of how even the bad has been good
of how even the loss has been a painful kind of gain
but mainly
just to tell them stories
without saying anything
"kim!"
they'll shout
"you fucker!"
and i will smile
smile at them
call them
- by their names
- hey quasian!
hey lp!
ahhh unkle!
... blowpop... dude...
PUUUfuuu
gayborrrrr!!!
seoullll... little one what it do yo?
tricia ricicia bicia smicia icia delicia!
EVE!!!
josina
arrriellllll
vic!
- oh youre the ones i love
how did i the orphan child get so lucky? was frank o'hara writing poems for me?
how did i the one born to nothing end up with so much everything?
theres 12 of us tight
13 if you count me
... who said it was some unlucky number
... its the most blessed one
we're like jesus and his 12 - only each of us is deified
... yeah my gayborhood
yeah yeah my loves
and still theres more... the list
the list
how did the hiding one
end up with such a list?
... and then theres here
all that remains to be discovered
i go from love
to return to love
to love
i go
from love
i
go
aeigo!
... and you i came looking for you
and there you were
in a leather jacket
your lines i have memorized
... and i came looking for you
and there you were
calling me by name
and you i wasnt even looking but oh how you have appeared each one of you - some of you as friends... some of you as friends to be... some of you as fun time lovers... some of you as ones to down the drinks with... some of you as laughter... some of you as hazy in morning light... some of you as ... fashionista compadres... some of you as... distractions for a late january early february ache... some of you as... everything bright and beautiful... and some of you... though i would not wish it... lost gone away with the falsity of allegations... but even then... even then... you remain... something more than nothing...
and one of you as my forevers till death us do part and even then we will be together even then ... for love... ... for love... for love will not be torn asunder even by corrupt traffickers of children
and another of you ... i do not know only that i have known since first meeting that you were one to always look to find... like a magnet to links of alpine forged metal....
these circles
completing and beginning
this is not the end
it never was
this has always ever only been
the next part of beginning
and ... so i go
from love
to love
i go..
aeigo
go i...
a she who sins
a 시인
go we i
together
april and september are full of love goodbyes hellos and glory
this is how the night it turns to day
walking on the top of time
... and the boys shout kim
and the girls pull out bucket shots
but tonight
its an empty glass
empty bottle
- so much living takes place in such a short amount of time
like how love and light get in
like how...
the night
it always ends in a certain kind of
still
and theres so much to say
so much to tell
but everything that means
... im the present future remembering the five second ago past
already mourning
already
longing
already
hoping
and god
he
she
gives no
signs
cept this song
... always
theres a song
... i love-a-you who does not love-a-me
not like that
whatever thats supposed to mean
cuz me
i (just)
know
what it is i came here looking for
and you know what this poem is
cuz its for you
and everyone else applauds saying
"bellisimo more!"
whilst my heart falls down my sleeve
... cuz i love-a-you who does not love-a-me
and this is how the light
its been getting in
and one day
i'll get drunk enough to smash the windows of those liars
(goddamn she came looking
and now i know that there is a hell)
motherland
birthing land
youve returned my tears to me
dried beneath the florida palms and grapefruit trees
resurrected before the spring of cherry blossoms
oh how i love-a-you that does not love-a-me
but how i am returning
soft feet padded like the fall of leaves
memories of shouts and hugs dimmed
only you
you alone...
remain luminous
walking towards (the) time
walking atop 구월
Monday, April 13, 2009
ugh
so he says to me
"sounds like... "
"nah... no... really?"
says i
"god no cant be... fuhhh-k"
i mumble in exclamation to his
"uhhh yeah it is"
"so whats the point...
cuz you see im the kinda person who
likes
needs
always has
needed
lived by
HAVING A
POINT"
... meanwhile the fat-ass cat is licking the inside of my favorite
one of favorite
pairs of boots
- ass-hole - i yell at him
to i realize that
i dont speak kitten
and the thing isnt a "he"
but
a
"she"
so what good does any of this
do me
"makes you human
time will show
and tell"
meanwhile
my postbox remains
EMPTY
meanwhile
my bed
ok its not MY bed its my friend's that im crashing on when shes outta town
meanwhile
this bed
its stained with
trying to recouperate
trying to move on
and im gonna get in trouble for writing all this stuff out loud
and my ex
who i swore
i never wanted to
see to
talk to
not once
not ever again
after that kind of humiliation
lack of genuine respect
- is the first i can think to say
"UGH"
to
and i dont KNOW what to DO
with
what it is im realizing
as if
hand-written letters make anything better
as if
leaving
god and then i look at a photo and realize
- it is that isnt it
and just hearing that come out of my mouth before i can restrain it
is exasperating enough
cuz its me admitting what would be so much simpler to just
DENY
... and no amount of swear words are gonna help me
and no amount of antidotal wisdom
(the word wisdom within brackets)
is gonna help solve change
the one thing that one sided flea bitten
fuckin blah blah blah
cant
change
so yeah maybe
maybe thats what it is ive been feelin'
but i wouldnt know
cuz i mean look at me
im not the type to admit to
anything
'sepcially not
about
the stupid lame-ass word called
love
"sounds like... "
"nah... no... really?"
says i
"god no cant be... fuhhh-k"
i mumble in exclamation to his
"uhhh yeah it is"
"so whats the point...
cuz you see im the kinda person who
likes
needs
always has
needed
lived by
HAVING A
POINT"
... meanwhile the fat-ass cat is licking the inside of my favorite
one of favorite
pairs of boots
- ass-hole - i yell at him
to i realize that
i dont speak kitten
and the thing isnt a "he"
but
a
"she"
so what good does any of this
do me
"makes you human
time will show
and tell"
meanwhile
my postbox remains
EMPTY
meanwhile
my bed
ok its not MY bed its my friend's that im crashing on when shes outta town
meanwhile
this bed
its stained with
trying to recouperate
trying to move on
and im gonna get in trouble for writing all this stuff out loud
and my ex
who i swore
i never wanted to
see to
talk to
not once
not ever again
after that kind of humiliation
lack of genuine respect
- is the first i can think to say
"UGH"
to
and i dont KNOW what to DO
with
what it is im realizing
as if
hand-written letters make anything better
as if
leaving
god and then i look at a photo and realize
- it is that isnt it
and just hearing that come out of my mouth before i can restrain it
is exasperating enough
cuz its me admitting what would be so much simpler to just
DENY
... and no amount of swear words are gonna help me
and no amount of antidotal wisdom
(the word wisdom within brackets)
is gonna help solve change
the one thing that one sided flea bitten
fuckin blah blah blah
cant
change
so yeah maybe
maybe thats what it is ive been feelin'
but i wouldnt know
cuz i mean look at me
im not the type to admit to
anything
'sepcially not
about
the stupid lame-ass word called
love
Sunday, March 29, 2009
what we call in
and i dont know
how this story ends
or even where/when
it
begins
but i can tell you the first day
was re-birthing
and i called her from the page
or she called me
saw her in the upper back right row
and she began to answer
she gave me her
desire
kept it safe in
d
n
a
and now
... i unwind
rewind
stop stop stop
go go go go
begin again
again
begin
lights
audience
stop
begin
and the curtain was not falling
the rope was not cut
she called her baby into being
i called my umma into knowing
and i did the thing i said id never do
stretched limbs
let go
and
danced
without
holding back
told her my whole story
and in the middle of the writing
she calls my name
(oh the irony)
... tell me laurie
did you know this all along?
Saturday, March 28, 2009
musings on 4 months
and she says
"whatd you come here looking for?"
accusing me of wanting
something
cuz everybody
wants
something
... "to create the world with you"
is what i want to say
but its only the 2nd day
so i just say
"nothing"
cuz the kind of something that shes asking
isnt about
creation
its about
- something
else
speed the streets ahead
traffic zooms by
and she no longer asks
a
thing
and we joke
eating
pork wrapped in sesame and lettuce leaves
how everybody choose their alias' now
cuz
"we know we're ending up in the book"
"the book"
like im bout to birth the bible
like im bout to birth the next best great thing
(maybe
i am)
but
(maybe
im not)
for 32 years 362 days ive dreamt that sea
and now im safe inside
from its crashing
safe
because now
ive seen it
and in the inbetweens of late night drinking
the sentences are forming
and in the late night inbetweens of acting out of lusts
the paragraphs are being shaped
for i have memorized your lines
can recall them in my fingertips
can feel still
your hands covering my ears
protecting me from the sounds
of
pre-recorded
calls for
goods to buy and sell
and you?
you were only ever just an excuse
to move on from
what i want but cannot should not have
and you?
you were just a hand
against my flesh
and you?
you were
well
you were there
to prove i have no high ground for some kinds of
morality
but you
you
its always been you
the you who five years later maybe the story could be different
but we met
when i was wearing blue
and no matter all the bad
so much still
is beautiful to recall
you
you are my favorite
from this time
i didnt just come here looking for her
i also came
to
see
if you would
say
"stay"
i have my whole life ahead of me
its begun again so many times
have seen and met
the most interesting of all things
the goodness of my life
is not lost on me
but that will never change just how much more i want...
... "i dont write love poems" i tell her
"yes ... you do" says she
and then lets me pretend that i just dont
she turns her back when i leave
but thats ok
i got exactly what i came here looking for
i saw her smile when no one else was looking
so i can go out into the last days here
and write the kinds of things it is that i write
"whatd you come here looking for?"
accusing me of wanting
something
cuz everybody
wants
something
... "to create the world with you"
is what i want to say
but its only the 2nd day
so i just say
"nothing"
cuz the kind of something that shes asking
isnt about
creation
its about
- something
else
speed the streets ahead
traffic zooms by
and she no longer asks
a
thing
and we joke
eating
pork wrapped in sesame and lettuce leaves
how everybody choose their alias' now
cuz
"we know we're ending up in the book"
"the book"
like im bout to birth the bible
like im bout to birth the next best great thing
(maybe
i am)
but
(maybe
im not)
for 32 years 362 days ive dreamt that sea
and now im safe inside
from its crashing
safe
because now
ive seen it
and in the inbetweens of late night drinking
the sentences are forming
and in the late night inbetweens of acting out of lusts
the paragraphs are being shaped
for i have memorized your lines
can recall them in my fingertips
can feel still
your hands covering my ears
protecting me from the sounds
of
pre-recorded
calls for
goods to buy and sell
and you?
you were only ever just an excuse
to move on from
what i want but cannot should not have
and you?
you were just a hand
against my flesh
and you?
you were
well
you were there
to prove i have no high ground for some kinds of
morality
but you
you
its always been you
the you who five years later maybe the story could be different
but we met
when i was wearing blue
and no matter all the bad
so much still
is beautiful to recall
you
you are my favorite
from this time
i didnt just come here looking for her
i also came
to
see
if you would
say
"stay"
i have my whole life ahead of me
its begun again so many times
have seen and met
the most interesting of all things
the goodness of my life
is not lost on me
but that will never change just how much more i want...
... "i dont write love poems" i tell her
"yes ... you do" says she
and then lets me pretend that i just dont
she turns her back when i leave
but thats ok
i got exactly what i came here looking for
i saw her smile when no one else was looking
so i can go out into the last days here
and write the kinds of things it is that i write
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
a small wondering
what is it
diamond shining in the sky
octagonal
over city scapes
and this night compels
and this day it maintains
and i am black toque'd
i am grey jeaned
hair pulled back
leather jacket
bound
and youre the one i dream of
when awake
do you know
just how much i have seen
come and go
in a time so
brief
4 months
and i have seen the rises and the falls
thrown money down upon the tables
been slapped with the backside of your hair
saying
"go away"
come back
is what i whisper
and you are now mine
forever and a day
i have lived so much
in just months
and watched circles large and small
fall in upon themselves
watched winter fade
stood beneath slow snow falls
outside the cafes of hongdaes
gained and lost
lost and gained
in such a short space and span of time
and still this one circle
small to others
large to me
i wonder
if thats the diamond that i keep seeing in the sky
wonder if thats
the thing thats been blinding me
from
focus
... cuz i just
cant stop looking
up
diamond shining in the sky
octagonal
over city scapes
and this night compels
and this day it maintains
and i am black toque'd
i am grey jeaned
hair pulled back
leather jacket
bound
and youre the one i dream of
when awake
do you know
just how much i have seen
come and go
in a time so
brief
4 months
and i have seen the rises and the falls
thrown money down upon the tables
been slapped with the backside of your hair
saying
"go away"
come back
is what i whisper
and you are now mine
forever and a day
i have lived so much
in just months
and watched circles large and small
fall in upon themselves
watched winter fade
stood beneath slow snow falls
outside the cafes of hongdaes
gained and lost
lost and gained
in such a short space and span of time
and still this one circle
small to others
large to me
i wonder
if thats the diamond that i keep seeing in the sky
wonder if thats
the thing thats been blinding me
from
focus
... cuz i just
cant stop looking
up
Sunday, March 22, 2009
(the) cherry blossoms
i want to
see the cherry blossoms with you
watch them fall
down our cheeks
see sky cry
cry the sky pink
cry the sky that ive been dreaming on the big screen
not geisha
but gisaeng walking proud
looking upwards
and the women are not here today
and i dont care what it is he has to say bout finite resources
i just want to dream in the rain of blossoms
and for all my wanton ways
my heart it believes the softest (of) things
can be sent fluttering at the thought of pink petals floating
can cry for things not seen
but felt
and even if
i miss you everyday
i will not speak it
instead i will stand stalk tall silent
and let the tears of trees encompass
everything that im not saying
i want to see the cherry blossoms in the spring with you
days before leaving
but because i cannot
i will go with others
and i will cry for memories
of the circle that we started
but cannot yet
complete
for we like cherry trees
both come from something
proud
and
heart breaking
letting words drop from our
soft smooth limbs
that sends the wind into
the woods
and leaves us
bereft
of
winters
cold
calling forth the start of
yet another
year
beneath the sky that is
kissing us with
pink
and
pollen
see the cherry blossoms with you
watch them fall
down our cheeks
see sky cry
cry the sky pink
cry the sky that ive been dreaming on the big screen
not geisha
but gisaeng walking proud
looking upwards
and the women are not here today
and i dont care what it is he has to say bout finite resources
i just want to dream in the rain of blossoms
and for all my wanton ways
my heart it believes the softest (of) things
can be sent fluttering at the thought of pink petals floating
can cry for things not seen
but felt
and even if
i miss you everyday
i will not speak it
instead i will stand stalk tall silent
and let the tears of trees encompass
everything that im not saying
i want to see the cherry blossoms in the spring with you
days before leaving
but because i cannot
i will go with others
and i will cry for memories
of the circle that we started
but cannot yet
complete
for we like cherry trees
both come from something
proud
and
heart breaking
letting words drop from our
soft smooth limbs
that sends the wind into
the woods
and leaves us
bereft
of
winters
cold
calling forth the start of
yet another
year
beneath the sky that is
kissing us with
pink
and
pollen
Friday, March 20, 2009
what they say
and they tell me
"youre sooo korean"
when i say how much i love
gobchang
and they tell me
"youre soo korean"
when i say
"hell yes i love dried squid... especially with mayonnaise"
and they tell me
"youre soo korean"
when i tell them samgyupsal's a favorite but gobchangs even better but no matter what
there must be
soju
... and then they giggle when i cant even say my own mothers name right
not just her name
but
her title
mom
and thats when i go back to being
western
waygook
(damn those g.i.'s were stupid
thinking migook meant "me gook")
and then i go back to being a western waygook
when
i cant order off the menu
or tell the taxi driver slow and broken
"wenjok... juseyeo"
but it sounds
(coming outta my mouth)
more like
"when-joke joo say-owe"
and everybody snorts a laugh
and thats when i want to punch
and
kick
and
scream
bout how
"well maybe i could say these things correctly
if youd just taken the time
to
i dont know
KEEP ME"
but then they clap and smile
say my name
tell me it is beautiful
and just how korean i am
cuz my hair is black
and my waist is thin
and i love gobchang
so damn i must be korean
cuz i love the makkoli man
but ive met white girls more korean than me
and all us ibyang can barely say our korean given names
the other day she corrected me on my own name
and i blushed
cuz maybe she was right
but (sometimes) i dont trust the ibyangs
much more than i trust
the agencies
and they tell me
when theyre not speaking
just how korean i look
but then again i know words that only insiders know
words like
"iban"
and thats something just the ones who give themselves new names
know
and i announce to laughter
the laughter of koreans
"thats right - im an ibyang iban"
like we all know
something
and maybe youre my sister
more likely somehow so my cousin
cuz my halmunnee's descended from some place high
and im your bastard relative
and anyways
im not korean
and im not american
i know europe better than i know here
and they tell me everything of who i am
cuz of what i like to eat or drink
as if soju makes me more korean
as if the entrails of farm animals give me right to kinship
its in my blood
its in my dna
but i know ibyang who run from sight of fish
does that make them somehow more
midwest?
"you know nothing"
i wanna yell
whilst glancing black hiigh heeled leather boots that pin prick along concrete floors
leaving echoes the way that ghosts leave sounds behind
"i love nachos too does that make me mexican?"
but here its different
here its like
the acceptance that i never got on pre school playgrounds
when white boys would sit atop the big log tunnel taunting
"chinese japanese"
(i know now even they did not know what they were saying...
father, forgive their parents for raising such small white beasts)
they tell me how im so this or that
in europe it was the same
canadians mistaking me
me
for lithuanian
in a land of lily white
mistaking me for always being what im not.
well,
ive got a white mama and a white papa
and a tall white bro
but that still dont make me white
and i know where my generations come from
im descended from the mountains and the sea on the east coast side of this continent
ive the seen the waves and soil
and the one im looking for
finding her has changed everything and nothing
cuz i still can wake up
broken hearted crying
for the lust i lost the night before
for the lust i cut off just months ago
for the friends i miss
for the girl who has to think before saying hi to me
so none of that has changed
but all the wondering
that whole thing looks different
but the questions remain just as dumb
and they tell me
just how korean i am
just how american i am
just how european-ized ive become
and i wanna tell em all
wanna scream it shout it when everyones just busy with their day and drinks
"you fools
im not just
im not so how
im
an
iban ibyang who loves gopchang soju nachos cepellini seour cream svyturys words by kerouac and asian american beat slam poets
im the latest trend
that hollywood stars are showing off
hybrid cross culture gay ass korean born american raised european lived iban ibyang kimchi eatin' dunhill light-uhh hybrid poet writer
gluttonous lustful womanizing
but still i believe in love
artist
who
got lost
and
found
15 times
along the way"
"youre sooo korean"
when i say how much i love
gobchang
and they tell me
"youre soo korean"
when i say
"hell yes i love dried squid... especially with mayonnaise"
and they tell me
"youre soo korean"
when i tell them samgyupsal's a favorite but gobchangs even better but no matter what
there must be
soju
... and then they giggle when i cant even say my own mothers name right
not just her name
but
her title
mom
and thats when i go back to being
western
waygook
(damn those g.i.'s were stupid
thinking migook meant "me gook")
and then i go back to being a western waygook
when
i cant order off the menu
or tell the taxi driver slow and broken
"wenjok... juseyeo"
but it sounds
(coming outta my mouth)
more like
"when-joke joo say-owe"
and everybody snorts a laugh
and thats when i want to punch
and
kick
and
scream
bout how
"well maybe i could say these things correctly
if youd just taken the time
to
i dont know
KEEP ME"
but then they clap and smile
say my name
tell me it is beautiful
and just how korean i am
cuz my hair is black
and my waist is thin
and i love gobchang
so damn i must be korean
cuz i love the makkoli man
but ive met white girls more korean than me
and all us ibyang can barely say our korean given names
the other day she corrected me on my own name
and i blushed
cuz maybe she was right
but (sometimes) i dont trust the ibyangs
much more than i trust
the agencies
and they tell me
when theyre not speaking
just how korean i look
but then again i know words that only insiders know
words like
"iban"
and thats something just the ones who give themselves new names
know
and i announce to laughter
the laughter of koreans
"thats right - im an ibyang iban"
like we all know
something
and maybe youre my sister
more likely somehow so my cousin
cuz my halmunnee's descended from some place high
and im your bastard relative
and anyways
im not korean
and im not american
i know europe better than i know here
and they tell me everything of who i am
cuz of what i like to eat or drink
as if soju makes me more korean
as if the entrails of farm animals give me right to kinship
its in my blood
its in my dna
but i know ibyang who run from sight of fish
does that make them somehow more
midwest?
"you know nothing"
i wanna yell
whilst glancing black hiigh heeled leather boots that pin prick along concrete floors
leaving echoes the way that ghosts leave sounds behind
"i love nachos too does that make me mexican?"
but here its different
here its like
the acceptance that i never got on pre school playgrounds
when white boys would sit atop the big log tunnel taunting
"chinese japanese"
(i know now even they did not know what they were saying...
father, forgive their parents for raising such small white beasts)
they tell me how im so this or that
in europe it was the same
canadians mistaking me
me
for lithuanian
in a land of lily white
mistaking me for always being what im not.
well,
ive got a white mama and a white papa
and a tall white bro
but that still dont make me white
and i know where my generations come from
im descended from the mountains and the sea on the east coast side of this continent
ive the seen the waves and soil
and the one im looking for
finding her has changed everything and nothing
cuz i still can wake up
broken hearted crying
for the lust i lost the night before
for the lust i cut off just months ago
for the friends i miss
for the girl who has to think before saying hi to me
so none of that has changed
but all the wondering
that whole thing looks different
but the questions remain just as dumb
and they tell me
just how korean i am
just how american i am
just how european-ized ive become
and i wanna tell em all
wanna scream it shout it when everyones just busy with their day and drinks
"you fools
im not just
im not so how
im
an
iban ibyang who loves gopchang soju nachos cepellini seour cream svyturys words by kerouac and asian american beat slam poets
im the latest trend
that hollywood stars are showing off
hybrid cross culture gay ass korean born american raised european lived iban ibyang kimchi eatin' dunhill light-uhh hybrid poet writer
gluttonous lustful womanizing
but still i believe in love
artist
who
got lost
and
found
15 times
along the way"
Saturday, March 14, 2009
decompression for the days
oh korea
drunk and tilting
bodies writhing
passing out on bar top corners
coming to for another shot
tongues wrestling forbidden fruits
korea's slanting on a hill
outside the walls the words read
large in white
"EAT ME"
... dirty man covered in foundation
oggling me like im his future twink
and im sipping cass
so many times like these
when thinking
"how-m-i ever supposed to write home 'bout this?"
oh korea
everyones gonna get the wrong idea
like this is all that we've been doing
watching people down their drinks
and sandwich dance on white blocks
(cuz even then
the light
it still gets in)
so much happens in four months
so much happens in a night
a day
some weeks
closeness gained lost gained and lost again
how is it that letting go is just a form of clinging?
i dream with henry miller
how one day
this will just all be different
... i think of jack
young
like me
old
like im becoming
i refuse to die of rotted guts
but some days after nights like last
i wonder if with every single act of redemption - im not just on my road to hell
in the middle of the day
in the middle of the night
i chant your name
hoping
for words to change what wishing does not
... even inbetween these lines
im whispering
inbetween the bodies writhing on the makeshift stage
inbetween the passer-outers at the bar
inbetween the wrestling tongues
inbetween the cards turned over
cuz the light
it never leaves
so maybe one day somehow
you'll look up without knowing
and say my name too
and we'll wander paragraphs together
like writers do
drunk and tilting
bodies writhing
passing out on bar top corners
coming to for another shot
tongues wrestling forbidden fruits
korea's slanting on a hill
outside the walls the words read
large in white
"EAT ME"
... dirty man covered in foundation
oggling me like im his future twink
and im sipping cass
so many times like these
when thinking
"how-m-i ever supposed to write home 'bout this?"
oh korea
everyones gonna get the wrong idea
like this is all that we've been doing
watching people down their drinks
and sandwich dance on white blocks
(cuz even then
the light
it still gets in)
so much happens in four months
so much happens in a night
a day
some weeks
closeness gained lost gained and lost again
how is it that letting go is just a form of clinging?
i dream with henry miller
how one day
this will just all be different
... i think of jack
young
like me
old
like im becoming
i refuse to die of rotted guts
but some days after nights like last
i wonder if with every single act of redemption - im not just on my road to hell
in the middle of the day
in the middle of the night
i chant your name
hoping
for words to change what wishing does not
... even inbetween these lines
im whispering
inbetween the bodies writhing on the makeshift stage
inbetween the passer-outers at the bar
inbetween the wrestling tongues
inbetween the cards turned over
cuz the light
it never leaves
so maybe one day somehow
you'll look up without knowing
and say my name too
and we'll wander paragraphs together
like writers do
Sunday, March 1, 2009
blah blah ramble ramble one of many more
and when distraction ends
and life begins
theres the uttering
and muttering
to retrieve
to make kind what was once cruel
and the distraction of the dumb
is habitual
returning
(me)
to the truth of
honest
true
desire
and the distraction of the less than
is not to fill
but to forget
if even for a moment
of why it cannot be
even though
i cannot help
my heart
and the weeks that have now turned to months
to life that is
everyday living
i now must begin
to face a truth
one too many
of everything thats been so easy to
cover up
replace
with
wanton
less than stimulating
moments
just like television
sometimes the brain kill
is necessary
to find where it is that
(my)
heart
begins
and my heart is with you
and my desire is with you
and my wish is for you
and my missing is you
and my dealing is you
and the objects in my hands
im setting down
the paper dolls that ive been dressing up
and i can hear my friends a whispering
i can hear their voices in my head
and how they save me daily
and how they bring me back to mine
last night i dreamt of chocolate cake
and somehow it tasted good
inbetween the headache that was waking me
reminding me in sleep
the truth of
reality
and
the
fantasy
and one day i will write this thing
that is gestating
and wonder where it will take me
oh lover of words
oh word lovers
godots of my daily
i dont want the hyperboles that are whizzing round my head
i want the fruition of my sentences
the same fruitions
that brought us here
that keep us here
that will not let us go
we are made of water
and everything between us now
is just
steam
and life begins
theres the uttering
and muttering
to retrieve
to make kind what was once cruel
and the distraction of the dumb
is habitual
returning
(me)
to the truth of
honest
true
desire
and the distraction of the less than
is not to fill
but to forget
if even for a moment
of why it cannot be
even though
i cannot help
my heart
and the weeks that have now turned to months
to life that is
everyday living
i now must begin
to face a truth
one too many
of everything thats been so easy to
cover up
replace
with
wanton
less than stimulating
moments
just like television
sometimes the brain kill
is necessary
to find where it is that
(my)
heart
begins
and my heart is with you
and my desire is with you
and my wish is for you
and my missing is you
and my dealing is you
and the objects in my hands
im setting down
the paper dolls that ive been dressing up
and i can hear my friends a whispering
i can hear their voices in my head
and how they save me daily
and how they bring me back to mine
last night i dreamt of chocolate cake
and somehow it tasted good
inbetween the headache that was waking me
reminding me in sleep
the truth of
reality
and
the
fantasy
and one day i will write this thing
that is gestating
and wonder where it will take me
oh lover of words
oh word lovers
godots of my daily
i dont want the hyperboles that are whizzing round my head
i want the fruition of my sentences
the same fruitions
that brought us here
that keep us here
that will not let us go
we are made of water
and everything between us now
is just
steam
Thursday, February 26, 2009
just before the dawn
and this is korea
young and drunk
stumbling on the streets
from midnight on
up until
just before
the dawn
and this is korea
reeling in her own secrets
unravelling truth
bit by bit
just before
the dawn
and this is korea
not knowing her own family
meeting secret in the alleyways
and side street restaurants
downing soju
just before
the dawn
and this
this is korea
wretching in her own lies
pummeled in the gut
to spill out the things that shes been hiding
just before the dawn
this is when we meet
irritated by denying affections
and a propensity for filling space and time
with candlelight
this is korea
stewing in her family marts and buy the ways
la mein slurping
gophchang gorging
mek ju guzzling
just before the light gets in
just before
the dawn
this is korea
sending us out into the hours
just before the dawn does break
taking breaks to drop defenses
and letting all our softness show
and then running
without moving
pushing
without
touching
kissing
without
tasting
this
this is korea
just before the dawn
just when the end of darkness and beginning of light do meet
in a sort of truce
before the streets are washed down
from last night's reveling
just before the first shop door clatters up
when even buses roar more like a whisper
and the subways tunnels are barren for a moment
this is korea
just before the dawn
this is me
before memory
in a makeshift carrier
packed prepared for export
in the cover of pre-dawn
so that korea
can sleep peacefully
ignoring all her sins
whilst ummas mutter secret prayers
for redemption
and their children wake to see the day
not knowing
never knowing
how before the dawn
their father spawned another
how before the dawn
their mother was once young
and single
scared
and
in dread of a morning light that may never come
this is korea
speaking truths in halves at most
saving face
burying in orphanages and catalogues - those who might one day bring family disgrace
this is korea
young and beautiful
high heeled in high black leather boots
long black haired
chic and squared
this is korea
skinny jeans
three men falling
girls arms linked giggling
impervious to none and all
baby selling
soju drinkin
garlic roastin
kimchi eatin
ajuma weepin
ibyang searchin
secret hidin
drama makin
soft heart breakin
drink down fallin
beautiful high heeled wearin
fashion settin
us as one
out into the early morn
korea
just before the dawn
young and drunk
stumbling on the streets
from midnight on
up until
just before
the dawn
and this is korea
reeling in her own secrets
unravelling truth
bit by bit
just before
the dawn
and this is korea
not knowing her own family
meeting secret in the alleyways
and side street restaurants
downing soju
just before
the dawn
and this
this is korea
wretching in her own lies
pummeled in the gut
to spill out the things that shes been hiding
just before the dawn
this is when we meet
irritated by denying affections
and a propensity for filling space and time
with candlelight
this is korea
stewing in her family marts and buy the ways
la mein slurping
gophchang gorging
mek ju guzzling
just before the light gets in
just before
the dawn
this is korea
sending us out into the hours
just before the dawn does break
taking breaks to drop defenses
and letting all our softness show
and then running
without moving
pushing
without
touching
kissing
without
tasting
this
this is korea
just before the dawn
just when the end of darkness and beginning of light do meet
in a sort of truce
before the streets are washed down
from last night's reveling
just before the first shop door clatters up
when even buses roar more like a whisper
and the subways tunnels are barren for a moment
this is korea
just before the dawn
this is me
before memory
in a makeshift carrier
packed prepared for export
in the cover of pre-dawn
so that korea
can sleep peacefully
ignoring all her sins
whilst ummas mutter secret prayers
for redemption
and their children wake to see the day
not knowing
never knowing
how before the dawn
their father spawned another
how before the dawn
their mother was once young
and single
scared
and
in dread of a morning light that may never come
this is korea
speaking truths in halves at most
saving face
burying in orphanages and catalogues - those who might one day bring family disgrace
this is korea
young and beautiful
high heeled in high black leather boots
long black haired
chic and squared
this is korea
skinny jeans
three men falling
girls arms linked giggling
impervious to none and all
baby selling
soju drinkin
garlic roastin
kimchi eatin
ajuma weepin
ibyang searchin
secret hidin
drama makin
soft heart breakin
drink down fallin
beautiful high heeled wearin
fashion settin
us as one
out into the early morn
korea
just before the dawn
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
morning gestations
(camera phone photo of sinchon at 10.46 this morning...)
-----
everything's still wet from its morning washing down
concrete with a glossy surface
itaewon
sinchon
bustling in the late afternoons
quiet as innocence
before noon
its a sort of stillness
that makes me wonder on
kerouac's san francisco blues
like somehow
here in seoul
i can hear his thoughts
... light morning drizzle
reminding me of my grandmother's garden in corvallis
... the sidewalks swept clean of last night's cigarettes
even the fastest moving objects seem to move more slowly at ten forty six aye em
not lonely
just
quiet
the kind of calm that poets love
the kind of innocence that writers wonder on
like everything is tangible
like each one of us at our most honest
no walls
no facades
moments that we rarely show
just pure
like a morning kiss to the forehead
tenderness without wanton lust
... seoul in the morning
is not the seoul i know at
night
and i
i
i love her two extremities
for both are truth
truly
i was
born of her
Monday, February 2, 2009
this is how...
this is the way the light gets in
this is the way the
light
gets-in
through the window sqaures of goshiwans
through the bedsheets borrowed
through the truths spoken between the darkness of false allegations
this is how the light gets in
this is how the light
shines
through
through the unexpected things that bind two people into 3 then 4 then 5 then 6
through the moonjas that set phones spinning
through the arrogance of shyness
this is how the light gets in
this is how the story does begin
from the opening of a door
from the recognition of a heart
from the sobs howled in the kitchen in the farmlands mountainsides ocean coastlines
this is how the light
keeps
getting in
hear me now
this is how
the light
gets
in
through a memory of asking questions
and the dropping of your defenses
to the resurrecting of your walls
through stumbling along the streets
to avoiding everything that cannot be ignored
or drowned
this is how the light gets in
this is how the light
does glow
through the nights of 15 shots too many stolen items and forgotten moments
to the two sandwiches in the fridge
this is how the light
its
getting in
this is how the light
gets
in
through her 56/33 years of secrets
to her 65 years of deterioration
to the need for peace when there can be no
"happy ending"
this is how the light gets in
this is how the light
seeps through
through the shit and the fuck
through the hosed down jagged streets
and mopeds sonic roars
this is how the light gets in
this is how the light moans through
inbetween the dining
inbetween the cat and dog hair
inbetween the extremities of silencio and raucous rousing
this is how the light gets in
this is how the light
gets-in
this is where the begin again keeps taking place
this is where
this is how
this is when
the light
it keeps getting in
one small square
and a city view
can turn luminous
just open up the shutter
and you'll see
(that)
this is how the light
keeps getting in
this is how
this is when
this is why
this is where
this is now
the light its
getting in
and i
inbetween the sound of trains and a city that just begins to move at five at night
i can hear the light
its getting in
and ive got
my camera
ready
Thursday, January 22, 2009
things i dream of
sitting in a coffeeshop dreaming of a day
the day
living in the days when dreaming of -
might not be so
seemingly
far reaching:
i dream of the day when
korea will stand up and say in one collective voice
"no more will we send our children away. no more will we sell our children for profit."
i dream of the day when
governments, systems, celebrity collectors of other people's other country's children, and money hungry agencies will no longer strong arm parents into giving up their children when all they want to do is raise them...
i dream of the day when
ibyang and their ummas will raise arms side by side without shame without secrets without lies without separations...
throw back their arms and cause seoul ... busan... daegu... every small village in korea... every white family in the west - to see their hearts and for all to say "no more. no more can we do this. no more can we separate"
and for holt and kss and every single agency existent and no longer running to take all the millions that theyve earned off the selling of korea's chidlren - and give these profits to open shelters for single ummas who want to keep their children - who will put the money back into impoverished families who do not WANT to have to give their child up but dont have the income to keep them... to put their greed back into educating the people... for agencies to apologize to us for what it is that they have done... to fall prostrate at the feet of ummas and say "forgive us" ...
i dream of angelina jolie and brad pitt no longer being celebrated on the covers for adopting children - that instead they'll take their millions to help support the countries that they say that they feel so much compassion for... that they will work to enable parents in the 3rd world to be able to keep their children
i dream of the day when people magazine will lambaste madonna for stealing a father's son
i dream of the day when no one will call these dreams - impossible... when one day it will be a reality
i dream of the day when our place of origin will never be foreign for another child turned westernized adult
i dream of the day when... assimilation will cease to be the goal... when korean born western raised men and women - boys and girls will never look in the mirror saying "my skin is such a lie... if only i looked as white as i am inside"
... i dream of the day when single ummas in korea who kept their children - will be given every laurel wreath accolade that they deserve - will be given the support that they are owed... that they and their child will never want... that they and their child can be... can become... all they wish to be... for their neighbors to lift the ceiling - showing sky
i dream of the day when... words like these will be celebrated for the(ir) fulfillment... will be looked back upon as oh so distant past
i dream of the day when the loss that each and every 200.000 plus carries - will be washed away... will be filled with every joy calm and peace that comes with just knowing who it is you look like - where it is you come from
i dream of the day when 200.000 rise up from the sea - onto land - plant feet - and discover the(ir) roots that have been whispering for them all along
i dream of the day when...
children do not have to apologize to adoptive parents for asking questions - when chidlren do not have to say "thank you" to adoptive parents for being "saved" from "the orphanages of korea" ... when the truth of every single orphan and adoptee - umma - when OUR truths can no longer be ignored... that the rising up will be so great... that the volume of our truths will be the thing that causes every man woman and child in korea to set down the objects in their hands - crane necks... join us on the shores... bring us into land... and close the doors for good of agencies...
take our hands
and
reclaim us
take our hands
and say
"never again will we ever let another one of ours be sent away"
- i dream of this day
i dream of this day
this is the day i dream of
and this day
it begins with me
it begins with you
it begins with each one of us
to let go the self
and dare to dream with full passion
... so that this
this thing
this thing that has been done to us
has happened to us
will never
happen to another
to work towards this
to strive towards this
to
dream towards this
the day
living in the days when dreaming of -
might not be so
seemingly
far reaching:
i dream of the day when
korea will stand up and say in one collective voice
"no more will we send our children away. no more will we sell our children for profit."
i dream of the day when
governments, systems, celebrity collectors of other people's other country's children, and money hungry agencies will no longer strong arm parents into giving up their children when all they want to do is raise them...
i dream of the day when
ibyang and their ummas will raise arms side by side without shame without secrets without lies without separations...
throw back their arms and cause seoul ... busan... daegu... every small village in korea... every white family in the west - to see their hearts and for all to say "no more. no more can we do this. no more can we separate"
and for holt and kss and every single agency existent and no longer running to take all the millions that theyve earned off the selling of korea's chidlren - and give these profits to open shelters for single ummas who want to keep their children - who will put the money back into impoverished families who do not WANT to have to give their child up but dont have the income to keep them... to put their greed back into educating the people... for agencies to apologize to us for what it is that they have done... to fall prostrate at the feet of ummas and say "forgive us" ...
i dream of angelina jolie and brad pitt no longer being celebrated on the covers for adopting children - that instead they'll take their millions to help support the countries that they say that they feel so much compassion for... that they will work to enable parents in the 3rd world to be able to keep their children
i dream of the day when people magazine will lambaste madonna for stealing a father's son
i dream of the day when no one will call these dreams - impossible... when one day it will be a reality
i dream of the day when our place of origin will never be foreign for another child turned westernized adult
i dream of the day when... assimilation will cease to be the goal... when korean born western raised men and women - boys and girls will never look in the mirror saying "my skin is such a lie... if only i looked as white as i am inside"
... i dream of the day when single ummas in korea who kept their children - will be given every laurel wreath accolade that they deserve - will be given the support that they are owed... that they and their child will never want... that they and their child can be... can become... all they wish to be... for their neighbors to lift the ceiling - showing sky
i dream of the day when... words like these will be celebrated for the(ir) fulfillment... will be looked back upon as oh so distant past
i dream of the day when the loss that each and every 200.000 plus carries - will be washed away... will be filled with every joy calm and peace that comes with just knowing who it is you look like - where it is you come from
i dream of the day when 200.000 rise up from the sea - onto land - plant feet - and discover the(ir) roots that have been whispering for them all along
i dream of the day when...
children do not have to apologize to adoptive parents for asking questions - when chidlren do not have to say "thank you" to adoptive parents for being "saved" from "the orphanages of korea" ... when the truth of every single orphan and adoptee - umma - when OUR truths can no longer be ignored... that the rising up will be so great... that the volume of our truths will be the thing that causes every man woman and child in korea to set down the objects in their hands - crane necks... join us on the shores... bring us into land... and close the doors for good of agencies...
take our hands
and
reclaim us
take our hands
and say
"never again will we ever let another one of ours be sent away"
- i dream of this day
i dream of this day
this is the day i dream of
and this day
it begins with me
it begins with you
it begins with each one of us
to let go the self
and dare to dream with full passion
... so that this
this thing
this thing that has been done to us
has happened to us
will never
happen to another
to work towards this
to strive towards this
to
dream towards this
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
dust ...
(photo from last yr - seoul at night)
and flesh it turns to dust
burned down in the flames
ashes
only our souls are worth their weight
particles
seeking
other
particles
we're just a giant mass of
stuff
with 21 grams of
real
and the girl
the boy
the man
the woman
theyre just molecules
and to do
or not
to be
or
not
thats just a dust storm
rising in this
bowl
thats just the chaos of
scientific theories
speculated on by other bits of dust
- dust contemplating its own composition
made from nothing
made from dust
- dust the excess flaking of the skin
- the skin excess bits of flesh
- the flesh thats shaped of excess dust left over from the earth and its departed
filled with light
so easily distracted by other dust-ly shapes
ignoring our own
21 grams of
weight
ashes to ashes
dust lusting for other clumps of dust
to huddle with
to find comfort with
forgetting
that
21
plus
21
makes
42
and 4 plus 2
that makes 6
divide that six by the 2
and youre back to
some kind of
coupled
dusty
trinity
21 grams
and one too many pounds of kilos
dust forgets its one
it
only thing
that matters
and my soul
looks back
to see
what it has gathered
and what it will
shed
as
excess
unimportance
and one day
another
shall be comprised
of my
excess(es)
feeling self important
singular
Monday, January 12, 2009
parts of a day
I.
jesus
god
and the 500 saints
that refuse to get up for breakfast
singing songs in a temple
5 rotten tomatoes
no
9
no...
too many too count
its too early
for me to number things
in my head
but
not too early
to stand with fingerless gloves
drinking coffee
from paper cups
smoking dunhill "light-uhhs"
monday morning
and who wants to go to church
let alone
sunday school class
last night dreaming of chests
smothered in
tattoos
and
suntan
lotion
last night dreaming of
wagging tongues
and smiles
the only way i know
how to tell you bout
how im understanding you
is to tell you bout
how im understanding me
and the anger
it runs deeper than a river
she is both the
weakest
and the
strongest
part of
me
and for this i both
love
and
resent
her
and you wanna talk betrayal?
ive met my judas
and shes kissed my cheek
whispered in my ear
telling me
"i lub you"
and its monday
one day after sunday
and jesus is asleep
and jack kerouac is
"on the road"
and im a
"dharma bohmzha"
and the book cover is cobalt sky blue
orion sings at night
whilst the saints do sleep
bukowski's in his resting place
hughes is dreaming beneath a pile of raisins
festering
and
emily dickinson's
dresses have turned to
ash
i will fall in love with a star
i will fall in love with her dust
maybe i should learn to love
ugly that is beautiful inside
instead of
beautiful that is ugly on the inside
but im lecherous
and cravenous
one time too many
and my inbox is full of spam
promising me things
that i pay fortune tellers to predict
and god
and jesus
and the buddha of this temple
smile on from books and paintings
whilst children
run amuck
and i write you letters
bout absolutely nothing
write you letters about absolutely
everything
and this joy and anger
are biting through the morning air
i should go buy some gloves with fingers
but i like the rag tag
like the rag tag all too well
and i dont want just either or
thats always been
my problem
i want the beautiful that is gorgeous inside
want the star that shines from inside out
want the saints to wake
angels to gather on the beach
call up the sun
and bring tomatoes
back to
ripeness
and give me nights
that wake me
full of
words like these.
jesus
god
and the 500 saints
that refuse to get up for breakfast
singing songs in a temple
5 rotten tomatoes
no
9
no...
too many too count
its too early
for me to number things
in my head
but
not too early
to stand with fingerless gloves
drinking coffee
from paper cups
smoking dunhill "light-uhhs"
monday morning
and who wants to go to church
let alone
sunday school class
last night dreaming of chests
smothered in
tattoos
and
suntan
lotion
last night dreaming of
wagging tongues
and smiles
the only way i know
how to tell you bout
how im understanding you
is to tell you bout
how im understanding me
and the anger
it runs deeper than a river
she is both the
weakest
and the
strongest
part of
me
and for this i both
love
and
resent
her
and you wanna talk betrayal?
ive met my judas
and shes kissed my cheek
whispered in my ear
telling me
"i lub you"
and its monday
one day after sunday
and jesus is asleep
and jack kerouac is
"on the road"
and im a
"dharma bohmzha"
and the book cover is cobalt sky blue
orion sings at night
whilst the saints do sleep
bukowski's in his resting place
hughes is dreaming beneath a pile of raisins
festering
and
emily dickinson's
dresses have turned to
ash
i will fall in love with a star
i will fall in love with her dust
maybe i should learn to love
ugly that is beautiful inside
instead of
beautiful that is ugly on the inside
but im lecherous
and cravenous
one time too many
and my inbox is full of spam
promising me things
that i pay fortune tellers to predict
and god
and jesus
and the buddha of this temple
smile on from books and paintings
whilst children
run amuck
and i write you letters
bout absolutely nothing
write you letters about absolutely
everything
and this joy and anger
are biting through the morning air
i should go buy some gloves with fingers
but i like the rag tag
like the rag tag all too well
and i dont want just either or
thats always been
my problem
i want the beautiful that is gorgeous inside
want the star that shines from inside out
want the saints to wake
angels to gather on the beach
call up the sun
and bring tomatoes
back to
ripeness
and give me nights
that wake me
full of
words like these.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
how a 시인 is redeemed
* caution to the wary - this is a ramble on... headed no place particular cept where it pauses and concludes -
dont know why... it just is this kind of delight
when words have double meanings and double sounds
some love children
some love animals
me?
i love words
care for them in the most tender insane way
will fight for them
do fight for them
arrange them in my mind the way that florists give thought to flower placement / combinations
one meaning can enhance another
one meaning can - delineate - another
one word when placed beside another has the power to bring out more color from the ones around it - and yet the ones around one word can serve to illuminate that certain choice
its a love unexplainable
a delight
that escapes the confines of a sentence
or a
paragraph
even dictionaries cannot contain the meaning
some invent with what exists
writers write to exceed drab banalities
words can make the hearts of women
swoon
can inspire the ambitions of men
can win back what was lost
make singers worth listening to
and others
worth
ignoring
its not just "love what you do"
its
- love how you do what it is you do
- yeah true - anyone can write anyone can draw anyone can paint cuz everyones an artist
'cept wrong -
"everyone's got creativity" is how it should be written
cuz artist - smith - poet - writer - author - playwright - musician - etc etc etc
- those are the ones who arent just touching on their "creative side" - but striving to master... striving to perfect... striving to strive... and creativity is a tool within all the other skills
and some like to say - youre such a snob
to which i say:
what so elitist about loving?
whats so nose up in the air to fall at the feet of a word well placed? a move well crafted?
just cuz you own paint
doesnt mean you are a painter
just cuz you can spell
"dont make you no writer"
... and theyre gonna lambast blast me for all of this
-cept maybe the sinners who get called "시인" (oh how i delight in the similarities of sounds words and the play of go-between)
and yes yes yes its a well known fact that i have this sometimes way of living that makes others smack their heads
but
i have another way that goes deeper
and it brings this smile to my face to think the phrase in meaning / sound "that bar is full of 시인's" ... say it say it say it - good god that is greatness in the most word nerd of ways
... and you think you know me?
chances are
you know one thing or the other
ignoring combinations
cuz its the spaces inbetween that say the most
words - they are the best and worst of me
alliteration onomatopoeia annunciate
(sometimes slammers have only that and that can be so beautiful in its own without content kinda way
dont get me wrong i cant slam
but only few can slam with great poetry
and i fall prostrate wordless beneath their mics)
and here's a random inbetween
- sometimes i forget that i did not just live
but that i LIVED
in lithuania
that i know how the lights of klaipeda feel
that i can still feel the bitter cold from the baltic sea
that i can taste bambola's pica in my mouth
hear kurpiai jazzing in my head
that the cobblestones of here remind me of the ones along the gatves there
that i have 2 plus years of memory
and with those memories come
... feelings
that could never be framed by words
... only fragments
... and only those who were there ... well i could say one word and theyd know the full novella
like
- kretingos gatve
- maxima
- yellow submarinas
- karklu
- kranai
- the spit
- 12 chairs
- svyturys
- peda
- jocelyn
- 4th floor
- 11th floor
- degtine and the sky
... and in those words are hours.... days... months... years
and in those words
are people
and this
this
this is why i love words
the way that some love
loving
cuz loving words
is loving people
loving words
is loving memory
loving words
is loving music
loving words
is loving every single goddamned good/bad moment
loving words
(for me)
it is to live
and yes
i am a 시인 who does sin
but i am also a
"시인"
redeemed
by
words
dont know why... it just is this kind of delight
when words have double meanings and double sounds
some love children
some love animals
me?
i love words
care for them in the most tender insane way
will fight for them
do fight for them
arrange them in my mind the way that florists give thought to flower placement / combinations
one meaning can enhance another
one meaning can - delineate - another
one word when placed beside another has the power to bring out more color from the ones around it - and yet the ones around one word can serve to illuminate that certain choice
its a love unexplainable
a delight
that escapes the confines of a sentence
or a
paragraph
even dictionaries cannot contain the meaning
some invent with what exists
writers write to exceed drab banalities
words can make the hearts of women
swoon
can inspire the ambitions of men
can win back what was lost
make singers worth listening to
and others
worth
ignoring
its not just "love what you do"
its
- love how you do what it is you do
- yeah true - anyone can write anyone can draw anyone can paint cuz everyones an artist
'cept wrong -
"everyone's got creativity" is how it should be written
cuz artist - smith - poet - writer - author - playwright - musician - etc etc etc
- those are the ones who arent just touching on their "creative side" - but striving to master... striving to perfect... striving to strive... and creativity is a tool within all the other skills
and some like to say - youre such a snob
to which i say:
what so elitist about loving?
whats so nose up in the air to fall at the feet of a word well placed? a move well crafted?
just cuz you own paint
doesnt mean you are a painter
just cuz you can spell
"dont make you no writer"
... and theyre gonna lambast blast me for all of this
-cept maybe the sinners who get called "시인" (oh how i delight in the similarities of sounds words and the play of go-between)
and yes yes yes its a well known fact that i have this sometimes way of living that makes others smack their heads
but
i have another way that goes deeper
and it brings this smile to my face to think the phrase in meaning / sound "that bar is full of 시인's" ... say it say it say it - good god that is greatness in the most word nerd of ways
... and you think you know me?
chances are
you know one thing or the other
ignoring combinations
cuz its the spaces inbetween that say the most
words - they are the best and worst of me
alliteration onomatopoeia annunciate
(sometimes slammers have only that and that can be so beautiful in its own without content kinda way
dont get me wrong i cant slam
but only few can slam with great poetry
and i fall prostrate wordless beneath their mics)
and here's a random inbetween
- sometimes i forget that i did not just live
but that i LIVED
in lithuania
that i know how the lights of klaipeda feel
that i can still feel the bitter cold from the baltic sea
that i can taste bambola's pica in my mouth
hear kurpiai jazzing in my head
that the cobblestones of here remind me of the ones along the gatves there
that i have 2 plus years of memory
and with those memories come
... feelings
that could never be framed by words
... only fragments
... and only those who were there ... well i could say one word and theyd know the full novella
like
- kretingos gatve
- maxima
- yellow submarinas
- karklu
- kranai
- the spit
- 12 chairs
- svyturys
- peda
- jocelyn
- 4th floor
- 11th floor
- degtine and the sky
... and in those words are hours.... days... months... years
and in those words
are people
and this
this
this is why i love words
the way that some love
loving
cuz loving words
is loving people
loving words
is loving memory
loving words
is loving music
loving words
is loving every single goddamned good/bad moment
loving words
(for me)
it is to live
and yes
i am a 시인 who does sin
but i am also a
"시인"
redeemed
by
words
Friday, January 9, 2009
love note to 한국
(photo from last yr)
i love her back streets
the way she juts
up and down
rises
falling
with
and/or
without
me
i love her alleyways
her smells
her
vendors
and her
buyers
i love her lines
the way she has been
excavated
dug so deeply into
red line
green line
blue line
go
with caverns still to
explore
i love her exhales
that steam up
from her crevices
crevices
created
by
men
and
women
trying to find her
center
i love
her exclamations
that tremble through the walls
love how shes so tender
so unpredictable
so one day settled
next day wild
love how she pulls and pushes me away
will not let me go
how she is
my beginning
and now my middle
how even so long from her
my body could not forget her
how music falls from her highest places
to her most lonely corners
how
shes the one i could never leave
even when she turned her back
how my blood is of her veins
my body from her limbs
shes my constant joy
my constant geography to discover
i could trace her lines a thousand times
and still only just
begin to know her
raise my fingers to her
swollen
body
bursting in the upper
the place where i am most at calm
in the center of her
chaos
love her ragged edges
how even the ocean cannot conquer her
how other men have tried
but still she has remained
true
to her
chosen
she has not just one
but many
she was made for generations
to be adorned
with their triumphs and their sins
i do not know why it is i love her
she has wronged and betrayed
lied to worse than any lover could
sold me to feed her self-serving flesh
and yet i love her
because she loves me too
calls me by a name forgotten
i love her in the way that lovers cannot stay away
mumbling
"dont know why
just something about
you"
love her in the way
that sleep is torture
and every taste
is to know her
i love her in the way that
i have yet to love a person
love her in the way
that i cannot deny my own heart
when with her
love her in the way that
only those whove loved
can
know
love the city where i was born
love the country from which my dna is traced
love her knowing how crazy she can be
love her because
when mumbling to self
the words repeat
"korea... seoul...
there's just something about
her"
to the shoes upon my feet which i do wear so carelessly yet carefully
waking feeling soft
memories of the sounds of
silk 침아's
making time stand still
making even natives
stop
and
stare
rendering
an alleyway
silent
and we've been everywhere together
my chucks and i
"youve helped me remember something id forgotten"
- (heard that line so many times from so many "hers")
(when now will i be able to forget all that i am
reminded
of?)
and they're rotting
rotting at the seams
weary soles
weary threads
hole driven canvas
you know how i dress
so then why am i so excited about the colours
of this
한복 ?
(the silence that it renders
the time it makes to
stop
will be for the
oddity
and rarity
my hair's too "mussed"
to render that kind of
homespun
beauty)
i keep waking
these past 2 morns
to the softest inner feeling
like everything
is just
around the corner
that im about to
'round
stare down at the ground
to my worn out weary
much beloved
scuffed to the soles
1950s cons
chucks
think of all the places that we've been together
how memory wears down rubber
and dirt
sleet
snow
mud
earth
can eat through canvas
and time
can wear
not just flesh
but
sailor's cloth
so thin
look up
take a photo
think of morning
recall the sound of
silk
and say to self
"ahhh now
this
this here now
is
love"
Sunday, January 4, 2009
morning lovesongs of want
coffee comes slowly
churning out the veins
spluttering in the lungs
whilst smoke drifts in
and the preacher man
he's behind his sunday aye-em
pulpit
whilst all the sober people bow their heads
dreaming of coffee
and
praying for the
smokers
morning is the end of night
and i have one too many tune-less songs to sing
drained my well textured mug of its deep mocha black brown
beans from guatemala
tobacco approved by HRM ERHII
"designed in london made in korea"
me
designed in america made in korea
approved by holt
jeans from someplace obscene in that urban hipster kinda way
"to be so satisfied
and yet so full of...
anger
and
confusion"
"to remember why it is you came here"
"to remember
remember
remember"
fuck remembering
id like a mug of fermentation
and forget everything for a few more nights
"to be the one who captures your own loneliness and fill it"
fuck me having to fill my own anything
i want
a houseload of servants
a harem
and a bar that never runs dry
to fill whatever
whenever
i just
think it
and i want
a
house
and the income to own one
but the morning
is full
of sounds
su-yoon washing out last night's container of rice
water makes so many sounds
i want to be thigh high in snow
watching the moon rise in the alps
when everything is so beautiful
(full of beauty
beauty that is full)
that kind of fullness of beauty that leaves you so
aware of just how
in tune and
singular
you
are
i want a cat
that i never have to take care of
that never sheds
that only purrs
and places its paw upon my chest
and tells me that i am
perfect
without a chesire grin
morning is full of shuffling
of bags packed
ready to flip out the door
time away that i dont want
but
need
to re-order
re-pack
my chaotic
insane
fragmented
jump from thought to thought
word to word
random tangent
somehow all strung together
good god-damned lovely
hectic
ways
and return to
the way that morning is...
one bird singing
another in response
no sounds of traffic in a 12 million person city
hearing this
i cant help but think
having filled myself with guatemalan beans and nicotine
sitting behind my own literary litany of pulpit-ing
preaching to no one but myself
the shuffling
the 270 sounds of water
the 2 birds in conversation
and just for a moment
i am in want of
nothing
with 15 minutes to spare
and a love for my own word truncated : "insatiabilities"
Saturday, January 3, 2009
remembering reminding
(on the way from nakpoong-ri)
oh the ocean will not hold me
and the rivers cannot bend
everything is brighter
darker
than the days before arriving
and in the midst of chaos
is a comfort of
familiarity
is the comfort of
the past
and i can no longer run from
what ive been running towards
and the world
i cant find the way to pause it
cant find the way to stop it
so then
how (do) i move in
through
and
with
it?
oh the waves theyre not crashing in my dreams
as they have for 30 something years
and these 3 decades plus of living
arent like id imagined at the age of
12
confusion laps up onto more
and its not about you
not about her
but about
what it is i came here for
though some day i find negligent acts of avoidance
to be the only way to hit this pause
though all that does is make it all spin faster
and i dont know if i should
or
should not
to move from letting go to
frantic holding on
to utter indifference
i am the ocean
that cannot contain
my own
moon pull
my own
gravity
and the waves
though they will wash
crash
over
they will not
cannot drown
- this much ive dreamt before
this much i am assured of
and beautiful is beautiful
but crazy is too much
and i cant play the push and pull away
even though ive been pawning in this for one too many years
even though i always throw in my cards
oh its a go stop
stop go
flip switch
quick trip turn around
of becoming
and eventually
the rose petals
will stop swirling
it is the settling
that i am waiting for
it is the sea to calm
the rose petals to lie upon the earth
the crazy beautiful chaos to turn to
deep sigh peace release
it is
to find the middle ground
and not all these everyday extremes
i dream now
of a sea with waves
that do not crash up onto the highways
but instead
lap upon the coastline
with a sky brighter blue than i will ever show you
this
this
this
is what i came for
to look into the mirror
and see the sea has
calmed
II.
let fade what must
let shine what will
let shimmer what can
let die what needs
let live what does
let be what is
let go what does
let let what lets
i cannot be the one
to make the sadness go away
cannot be the one
to bear the brunt of self destructive hell bent intents
only to be called names
let rise what cannot stay
let stay what grows
let grow what yearns
let yearn what hopes
let hope what remains
let remain what moves
let move what rises
one year later and now i understand her meaning
one year later and now i understand my own mis-understanding
one year later and two things once just dreams are now bittersweet known realities
one year later and now i know
one year later and now i wonder if i still wish to know
let all be does is all the may might must can could should would
be.
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