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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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"

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"

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.

(two) tin cans

its like that game
only without the string
so everything's just hollow noise
reverberating back into our faces
and the rope thats knotted at my stomach
wont fix the lines
of
understanding

some wasteland of
tinned sentences
canned for a later season
preserved for
preservation?

everything is
frayed at the ends
jeans
shirts
hair
even my chucks are frayed

i cannot heal her whisper
saline bleeds this city dry
saline digs paths into her eyes

i will be her first wrinkle

we're repeating words into these tin cans
making earthworms moan
into the earth
at our vain repetitions
like if we say the same thing enough
suddenly there'll be
translation

like if we keep saying the same three sentences
that the string will re-appear

like if we keep saying the same words in a different order
that one of us will find the meaning

so we stand
silently
saline
tin can in hand
tin can to mouths
not saying anything
just making
noise

this re-beginning
is every day out of body
every day new feeling
every day same sentences
every day picking up of cans
holding them to ears
collecting all her

water
that might drain her body

dry

a sort of essay on a sort of return to simplicity written in a fragmented format

the complexity is dwindling
to something less
... than intricate
dwindled down to one word
understandings
like:
"아니 "
"동생"
that leave a smile

but thats two more words than before

even a
문자
of being called a
"바보"
can somehow bring delight

like for a moment foreign is just a bit less foreign

and when she says
"안녕"
on the phone
and i give the wrong response
of formality
im no longer 33
or 34
or 35
depending on the calendar
im back to 5
lying on the carpet of my parents bedroom
asking my mother
"well what if...
what if one day..."

suddenly shopping for clothes has taken on new meaning
suddenly
just walking in a certain way
brings an odd kind of
delight

i
we
are the oddest mix
native born foreigners
having to claw our way to figure out
our
mother tongue

if statistics are to be proven right
then
im close to half way through it all
and yet somehow
these days

im back to my beginning

and the salvation that the preachers preached

ah now

finally now i know

what it was that they were
ranting on about

sinner turned saint turned sinner

re-turned to being

human...

just being in a car
thats not driven by a taxi driver
diving down the hectic streets
even that

even that

feels good

and i dont know if i just wrote the wrong word in hangul
but the attempt
was honest

so much has taken place
in so short a span of time

so much living

in a just a matter of weeks

and there is no way to return time to its infant stages
some things
are just gone

but now i know
that theres a whole lifetime
to
be had

and so today's comfort with a couple words
and the other day's joy of being in a car
and tonight's times of gesturing out yay or nays

eventually will turn to
fluency

but for now
for now

i am happy
with

this return to complicated
simplicity

just like how this beer

it tastes

so good

christmas in seoul

tis a (relatively) well known fact that i am not a fan of christmas... not a fan of all the "things" of materialism and religiosity : "buy me this buy me that and let's remember 'the reason for the season' "

so i quite quite quite enjoyed xmas eve and xmas day here... as the only point of these two days is to meet up with friends and either go out to eat or eat at someone's house... fortunately i was able to do both :-)

my seeming lack of blogging as of late is due to having a rather constipated mind and heart... which is good... but is resulting in a lot of churning over of words and thoughts inside myself... to be spewed forth at a later date

... anyhow

life is good

and basically as my fb status says at the moment:

"there are two ways to look at the world: as if everything is a miracle or nothing is a miracle." albert einstein

(i believe the first... )


... i thought a lot about xmas in lithuania last night... and found myself missing sirvintos and the salatos.. and led zeppelin at odd hours...

ahh its the simplicity and quiet that i like the most about christmas... and have always done my best to seek it ... and thusfar have been quite lucky in finding it - be it in lithuania, austria, the chappelles of so cal, korea or where-ever else...

24 dec 08

at sangsu station on the way to an (overpriced) dinner in itaewon with sora and anja and others...





25 dec 08

at kim yoo min and chan-hwa's

turkey, mashed potatoes, and of course the necessary all important pickles and radish kimchi

the river

the river
it runs deep
wide
and
dry
splitting the earth at its seams
filled with the unshed tears of
200 plus thousand ummas who weep in buried corners of their hearts

this city
country
so beautiful
cracked down its center
by a shame so deep
its own people
have dug to bury
labeling its own
"foreigners"
sending us away
oh how the world has failed its ummas
how the world has failed the children of this earth

secrets that run back to the shilla
secrets that run back 5 plus generations back
crashing up onto the highways

and i
i walk down this riverbed
sinking in its mire
few will stop to help
most will turn
blind eyes
most will say
"was not me"

whilst i point my finger saying
"i love you but you could not love me"

father forgive

riverbeds
are going to split this land
till ummas are allowed to stand heads public -
wail
and
mourn

father forgive this land
how i love it
my body knows it
i am born of it

born of this riverbed
mire
waves
shores
gutted farmlands

we're the stains
that you cannot wash or wipe away
you have denied the ummas all their tears

i am of you
i am you

purest form
that i could ever be

and in each finding
in each tear finally allowed to flow

the riverbed
begins to heal
this
land so beautiful
and its people
so

i lay down my hand
pull in my fingers
and can
no longer
blame

can only
join the ummas
and howl the tears that they were forced to send away

3 weeks to the day

last night i
held her sadness in my arms
-she wore it like a cloak

tonight i cannot sleep
because
because
i do not know what tomorrow holds
do not know if on saturday i will knock or run

last night i held
the sadness of 200,000 ommas in my arms
even though she was not one of them

i cannot sleep
and i need sleep
i am hours deprived
but what ifs are churning
what ifs are the steady drip

and so tonight
i will go out
to forget
just for a moment
how last night
i held her
sadness in my arms

i will drown this coffee and its grounds
i will spill life onto the streets

will watch the sun rise

my feet
what will they touch upon

and will my body
remember anything?

last night
i held the sadness of my mother
in my arms
in the shape and form
of
her.

II.

the women chit chat pitter patter in their english
call me
nice things
tell me just how much an artist i must be

buy me samgyupsal
pour me shots of soju

want their pictures taken with me

want my number
want my email

want me to come back

"welcome home"
they say

"oh yes youre definitely korean" (in some ways)

they tell me everything ive waited 32 33 34 years to hear
(lunar calendar has increased my longevity by 2 at this rate)

... "no no this is special we dont usually do this"
they chirp
buying me dinner

treating me like i used to dream about

its the simplest smallest tiniest things

"your english is so good"
says one

"its cuz shes american"
another laughs

"but is korean"
another smiles

"your style its so individual"
they chorus

and i think of minneapolis
and friends

and i think of all those days months years in europe
and friends

and i think how
i cried all the way from here to oregon

and i wonder bout the weekend

and i think about how i am here

i am really here

"what are your impressions of korea?"

they smile when i tell them with my tired eyes

they smile satisfied

they smile with "of course you do"

when i tell them

with clipped english

touching hand to heart

"being here. i feel so good. so happy."

and then i touch my hand to my stomach
sit back
sigh

"no no no im full"

as they offer me an after course of

noodles

...

III.

"i need you"
i cant refuse those words

to be needed
HERE?

after being sent away

and then told
"need"

after being so not
needed
at the beginning

this need
to be
needed
here

it runs deeper than i knew

i saw her

i saw her on the metro

shes the woman with the plush velvet crayola deep blue green jacket
- prim and proper

shes the woman smiling at me - kind face kind eyes

shes the crazy ranting woman muttering inanities to herself - clutching her fisherman's cap...

shes the women learning english "we have a peettie teacher"

... shes the one inviting me to eat

- (its the need to know that will undo and redo)

shes the fish seller on the street

the woman dishing kimchi

shes the one im talking to telling her "your love will not go forgotten... your courage will save her from my state of loss"

shes the one i cant keep staring at

the one i cant stop looking for

shes the pitchforked halo spinning o'er my waking sleeping

last night i dreamt of five

five women sent away

by a minister

and we

we

i

were the ones to bear the mark

the minister

he had

no shame

... shes the one

who visits without appearing

shes the women on the metro

on the streets

in the bars

serving food

learning english

asking me how much i weigh saying "no less"

... shes the one in need of all this:

redeeming

yoo-min's bday at goowol on 6 dec 08

this is for
every birthday never spent
every candle never shown

this is for
every present never given
ever party not invited to

this is for being sent away
for
all the photos that my albums do not hold

this is for the life i could have
should have
lived

this is for
32
33
an invisible year lost
now reclaimed

this is for
every mamma who dared
every child still crying
"i want my mommy
no my REAL mommy"

this is for
every friend i never made
every lover never met

this is for
"you think you know so much
think you can read between my lines
you dont even know the half of it"

this is for
every ahjima whose lying
to protect her hidden secret
every father who does not know
does not care
drunk on soju with a wife tapping on the kitchen clock

this is for
do i stay
or
do i go
either way
there'll be trouble

this is for
every cake i never saw
every clap never heard
every k-pop song i cant recall

this is for
every racial that is trans
every man woman whose still torn up inside

this is for
loss loss loss
re-gain
re-gain
re
gain

this is for 15 bottles of beer on the wall
that we kicked down one autumn night
outside aldershot

this is for the conversation that i may never get to have
the words i need to speak
this is for telling
someone
who at least is somehow more a part of her
than anyone else ive ever known

this is for
every birthday party
i never celebrated
in the place that i was

born