A Meeting in Naju’s Bar
20-years-older-Me sent me a letter proposing to meet.
I replied that I would bring along 20-years-younger-Me.
So, we met.
The old hostess Naju was still serving drinks and eats.
Roasting pork belly on the briquet stove,
Past-Me drank red-labeled soju,
I drank millet wine, and
Future-Me’s nerves had weakened from too much drink
So he sipped bean sprout soup.
We all laid our memories out on the table.
We agreed to keep our wives and children out of it.
Though we were all suspicious of one another,
We comforted each other with our ability to forget.
Past-Me said he was reading Karl Marx,
I said I was reading travel books, and
Future-Me said he didn’t read books any longer.
Our conversation started obscurely.
During our talk, the grill pan was changed twice, the wine cups were shuffled,
And the now-cool bean sprout soup was reheated.
I asked them about their happiest moments.
Past-Me said that there were no happy moments, only sad ones.
Future-Me managed to top his cynicism, saying
That the present is always the abyss into which
Past and future are swallowed –
It makes life happen whether or not we want it to,
And makes life a toil for bare survival.
At that moment, somebody overturned the table in anger.
Looking back,
I have tried to piece together my shattered memory of those three hours:
Past-Me shouted out, “Do we even know the difference between ‘truth’ and fact?’”
I spoke of my department head as a ‘Rascal’, and
Future-Me kept talking about mother who had passed away long ago.
I remember the hostess Naju pushing our backs out of the bar,
But I can’t remember how we parted ways.
As in a dream, somebody seemed to say
“Bastard!” That was the last thing I remember.
Jeong Han-yong: poet, born in 1958, poetry 『How to Make a Mink Coat』 etc.
Translated by Seth Feldman
