The Grand Supper
When the shadow of the mountain thickened and dirt-covered tools
Were carelessly put away in the shed;
When smoky fumes were rising from a mosquito smoker at the edge of the yard;
In the late evening, a round table was set on a straw mat
And my family gathered around it and we silently and busily moved our spoons.
Into a hot, snail miso soup
An all-night cry fearlessly leaped;
A few stars floated in the kimchi soup bowl,
Like pieces of lard; into the cold water bowl,
Oh, the sound of grasshoppers swarmed.
My belly swelled like a ridgeline
Because of the unknown sorrow of
The spicy green hot pepper.
When I left through the gate, calming my belly with a few burps,
And breathlessly turned around the slope below Taegibong Peak,
Staggering and panting,
I heard the gasping of the Moon drunken with farmer’s wine.
Oh, how grand the side dishes that day were!
Lee Jae-mu : born in 1958, professor, poetry [ I Surrender to Sadness ] etc
Translated by Seung-Hee Jeon (literary critic and translator, editor of Asia: A Magazine of Asian Literature)
