Wednesday, January 30, 2019

Duane Vorhees writes

   -- after Yun Dongju

A vernal gale laden with yellow dust
passes by like a Manchurian waterwheel

The April sun's mottled hand
touches the sad hearts of the ones whose backs are against the wall

Two children who know not whose land this is play the map-tearing game 

They regret only the shortness of their fingers

Don't! It makes me fear
that this fragile peace will break.

[In the map-tearing game, players in a marked circle try to hit each other's baduk stones with their own. Each time they succeed they advance one hand's length into the opponent's area.]

No comments:

Post a Comment

Join the conversation! What is your reaction to the post?