Choyong (Dance of the Devil Scarers)
   ___________________________________

 

              Carved shaman's masks mark the trail
              the sakkat-kama is carried in procession;
              the wind howls loud in the mountains
              under death sheets the women scream.
              Magnolia trees hang heavy with strings
              of Buddha candle paper lanterns;
              husks of corn drape from a wishing pole
                hope for a bountiful harvest;
              pieces of cloth wave to fend off evil spirits
              flutter like ghosts in the wind
              rustle from the clumps of mulberry bush.
              Here is the place of the Dragon's Tears:
              a water wheel slowly churns
              below the bridge and its' painful arch
              ducks flap, scatter and fly away
              the catamaran and its' grass hut stare silently
              half-sinking into the river mud;
              cherry trees droop their petals
              close in the dark.

              From sagging tear-drop lotus leaves
              bullfrogs drum from the marsh.

 

 

                    Winter Solstice
                    _______________

 

                 On Little New Year's Day
                 wifts the smell
                 the sweet gruel of red beans,
                 gifts of orange tangerines spread
                 like the bright orb of the sun
                 light
                 to win over encroaching darkness.

                 This is tonji
                 the fortune-teller's beginning year:
                 The Return, 24th hexagram
                 from the Book of Changes;
                 the fish-tailed goat
                      initiator of
                      better times to come.

 

 

            Don't Let My Body Die in This Cold Ground
            _________________________________

 

              There is a river in the mountains I miss-
              Oh, my lips blew kisses to you
                  on the valley wind
                  sweeping up between the hills
                  to a home in your breast.
              In this nest I curl, as in mink fur
                  the soft ground
                  where the sheep rest
                  before their ascent:
              This is the place I hear your song.

              If I could, I would be the sarira
                  the holy man not burned in creation.
              My bones are old
              they need your touch
              to soothe the angry wind.

              This land where the bell was rung
              where war was ravaged,
              is my temple once again.
              Now it is autumn
              there is not the singing
                   of one bird.

 

 

                    Near Bang-A-Jin
                    _______________

 

                In this coffee shop, there is
                    beauty
                in the smiles.
                On the wall hangs a mural
                the boys sipping brew
                at the Horse Shoe Tavern
                across the tracks
                near the station
                in the time of many trees.

                There are songs behind the mural
                which float from hidden
                microphones and actresses
                singing yeh, yeh, yeh;
                stories never told
                by those in grey suits
                the lady is standing
                a single rose in hand
                their names now
                written in crimson.

                People born in winter
                don't feel the cold wind.

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