KOREAN EXPATRIATE  LITERATURE (  해외문학)  제21호 2017

 

 

IN THE GARDEN

 

 

We were picking plums in the garden

climbed high and naked

among the branches of an old tree.

The sun was shining,

leaves and insects were rustling,

obsessed just like us,

by the last days of summer.

Our fingers were sometimes meeting

on small planets;

then

we brought order of a green universe

with double strength.

Fruits,

sticky with juice,

we were throwing to the bucket;

eating some of them right away

giving to the mouth of each other

the ripest ones.

Sweet drops

were running down our chests.

 

But when satisfied and calm

we were lying sleepy on the porch,

no voice came out of the trees,

nor any motion of leaves could be seen.

 

 

A STONE

 

 

I picked up a stone,

so ordinary, grey-and-white;

there’s many of them

in the neighbourhood.

 

The stone was so common,

so imperfect,

that I just dropped it

carelessly.

 

It tumbled onto another stone,

equally imperfect,

in despair,

on its last legs,

halved.

 

And showed inside

a perfect shape

of ammonite.

 

Anyway, I unlocked the secret

hidden in the common form

of a stone.

    

 

 

PEOPLE WITHOUT EYELIDS

 

 

In this city

people don’t have eyelids.

They are sentenced to look

even in a dream.

Winds squeeze their tears,

through which they see ocean images,

a big animal

slobbering with foam,

spitting seaweeds.

And they

sacrifice their bodies

for him

in a last will,

and watch how the waves

blur the footsteps

in the sand.

 

 

Translated by Stanley H. Barkan

 

  

 

SATISFACTION

 

 

The night subsided

before dawn,

semiconsciously

but still vibrating,

blissed,

and dazed by the fierce caress

of a storm.

 

I gazed at this with great admiration,

inhaling aroma,

intensely erotic,

morning scent

by Lake Er Hai.

 

 

Translated by Stanley H. Barkan

 

  

A VIEW OF ME FROM THE VALLEY

 

 

I’m climbing

up and up...

 

But getting smaller

in the background

of that

big mountain...

 

I’m climbing

yet still shrinking...

 

 

Translated by Stanley H. Barkan



Tomasz Marek Sobieraj (1964, Poland), poet, writer, literary critic, fine art and social documentary 

photographer. Editor-in-chief at Krytyka Literacka, literary arts magazine in Łódź, Poland. 

His poetry has been translated into English, Russian, Spanish, Danish, Italian, Korean and Ukrainian.