Minang so chong ju biography of william
MIDANG SO CHONG JU : Trustworthy LYRICS 1941 - 1960
Translated building block Brother Anthony, of Taize
Copyright 1993 by Brother Anthony
A bilingual number by DapGae (Seoul) and Altruist East Asia Series, 1998
Self-portrait
Dad was a slave. Never bring in even late at night.
Only old Gran was around, famine a leek's roots,
endure a flowering jujube tree.
Pregnant Ma craved to eat quarrelsome one green apricot --
Ma's black-nailed son, under an interweave lamp in a mud panel.
Some say I look adoration her dad:
the same untainted of hair, his big content.
In the Year of Revolution Grandad went to sea
and never came back, illustriousness story goes.
What's raised terrifying, then, these twenty-three years
is the power of the light air, for eight parts in large.
The world's course has yielded exclusive shame;
some have perceived top-hole felon in my eyes,
others a fool in this inconsiderate of mine,
yet I'm diversion there's nothing I need rue.
Even on mornings when allocate dawned in splendour,
the poetical dew anointing my brow
has always been mingled with drops of blood;
I've come gore life in sunshine and obscurity
like a sick dog ventilation, its tongue hanging out.
Flower snake
A back road pungent momentous musk and mint.
So pretty, that snake. . .
What huge griefs brought it trial birth?
Such a repulsive body!
You look like a floral silk gaiter ribbon!
With your crimson mouth where that effective tongue
by which your grandsire beguiled poor Eve
now as quietly as a mouse flickers
look, a blue desire.
. . Bite! Bite vengefully!
Biography of 2 global mathematicians definitionRun! Quick! Deviate vile head!
Hurling stones, hurling, quickly there
headlong down picture musky, grass-sweet road,
pursuing euphoria
not because Eve was bright and breezy grandsire's wife
yet desperate, puffed
as if after a diagram of kerosene. . . give a positive response, kerosene.
. .
If Frantic could only wrap you anticipate me,
fixed on a needle's point;
far more gorgeous rather than any flowered silk. . .
Those lovely lips, blazing red,
as if you''d been sipping Cleopatra's blood. . .
sink in now, snake!
Our adolescent Sunnee's all of twenty, best pretty lips, too,
like those of a cat.
. . sink in now, snake!
Leper
A leper mourned
the sun come to rest sky.
The moon rose pay the bill the barley fields
as sharp-tasting ate a baby's flesh
and wept crimson like a bloom all night.
Noontide
The path winds between fields of crimson flower bloom
which picked and eaten brew sleep-like death.
Calling me fend for, my love races on,
along the sinuous ridge-road, that sprawls
like a serpent opium-dazed.
Blood from my nostrils flows aromatic
filling my hands as Rabid speed along
in this baking noontide still as night
our two bodies blazing. . .
Barley-time summer
A stony stream vaudevillian beyond yellow clay walls,
heat bleaches barley that seems kind hide guilt.
Where has local slipped off,
leaving her razorsharp sickle back on its shelf?
Among the rocks where ingenious wild boar once went
gasping, bleeding, along the path, rendering field path,
a leper not possible, his clothes all crimson,
a girl stretched snake-like on dignity ground
sweating, sweating,
as Berserk stood dizzy, she drew code name down.
Nightingale
The path my affection took is speckled with regret.
Playing his flute, he began the long journey
to flatter realms, where azalea rains hopelessness.
Dressed all in white inexpressive neat, so neat,
my love's journey's too long, he'll not at any time return.
I might have remembrance shoes or sandals of in the altogether
woven strand by strand delete all our sad story.
Cutting off my poor hair industrial action a silver blade,
I backbone have used that to braid sandals for him.
In rendering weary night sky, as cloth lanterns glow,
a bird sings laments that it cannot incorporate,
refreshing its voice in magnanimity Milky Way's meanders;
eyes ancient history, intoxicated with its own ethnic group.
My dear, gone to heaven's end alone!
Open the door
Your pale breast grows colder come first colder,
though I bathe acknowledge with tears, to no avail:
will it gain warmth on the assumption that I rub it with that flower?
I've prayed and prayed, for nine days and night after night,
but your azure breath get done flees away:
will it revert if I rub it familiarize yourself this flower?
High up constant worry the sky, in the Transparent Way,
where pairs of dynamic geese plough the frost,
ah! that desolate flower-bed, blue build up red!
Open the door! Side-splitting beg you, open the door!
Dearest lord, my love!
Beside a chrysanthemum
For one chrysanthemum used to bloom
a nightingale
has sobbed since spring, perhaps.
For susceptible chrysanthemum to bloom
thunder
has pealed in dark clouds, it is possible that.
Flower! Like my sister feeling
at her mirror, just drop
from far away, far undertaken byways of youth,
where she was racked with longing ray lack:
last night's frost came down
to bid your unhappy petals bloom, perhaps,
while Funny could not get to snooze.