Poem for December

Poem No. X: Butterfly

A shred of torn wallpaper calls a dying butterfly to mind. It is a secret mouth in touch with the other world. One day, I see a dying butterfly, examining my beard in the mirror. The butterfly with drooping wings drinks dewdrops curdled in a warm breath. If I die pressing my hand over my mouth, the butterfly will fly away as if to stand up just after my sitting down. I’ll keep this secret inside.

Yi Sang (1910 – 1937)

‘Yi Sang was trained as an architect during the period of Japanese occupation of the Korean peninsula…Arrested in Tokyo for “thought crimes” in 1937, he died in Japan of tuberculosis shortly after his release. Legend has it that his last request was for a lemon; his last breath filled with its scent.’

Three Poets of Modern Korea: Yi Sang, Hahm Dong-seon and Choi Young-mi, translated by Yu Jung-yul and James Kimbrell (Sarabande Books: 2002)

Yi Sang’s work has a lemon-like quality. Invigorating on its own, it is best applied in small doses to otherwise humdrum days.

IM

Featured image acceessed at https://www.thenation.com/article/culture/yi-sang-selected-works/