일기들

Gedankenlied

낭비 — Fri, 04 May 2012 01:04:56 -0400

Gedankenlied

Die Kaumweiterlebende

Stützen sich aufeinander und dösen.

Auf der Wasserfläche,

Ein dichter, nebliger Vogelschwarm.

Mein armes Herz

Konnte keine Heimat bauen

Es wandert allein, unruhig,

Abendlich bei dem Wasser.

Ein kleiner Seufzer als ein Kisselstein

Nehme ich und werfe auf das Wasser.

Sodass der Schwarm aufsteigt

Und fliegt, in deiner Richtung.

생각노래

겨우 사는 것들이

기대어 졸고 있네

수면 위에는

새들이 자욱

가난한 내 마음은

집 한채 짓지못해

날 저문 물가

홀로 맴돌다

조약돌 만한 한숨

하나 집어 던지면

새들은 날아

그대 쪽으로

excrephanies

낭비 — Tue, 01 May 2012 12:52:41 -0400

Jon wantoned to make him selfish a profitcer, a sir-ting the virtus of busybeeing a schooler. Therefore I met him the other night whilst finishing my cigarette and weetalked his lovely honors thesis and the greatness of it, until melancholy slipped into my irritable bowels (like the panting deer thirsting for water brooks I sought out a toilet; And suddenly a greatful tempest arose on the sea, and the disciples were seized with panic. Jesus awoke and ordered the surging storm, "Be Calm."), so I barked and forthed to say, "also, ich muss jetzt gehen. Gooluck with your honors, revel in your laboratory; I on my part will go to lavatory and work on my anus project." I laughed him. O howl I loathe his proudent eyes. Love thy neighboor, saith hymn, and aye, when I am merry with heavenly sake I shall pour love on thy thighs and thighs’ neighbor.

Sweet love,

You were so sugary,

You’ve given me a toothache

In my heart.

There were days when I like a love-struck fool sat down to write. I bound marcelf onto a rock. Each time I wrote a word, pang of anxiety came flying in like a raven and sat by my side and, with its raptorial beaks, munched on my swollen liver intoxicated by idleness. But no more. I am a loafer supreme O sweet indolence annuls all. Indeed the generous Mother Mudd in my absence has filled my body once again with warm blood and posited strength in my muscles that every corner of my existence throbs with life and even when I fart it sounds like a joyous hymn of a convalescent. My mind turns happy like that plump Buck Mulligan, Dionysus laureled with a tambourine dancing shaking a grapevine wreath. In the midst of o the myriad mouths murmuring feces on Fecebook, I prattle and procrastinate my being freely, frivolously, without much contemporation on the truelty of life. My hands refuse to werk and my tongue presently only befits crafted gibberish.

See how Time flies like an ancient owl,

Frowning, upon us emptying its bowels.

I open my mouth like a beggar's bowl

But the fleeting muses, alas, drop not a vowel.

All said, mein Gedankenfreund, all said. All boors me to tears and thou art deerly missled in my hart. List! List! O list! Hamlet, I am thy father’s spit. Anal-yse these excrephanies thoroughly. For now I must return to the seventh Hell reserved for those having foolishly ventured to write something worthwhile. I am Lazarus the beggar brought to Hell by the capitalist Good - a tipful of water to cool off my tongue! Have only mercy, O farther Abraham, and kindly tell my kindsmen not to walk on the same pathway as I did!

늦봄노래

낭비 — Fri, 20 Apr 2012 16:57:34 -0400

길섶에는 새초롬한 담배꽁초들

흰 연기로 피어났던 이국異國의 풀들

가만 코를 들이밀고 들여다보면

숨어있는 불꽃 씨가 귀엽고 예뻐요

이제는 져버린 꽃잎이지만

청소부를 기다리는 신세이지만서도

나비 날 때 함께 날던 설레임으로

도란도란 모여 앉아 땅과 같이 웃어요

또 하나의 허랑방탕했던 주말을 이별하며

낭비 — Mon, 16 Apr 2012 07:15:12 -0400

Another foolish weekend has slipped away from us. All the precious moments of merrymaking, mirth and laughter, and dear memories of late risings now puff out in a single sigh and grow dim and faint as the misty vapor after fireworks, having once colored the night sky like youthful constellations, forever out of reach. Mixed with caffeine, they swirl into the mirky revolving that is the state of our already sleep-deprived mind. Yet we go on. Like the old deluded knight of the spanish countryside charging headlong at the windmill we have no fear, boldly striding through the ugly mouth of the library gaping at us and into the deepest abyss of the devouring creature, steps in sync with the sombre processional march ringing in the vast night air, to die a valiant hero's death.

correspondence

낭비 — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 01:03:38 -0400

S,

Once again, (in relation to each other) we are reduced to digital beings lacking in corporeality, mere words on a flickering screen. But such is our modern existence, such is the price we must pay for our cosmopolitan life styles. Let this be a bountiful correspondence...

How was your weekend?

Magnanimously,
M

You must forgive me for the neglectful silence I kept between your first email and this one. The very word "bountiful" in yours worked like a spell that paralyzed my tongue and fingers that it was possible only to murmur some inconsequential chatters like those I would post on Fecebook. It is partly the general delinquency that has governed my life ever since your departure that is to be blamed - that is, if something HAS to be blamed or beatified. All I have done until now was to prattle and procrastinate. See I am a loafer supreme O sweet indolence annuls all.

These days my brain is drowned in triviality. My hands refuse to work. You know I rarely command words like you do but fight them. For now I can only write to you a few ready-made paragraphs filled with outworn laments that sound familiar. Things that I want to say fail to find adequate forms and sounds and instead scatter away in the air. My tongue presently only befits crafted gibberish.

Again, I exaggerate. The questioned Weekend was okay except that my premonition about A was right. I wish I was nice enough to say yes but instead I retorted in spleen what kind of a question was that. (This thing happened half an hour after you left.) Fear not, though, because I made peace yesternight. I still like and wish but appears to be occupied with myriad other things that I want to bother A no longer. It hurts and sucks but there is no remedy Good grief? Heaven help me!

April strokes me with graceful serendipity and grants me to work with no life in exchange for sanity. I have my translation and thesis to complete! Joyce is a joy to read and Beckett beckons me away silently. Kafka and Kierkegaard kick me in the kidney. Gi fills me daily with the guilty conscience of the procrastinator. I shall no longer procrastinate my being.

I hope these words serve to entertain you for now, for now I must return to the seventh Hell reserved for those having foolishly ventured to write something worthwhile. I am Lazarus the beggar brought to Hell by the capitalist Good - a tipful of water to cool off my tongue! O but have mercy, father Abraham, and kindly tell my kinsmen not to walk on the same pathway as I did!

Tragicomically,
S

초상

낭비 — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 01:24:48 -0400

두 가지 비디오

낭비 — Wed, 14 Mar 2012 07:15:35 -0400

YG 엔터테인먼트에서 빅뱅 커버 콘테스트를 여는 모양인데, 머나먼 시골의 우리 학교에서도 두 그룹이나 참가했다. 둘 다 재기가 넘치고 꽤 많은 시간과 노력을 들인 듯 하여 여기 올려본다. 첫번째 영상은 한 작곡과 학생이 편곡과 노래까지 전부 담당했다. 끝날 무렵에는 내가 사는 기숙사도 나온다. 두번째 영상은 종이공예와 프레임을 만드는 데에 너무 많은 시간이 걸리는 바람에 미완성으로 제출하게 되었다. 개인적으로는 첫번째 비디오의 음악 트랙과 두번째 비디오의 영상을 합쳐 하나의 작품을 만들었다면 하는 아쉬움도 있다. 아무튼 재능이 넘치는 친구들이다.

천진한 마음

낭비 — Tue, 28 Feb 2012 04:28:52 -0500

머리 위로 하늘은 너무 푸르러 아팠다. 아침의 냉기는 어디로 가고, 함께 도서관을 나와 손을 잡고 걸은 오후 1시의 교정은 천천히 내려온 햇살로 가득했다. 우거진 건물들, 빛이 미처 미치지 못한 사이 졸린 졸음은 서로를 스치고, 낱말은 바람에 날리며 사방으로 반짝, 산산이 서두르지 않으며 흩어졌다. 결국은 모두 밑으로 간다. 저녁에 다시 도서관에서 보기로 하고 먼저 교실로 들여보내고 나는 바깥 벤치에 앉아 담배에 불을 붙였다. 천천히 공중에 퍼지는 손에 잡히지 않는 것들을 보면 일학년 때 나는 이렇게 썼었다. '너무나 푸른 당신은 / 겸손한 하늘 / 그 커다란 공백에 싸여 / 난 할 말이 없다.' 난 그 때 무슨 말을 하고 싶었던 걸까. 길가 옆 잔디밭은 발목까지 차오르고, 거기 주인을 알아보지 못하는 개와 사람보다 반가운 오래된 장소와 잊고 싶은 추억들과 욕설처럼 들리는 일기예보와 버려진 낙엽이 있었다. 누가 버린 것도 아닌데 분명히 버려진 것이었다. 내가 할 수 있는 것은 생각 밖에 없었다. 햇살은 언 가지에 닿아 발을 감싸며 얼룩처럼 내리고. 왜 그 때 그애는 미안해 하면서 울었을까? 왜 그 때 나는 잠시 같이 앉아있다 가자고 하지 않았나. 생각 밖에 없었다. 그 밖에는 없었다. 다시 위로.

설날은 지루하다

낭비 — Sat, 25 Feb 2012 14:54:54 -0500

May I take the liberty of saying that in my opinion Lunar New Year in Korea is boring. It is the time of the year when you are shoved into a car, driven out of the city, leaving behind the beautiful forest of buildings and misty smog, and visit your grandparents who dwell in the monotony of green and the helpless boredom of the countryside, where the air is too fresh and the water abnormally clean. And that's not the worst part. The moment they see you, your grandparents will set out to stuff your stomach with all kinds of food, drink, and snack, that are all made at home, until you become so full that you will begin to think of the leftover Chinese food in your fridge that you could have just put in the microwave to cook. Things get worse once your other relatives arrive. We have this peculiar tradition of bowing to your elders, who will then exchange your respect with certain commodities, such as new year's wishes, platitudes, or allowance money. Who likes money anyway? And then another vicious cycle of eating, talking, watching movies, and playing games ensues. It's like Christmas here. So, in conclusion, Korean Lunar new year is boring.

______________________
이번 주말에 한국학생회가 베트남 그리고 중국학생회와 함께 주최하는 Lunar New Year Banquet을 위해 '나의 설날 이야기'라는 주제로 짧은 영상을 찍어 보내달라는 부탁을 받았는데 졸음을 이겨가며 어찌어찌 쓰다 보니 이런 글이 나왔다. 청중 여러분께서 예쁘게 봐주셨으면 좋겠다.

Standing up to boredom

낭비 — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 13:28:36 -0500

Dear M,

Sometimes, often in the middle of those painful efforts to naturally interact with people, I ponder upon the possibility that I might as well be the most boring person in the world, that there is, sadly, absolutely nothing in me to interest people that I love. I have actually wrestled with this problem for quite a long time, until I reached this odd conclusion that might interest at least you: Qua holder of the modifier "the most", however the most boring person in the world, strictly speaking, should be of at least some interest after all. Because, like those with unique abilities listed on the Guinness Book of Records, exceptional people deserve some interest. ("So, you are the most boring person in the world, how interesting.") 'All right,' I say to myself, 'then perhaps I am the second most boring person in the world, and that way I would be as boring as I suffer.' Following my previous reasoning, however, there is currently no person more boring than the second most boring person in the world, who should now be identified as the most boring person in the world. Then maybe the third.... the fifth.... and so on and so forth; until I face the fact that, if I am not mistaken and my logic is sound, I will eventually have to accept the position of the least boring person in the world, i.e.: I am a priori the most interesting person in the world! Tears of consolation flow over my cheeks...

And we drown. In tears... In boredom....

(The distant sea waves parched up to skin in a arid desert is to be heard all through this letter) ...... I seriously wonder what I am doing here and now, boring myself and them, aimlessly roaming in touristy places, squandering my parents' hard-earned pay. A fourth-year English major soon to be graduated (quite passively) and spat out of college (quite possibly), I am still purposeless and underachieving (positively). True, I've been rather blithely casual about my life in general, and I have never seriously considered making plans for future, as I've always done and regretted for the past two decades. But as I face my last semester at Oberlin, with an ominous anticipation about grades for the Fall that I think will be very bad, I am now a little bit worried. What am I going to be, or, if I'm not qualified to wonder even that, do? I have all too long foolishly surrounded myself with melancholy and idleness in order to shun away the truelty of life.

During our week-long stay in C, I read the first half of Either/Or and also halfwaythrough To the Lighthouse. I am already as tired of this world as the aesthete Either/Or or the Preacher in the Ecclesiastes, without having enjoyed all the earthly pleasures they know so well and throughly both mentally and physically. No wonder I'm without philosophy. I am like the bitter widow whose complains not even the just judge would lend ears to. I think I perfectly understand Prufrock when he beckons his lover to come away with him as soon as he opens his mouth, which, however, lacks the strength and courage to actually deliver his words sonically. I think this holds true for many men: what we really need is one who is simple, but attentive and clever enough to actually care about us and about our work. 'To hell with what others think but only you matter' kind of thing. But then Mr. Ramsey in To The Lighthouse has Mrs. Ramsey, and he still considers himself a failure. How vain, when I think about the Nepalis migrant workers and their children in your film; yet how infinitely sad, that we are all human beings who need daily food and daily defecation?

(......)

This evening, however, I hastily wrote a short poem. Below is an equally haste English translation of the song:

Gedankenlied (Thought Song)

Creatures that barely live on
Lean against each other and doze.
On the surface of the water*,
A dense, hazy flock of waterfowls.

My heart, this poor one,
Couldn't build itself a home.
So, alone, after sunset,
It wanders by the water.

A sigh as small as a pebble -
I pick it up and cast it to the water.
So the flock takes wing,
Flying in your direction.

*'the surface of the water', in Korean, sounds the same as 'sleep'

I'll probably regret it once I wake up tomorrow morning!

Yours,
S