Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Kim Hyesoon

MARILYN MONROE

Don’t say that I lived in a world as pure as the movie screen
that I flew on a silver plane to go and
lie down on a bed as clean as the inside of a mirror
and put my hand on my forehead   
that I lifted up my willowy willowy skirt

We return as pigs
We snap back onto the pig magnet that eats and shits

Don’t say that I pinned a flower in my hair
lay down on my icy death bed
inserted oxygen tubes and buzzed-buzzed frigidly cold
We return as hot pigs
We return for our final act
The act in which our fingers rot even before we lie down in our coffins

Don’t say that you and I made q q sound roused by the fireworks
that left no ashes even when they burned burned
that we hatched like white butterflies at the cliff’s edge
the sound of a puddle inside our body splash-splash
but that it all sounded slightly different
that we washed our outer body with water daily
and washed our inner body with blood
Dirt collects between our toes
and a box sealed up by sleep gives off a stench

Therefore I stick to the final act  
The act in which I shit out my body, splash on top of what I have shat
The act in which my soul escapes then I’m hooked on a metal hook
The act in which I can taste my own tongue as I get mashed up

The woman carrying in each hand a bag of pig hearts
keeps walking and mumbling the same story

One drop two drops of urine-like rain are falling

MARILYN MONROE

zeg niet dat ik leefde in een wereld zuiver als een filmdoek
en dat ik reisde in een zilveren vliegtuig
en dat ik liggend op een bed schoon als de binnenkant
van een spiegel de hand over het voorhoofd liet gaan
en mijn rok lichtjes opstroopte
 
wij keren terug als varkens
wij klikken ons vast aan de etende en schijtende varkensmagneet
 
zeg niet dat ik een bloem in mijn haren stak
en op mijn ijzige doodsbed
zuurstofslangen aanbracht en ijskoud lag te gonzen
wij keren terug als hete varkens
wij keren terug tot onze laatste rol
de rol waarin onze vingers al rotten voordat we in de kist liggen

zeg niet: dat de klank van jouw en mijn gegiechel
vrolijk van het vuurwerk dat brandde en brandde maar geen as achterliet
toen wij in de afgrond als witte vlinderzwermen aan het broeden waren
en de klank van het gespetter van de poel in onze lichamen
hoewel onderling een beetje verschillend
dag na dag de buitenkant van het lichaam wasten met water
de binnenkant van het lichaam wasten met bloed.
er komt vuil tussen de tenen
en uit de door slaap verzegelde koffer stijgt een gore lucht op

dus ik houd vast aan mijn laatste rol
de rol waarin ik het lichaam bonzend uitschijt bovenop wat ik al gescheten heb
de rol waarin eerst de ziel ontsnapt ik vervolgens aan een metalen haak hang
de rol waarin ik gepureerd de smaak van mijn tong beproeven kan

de vrouw met in elke hand een zak vol varkensharten
loopt al tijdenlang net zo’n verhaal te mompelen

in een druppel twee druppels valt er een regen die op pis lijkt
   

마릴린 먼로

화면 같이 청결한 세상에서 살았었다고
은빛 비행기를 타고 가서
거울 속처럼 깨끗한 침대 위에
누워 이마에 손을 올렸었다고
하늘 하늘 치마를 걷었었다고 하지 마라

우리는 돼지로 돌아온다
먹고 싸는 이 돼지 자석에 철컥 달라붙는다

머리에 꽃을 매달고
최후의 얼음 침대 위에 누워
산소줄 매달고 차디차게 붕붕거렸었다고 하지 마라
우리는 뜨거운 돼지로 돌아온다
마지막 배역을 맡으러 돌아온다
관 속에 눕기 전에 손가락이 썩는 배역

태워도 태워도 재가 남지 않는 불꽃놀이 신났었다고
당신과 내가 ㅋㅋ거리는 소리
절벽에서 흰 나비떼들처럼 부화했었다고
몸속의 웅덩이 찰싹 찰싹 하는 소리
그래도 서로 조금씩은 달랐다고
매일 매일 몸 밖은 물로 씻고
몸 안은 피로 씻었다고 하지마라
발가락 사이에 때가 끼고
잠으로 밀봉된 상자가 지독한 냄새를 터뜨린다

그리하여 최후의 배역에 철컥 달라붙는다
내가 싼 것 위에 몸을 철퍼덕 싸는 배역
영혼이 빠져나간 다음 쇠갈고리에 걸리는 배역
뭉개지면서 내가 내 혀 맛을 볼 수 있게 되는 배역

양손에 돼지 가슴이 담긴 봉지를 든 여자가
아까부터 같은 얘기 계속 중얼거리며 걸어가고 있다

오줌 같은 비가 한 모금 두 모금 떨어지고 있다
Close

MARILYN MONROE

Don’t say that I lived in a world as pure as the movie screen
that I flew on a silver plane to go and
lie down on a bed as clean as the inside of a mirror
and put my hand on my forehead   
that I lifted up my willowy willowy skirt

We return as pigs
We snap back onto the pig magnet that eats and shits

Don’t say that I pinned a flower in my hair
lay down on my icy death bed
inserted oxygen tubes and buzzed-buzzed frigidly cold
We return as hot pigs
We return for our final act
The act in which our fingers rot even before we lie down in our coffins

Don’t say that you and I made q q sound roused by the fireworks
that left no ashes even when they burned burned
that we hatched like white butterflies at the cliff’s edge
the sound of a puddle inside our body splash-splash
but that it all sounded slightly different
that we washed our outer body with water daily
and washed our inner body with blood
Dirt collects between our toes
and a box sealed up by sleep gives off a stench

Therefore I stick to the final act  
The act in which I shit out my body, splash on top of what I have shat
The act in which my soul escapes then I’m hooked on a metal hook
The act in which I can taste my own tongue as I get mashed up

The woman carrying in each hand a bag of pig hearts
keeps walking and mumbling the same story

One drop two drops of urine-like rain are falling

MARILYN MONROE

Don’t say that I lived in a world as pure as the movie screen
that I flew on a silver plane to go and
lie down on a bed as clean as the inside of a mirror
and put my hand on my forehead   
that I lifted up my willowy willowy skirt

We return as pigs
We snap back onto the pig magnet that eats and shits

Don’t say that I pinned a flower in my hair
lay down on my icy death bed
inserted oxygen tubes and buzzed-buzzed frigidly cold
We return as hot pigs
We return for our final act
The act in which our fingers rot even before we lie down in our coffins

Don’t say that you and I made q q sound roused by the fireworks
that left no ashes even when they burned burned
that we hatched like white butterflies at the cliff’s edge
the sound of a puddle inside our body splash-splash
but that it all sounded slightly different
that we washed our outer body with water daily
and washed our inner body with blood
Dirt collects between our toes
and a box sealed up by sleep gives off a stench

Therefore I stick to the final act  
The act in which I shit out my body, splash on top of what I have shat
The act in which my soul escapes then I’m hooked on a metal hook
The act in which I can taste my own tongue as I get mashed up

The woman carrying in each hand a bag of pig hearts
keeps walking and mumbling the same story

One drop two drops of urine-like rain are falling
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère