Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Kim Hyesoon

BLOOM, PIG!

Has to die even if it didn’t steal
Has to die even if it didn’t kill
Without a trial
Without a whipping
Has to go into the pit to be buried

Black forklifts crowd in
No time to say Kill! Kill!
No time for the blood to splatter onto the shit-smeared walls or light bulbs
No time for the piglets just popped out from the stomach to get skinned and made into cheap colorful shoes

No time for the pale-faced interrogator wearing dark sunglasses to yell Fess up! Fess up!
No time to gamble with terror as if skipping rope, whether I can survive the torture or not
No time to bite the flesh of my mouth as if biting the hand that’s hitting my friend’s cheek in the next room
No time to tie up hands and feet and pull my head back and force water into me
No time to say Mommy please forgive me, I was wrong, I won’t do it again
No time to put a towel over my face and pour water from a pot
No handcuff or strap

Every night I read my country’s history of torture
Then in the morning I open the window and sing loudly at the roofs below the mountain
How could I possibly forget this place?
I have Pig who needs to be rinsed with a song then go
Dear Song, Please stay stuck to my body for 12 hours

A horde of healthy pigs like young strong men get thrown into the pit

They cry in the grave
They cry standing on two legs, not four
They cry with dirt over their heads
It’s not that I can’t stand the pain!
It’s the shame!
Inside the grave, stomachs fill with broth, broth and gas

Stomachs burst inside the grave

They boil up like a crummy stew
Blood flows out the grave
On a rainy night fishy-smelling pig ghosts flash flash
Busted intestine tunnel their way up from the grave and soar above the mound
A resurrection! Intestine is alive! Like a snake!

Bloom, Pig!
Fly, Pig!

Boars come and tear into the pigs
A flock of eagles comes and tears into the pigs

Night of internal organs raining down from the sky!
Night of flashing decapitated pigs!
Fearful night, unable to discard Pig even if I die and die again!
Night filled with pig squeals from all over!

Night of screams, I’m Pig! Pig!

Night when pigs bloom dangling-dangling from the pig-tree

BLOEI, VARKEN

heeft niks gejat maar moet dood
heeft niemand vermoord maar moet dood
zonder vorm van proces
zonder zweepslagen
moet de kuil in voor zijn begrafenis

een zwarte graafmachine komt aangestormd
zonder ook maar een moment om sterf! sterf! te zeggen
zonder ook maar een moment dat bloed spuit over een muur met mest uitgesmeerd over de lampjes
zonder ook maar een moment dat ze vanuit de maag opduiken en met afgestroopt vel een vlekkerig goedkoop schoentje worden
zonder ook maar een moment om de examinator met zwarte bril op zijn bleke gezicht ademen! ademen! te laten zeggen
zonder ook maar een moment om aan de gang te gaan met het springtouw van dringende angst of je de marteling wel vol kunt houden
zonder ook maar een moment om vlees te bijten uit de binnenkant van mijn mond
alsof ik bijt in de handpalm die neerdaalt op de wang van de in de zijkamer hoorbare vriend
zonder ook maar een moment om aan iemand met handen en voeten vastgebonden het hoofd naar achteren gestrekt water te voeren
zonder ook maar een moment om te zeggen sorry ma ik zat fout ik doe het nooit weer
zonder ook maar een moment om een handdoek over het gezicht te leggen en water uit de ketel te gieten
zonder riemen of handboeien

elke nacht lees ik in de geschiedenis van de martelingen van ons land
‘s ochtends open ik de deur zing luid een lied voor de daken aan de voet van de berg
hoe kon ik in mijn dromen dit oord vergeten
ik heb een varken om met dit lied schoon te spoelen en dan weer verder
o lied, blijf vandaag twaalf uur lang aan mijn lichaam vastzitten

een troep varkens kerngezond als sterke jonge kerels wordt de kuil in gemieterd

ze huilen in het graf
staan niet op vier maar twee voeten en huilen
ze begraven het hoofd in de modder en huilen
niet dat ik dit niet verdragen kan doet pijn!
het is de schaamte!
in het graf zitten de ingewanden vol bouillon en gas
in het graf barsten de buiken
in het graf kookt een smakeloze stoofpot
bloederig water stroomt uit het graf
regenachtige nacht bloederig varken dwaallichtje straalt en straalt
opengebarsten ingewanden doorboren het graf en rijzen op boven de grafheuvel
herrijzenis! de ingewanden leven! leven als een slang!

bloei, varken!
vlieg, varken!

wilde zwijnen komen en scheuren het vlees en vreten
adelaars komen in zwermen en scheuren het vlees en vreten

nacht waarin uit een azuurblauwe hemel ingewanden stromen!
nacht waarin varkens met afgehakte hoofden opflitsen!
vreselijke nacht waarin hoe dood ook hoe dood ook de varkens niet verloren gaan!
nacht waarin hemel en aarde overlopen van varkensgebrul
 
ik ben varken! varken! brult de nacht!

nacht waarin varkens in trossen bloeien aan de varkensboom!

피어라 돼지

훔치지도 않았는데 죽어야 한다
죽이지도 않았는데 죽어야 한다
재판도 없이
매질도 없이
구덩이로 파묻혀 들어가야한다

검은 포크레인이 들이닥치고
죽여! 죽여! 할 새도 없이
알전구에 똥칠한 벽에 피 튀길 새도 없이
뱃속에서 나오자마자 가죽이 벗겨져 알록달록 싸구려 구두가 될 새도 없이
새파란 얼굴에 검은 안경을 쓴 취조관이 불어! 불어! 할 새도 없이
이 고문에 버틸 수 없을 거라는 절박한 공포의 줄넘기를 할 새도 없이
옆방에서 들려오는 친구의 뺨에 내리치는 손바닥을 깨무는 듯
내 입안의 살을 물어뜯을 새도 없이
손발을 묶고 고개를 젖혀 물을 먹일 새도 없이
엄마 용서 하세요 잘못했어요 다시는 안그럴게요 할 새도 없이
얼굴에 수건을 놓고 주전자 물을 부을 새도 없이
포승줄도 수갑도 없이

나는 밤마다 우리나라 고문의 역사를 읽다가
아침이면 창문을 열고 저 산 아래 지붕들에 대고 큰소리로 노래를 부른다
이곳이 차마 꿈엔들 잊힐리야
나에겐 노래로 씻고 가야할 돼지가 있다
노래여 오늘 하루 12시간만 이 몸에 붙어 있어다오

시퍼런 장정처럼 튼튼한 돼지떼가 구덩이속으로 던져진다

무덤속에서 운다
네 발도 아니고 두 발로 서서 운다
머리에 흙을 쓰고 운다
내가 못견디는 건 아픈 게 아니에요!
부끄러운 거예요!
무덤속에서 복부에 육수찬다 가스도 찬다
무덤속에서 배가 터진다
무덤속에서 추한 찌개처럼 끓는다
핏물이 무덤밖으로 흐른다
비오는 밤 비린 돼지 도깨비불이 번쩍 번쩍 한다
터진 창자가 무덤을 뚫고 봉분 위로 솟구친다
부활이다! 창자는 살아 있다! 뱀처럼 살아 있다!

피어라 돼지!
날아라 돼지!

멧돼지가 와서 뜯어 먹는다
독수리떼가 와서 뜯어 먹는다

파란 하늘에서 내장들이 흘러내리는 밤!
머리 잘린 돼지들이 번개치는 밤!
죽어도 죽어도 돼지가 버려지지 않는 무서운 밤!
천지에 돼지울음소리 가득한 밤!

내가 돼지! 돼지! 울부짖는 밤!

돼지나무에 돼지들이 주렁주렁 열리는 밤

Close

BLOOM, PIG!

Has to die even if it didn’t steal
Has to die even if it didn’t kill
Without a trial
Without a whipping
Has to go into the pit to be buried

Black forklifts crowd in
No time to say Kill! Kill!
No time for the blood to splatter onto the shit-smeared walls or light bulbs
No time for the piglets just popped out from the stomach to get skinned and made into cheap colorful shoes

No time for the pale-faced interrogator wearing dark sunglasses to yell Fess up! Fess up!
No time to gamble with terror as if skipping rope, whether I can survive the torture or not
No time to bite the flesh of my mouth as if biting the hand that’s hitting my friend’s cheek in the next room
No time to tie up hands and feet and pull my head back and force water into me
No time to say Mommy please forgive me, I was wrong, I won’t do it again
No time to put a towel over my face and pour water from a pot
No handcuff or strap

Every night I read my country’s history of torture
Then in the morning I open the window and sing loudly at the roofs below the mountain
How could I possibly forget this place?
I have Pig who needs to be rinsed with a song then go
Dear Song, Please stay stuck to my body for 12 hours

A horde of healthy pigs like young strong men get thrown into the pit

They cry in the grave
They cry standing on two legs, not four
They cry with dirt over their heads
It’s not that I can’t stand the pain!
It’s the shame!
Inside the grave, stomachs fill with broth, broth and gas

Stomachs burst inside the grave

They boil up like a crummy stew
Blood flows out the grave
On a rainy night fishy-smelling pig ghosts flash flash
Busted intestine tunnel their way up from the grave and soar above the mound
A resurrection! Intestine is alive! Like a snake!

Bloom, Pig!
Fly, Pig!

Boars come and tear into the pigs
A flock of eagles comes and tears into the pigs

Night of internal organs raining down from the sky!
Night of flashing decapitated pigs!
Fearful night, unable to discard Pig even if I die and die again!
Night filled with pig squeals from all over!

Night of screams, I’m Pig! Pig!

Night when pigs bloom dangling-dangling from the pig-tree

BLOOM, PIG!

Has to die even if it didn’t steal
Has to die even if it didn’t kill
Without a trial
Without a whipping
Has to go into the pit to be buried

Black forklifts crowd in
No time to say Kill! Kill!
No time for the blood to splatter onto the shit-smeared walls or light bulbs
No time for the piglets just popped out from the stomach to get skinned and made into cheap colorful shoes

No time for the pale-faced interrogator wearing dark sunglasses to yell Fess up! Fess up!
No time to gamble with terror as if skipping rope, whether I can survive the torture or not
No time to bite the flesh of my mouth as if biting the hand that’s hitting my friend’s cheek in the next room
No time to tie up hands and feet and pull my head back and force water into me
No time to say Mommy please forgive me, I was wrong, I won’t do it again
No time to put a towel over my face and pour water from a pot
No handcuff or strap

Every night I read my country’s history of torture
Then in the morning I open the window and sing loudly at the roofs below the mountain
How could I possibly forget this place?
I have Pig who needs to be rinsed with a song then go
Dear Song, Please stay stuck to my body for 12 hours

A horde of healthy pigs like young strong men get thrown into the pit

They cry in the grave
They cry standing on two legs, not four
They cry with dirt over their heads
It’s not that I can’t stand the pain!
It’s the shame!
Inside the grave, stomachs fill with broth, broth and gas

Stomachs burst inside the grave

They boil up like a crummy stew
Blood flows out the grave
On a rainy night fishy-smelling pig ghosts flash flash
Busted intestine tunnel their way up from the grave and soar above the mound
A resurrection! Intestine is alive! Like a snake!

Bloom, Pig!
Fly, Pig!

Boars come and tear into the pigs
A flock of eagles comes and tears into the pigs

Night of internal organs raining down from the sky!
Night of flashing decapitated pigs!
Fearful night, unable to discard Pig even if I die and die again!
Night filled with pig squeals from all over!

Night of screams, I’m Pig! Pig!

Night when pigs bloom dangling-dangling from the pig-tree

Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère