Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Kim Hyesoon

DINNER MENU Day Twenty-Nine

There’s no rice in Mommy’s rice jar
There’s no money in Mommy’s purse
There’s no fire in Mommy’s kitchen

Today, Mommy cooks pan-fried hair
Yesterday, Mommy cooked braised thighs
Tomorrow, Mommy will cook sweet and sour fingers

In the kitchen, a knife bangs against the cutting board
In the kitchen, a bone steeps in broth
In the kitchen, thighs are deep fried

There’s Mommy inside Mommy’s rice jar
There’s Mommy inside Mommy’s purse
There’s Mommy inside Mommy’s kitchen
There’s Mommy beneath Mommy’s knife

Your mommy is that riverbank of your childhood
Your mommy is that trail of your childhood

When you go along the trail all alone past the riverbank

Mommy’s weak voice: My daughter,
you’ve come, hurry, come in
When the door opens,
an empty stove, cold air

In your mommy’s kitchen
your deflated hungry stomach
is hanging on the black wall
like a rusted frying pan

Tonight, you’ll fry Mommy’s
hands in that frying pan

AVONDMAAL dag negenentwintig

in moeders rijstpot geen rijst
in moeders portemonnee geen geld
in moeders keuken geen vuur

vandaag kookt moeder gebakken haren
gisteren kookte moeder gesmoorde dijen
morgen kookt moeder zoetzure vingerkroketjes

in de keuken het mes dat slaat op het hakbord
in de keuken het bot dat weekt in de bouillon
in de keuken de dij die bakt in de olie

moeder in moeders rijstpot
moeder in moeders portemonnee
moeder in moeders keuken
moeder onder moeders mes

je moeder de rivieroever van je kinderjaren
je moeder het smalle pad van je kinderjaren

ga jij ver van de oever in je eentje over het pad

dan met verzwakte stem onze dochter is weer daar!
onder een kom gauw binnen gaat de deur open
het fornuis leeg het licht ijskoud
 
hangt in moeders keuken
je van de honger ingezakte buik
als een verroeste braadpan
aan de zwarte muur
 
zul jij vannacht in die braadpan
moeders handen bakken


저녁메뉴 스무아흐레

엄마의 쌀독엔 쌀이 없고
엄마의 지갑엔 돈이 없고
엄마의 부엌엔 불이 없고

오늘 엄마의 요리는 머리지짐
어제 엄마의 요리는 허벅지찜
내일 엄마의 요리는 손가락탕수

부엌에선 도마에 부딪치는 칼
부엌에선 국물이 우려지는 뼈
부엌에선 기름에 튀겨지는 허벅지

엄마의 쌀독엔 엄마
엄마의 지갑엔 엄마
엄마의 부엌엔 엄마
엄마의 칼 밑엔 엄마

네 엄마는 네 아잇적 그 강기슭
네 엄마는 네 아잇적 그 오솔길

강기슭 지나 그 오솔길 너 혼자 멀어져 가노라면

우리 딸이 왔구나 힘없는 목소리
어서 들어오너라 방문 열리면
텅 빈 아궁이 싸늘한 냉기

네 엄마의 부엌엔
배고픈 너의 푹 꺼진 배
녹슨 프라이팬처럼
검은 벽에 매달려 있는데

너는 오늘 밤 그 프라이팬에
엄마의 두 손을 튀길 거네

Close

DINNER MENU Day Twenty-Nine

There’s no rice in Mommy’s rice jar
There’s no money in Mommy’s purse
There’s no fire in Mommy’s kitchen

Today, Mommy cooks pan-fried hair
Yesterday, Mommy cooked braised thighs
Tomorrow, Mommy will cook sweet and sour fingers

In the kitchen, a knife bangs against the cutting board
In the kitchen, a bone steeps in broth
In the kitchen, thighs are deep fried

There’s Mommy inside Mommy’s rice jar
There’s Mommy inside Mommy’s purse
There’s Mommy inside Mommy’s kitchen
There’s Mommy beneath Mommy’s knife

Your mommy is that riverbank of your childhood
Your mommy is that trail of your childhood

When you go along the trail all alone past the riverbank

Mommy’s weak voice: My daughter,
you’ve come, hurry, come in
When the door opens,
an empty stove, cold air

In your mommy’s kitchen
your deflated hungry stomach
is hanging on the black wall
like a rusted frying pan

Tonight, you’ll fry Mommy’s
hands in that frying pan

DINNER MENU Day Twenty-Nine

There’s no rice in Mommy’s rice jar
There’s no money in Mommy’s purse
There’s no fire in Mommy’s kitchen

Today, Mommy cooks pan-fried hair
Yesterday, Mommy cooked braised thighs
Tomorrow, Mommy will cook sweet and sour fingers

In the kitchen, a knife bangs against the cutting board
In the kitchen, a bone steeps in broth
In the kitchen, thighs are deep fried

There’s Mommy inside Mommy’s rice jar
There’s Mommy inside Mommy’s purse
There’s Mommy inside Mommy’s kitchen
There’s Mommy beneath Mommy’s knife

Your mommy is that riverbank of your childhood
Your mommy is that trail of your childhood

When you go along the trail all alone past the riverbank

Mommy’s weak voice: My daughter,
you’ve come, hurry, come in
When the door opens,
an empty stove, cold air

In your mommy’s kitchen
your deflated hungry stomach
is hanging on the black wall
like a rusted frying pan

Tonight, you’ll fry Mommy’s
hands in that frying pan
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