Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Kim Yideum

HYSTERIA

I want a bite out this human. If only I could take a bite and kill you on the subway, speeding. Hey, who do you think you’re touching? Hey, you, get your hands off me! I’m about to be ripped apart. Any second, I might get torn. I had plans to scream and throw a fit. But I take my hand and push deep into my lower stomach. Breathe. Deep. Don’t fucking touch me. I said stop leaning on me. Driving me nuts, what the fuck? Trying to pop out this leather, taut, a fox or wolf.  Flowing blood like a lunar halo, you think the bloodstains that spread through blue sheets are instinctual? Because of the full moon? Shut your mouth. Truth speaking woman, if you know the truth, keep it. This is the gospel of filthy humans. Periodic bleeding. Stomachaches. Although I’m not stopping, although I’m complicated as hell, people keep trying to get inside me. I’m an insider, me. Not an outsider. You mumble even in your sleep. Sudden hemorrhaging. Blood flowing. Repeatedly closing. Opening. The action of a world with a big door.  That wheel that repeatedly stops as it turns. The route that doesn’t change. I need to get out. Escape. I need an extra duty maxi pad. What to do with this passed-out-fucker? This fucker with his hand in my coat, talking in his sleep like reading a scribbled letter. I want to beat my lover, but what to do with the motherfucker?  If only I could jump and bite the back of his neck and run, if only I could sprint over the railroad tracks of a single night, my wild hair flapping, if only I could go to the red coast, moonlit, to the sandy beach that flows, and there, beside the cool well, I would lay you down, if only.

HYSTERIE

Ik wil een hap van dit mens. Kon ik je maar aan stukken bijten in de voortrazende metro. Hallo, handen thuis! Ja, jij ja. Je scheurt me zowat open. Ik kan ieder moment splijten. Ik wil schreeuwen, volledig op tilt slaan. Maar ik druk hard op mijn onderbuik. Adem in. Diep in. Raak me niet aan. Ik zeg toch, niet tegen me aan leunen. Waarom doe je zo verdomde moeilijk? Het is alsof er straks een vos of wolf naar buiten kruipt zodra mijn gespannen buik openscheurt. Bloedafdrukken verspreiden zich als maancirkels over het blauwe laken en jij noemt dat instinct? Je geeft de volle maan de schuld? Klep dicht, vrouw die de waarheid spreekt. Als je de waarheid zo goed weet, hou het dan voor je. Welkom bij het evangelie van vieze mensen. Bloeden met regelmaat. Buikkrampen. Ik ratel door, ik ben verdomde ingewikkeld en toch willen al die mensen bij me naar binnen. Ik ben een insider, weet je. Geen outsider. Wat brabbel jij in je slaap. Acuut bloedverlies. Gutsend bloed. Een wereld met een grote deur die constant open- en dichtgaat. Een wiel dat nu eens draait, dan weer stilstaat. Een busroute die nooit verandert. Ik moet naar buiten. Weg hier. Ik heb extra groot maandverband nodig. Wat moet ik beginnen met dit snurkende geval? Deze idioot met zijn hand onder mijn jas. Hij praat in zijn slaap alsof hij een vlugge krabbel voorleest. Ik wil mijn geliefde hier een stoot voor zijn harses geven, maar wat doe ik dan met de eikel? Kon ik hem maar bespringen en in zijn nekvel bijten, kon ik maar langs de nachtelijke rails rennen met wild op en neer deinende haren, kon ik maar naar de maanovergoten rode kust om je daar, naast een fris poeltje in een stromende zandbank op de grond te leggen, kon ik maar.

히스테리아

이 인간을 물어뜯고 싶다 달리는 지하철 안에서 널 물어뜯어 죽일 수 있다면 야 어딜 만져 야야 손 저리 치워 곧 나는 찢어진다 찢어질 것 같다 발작하며 울부짖으려다 손으로 아랫배를 꽉 누른다 심호흡한다 만지지 마 제발 기대지 말라고 신경질 나게 왜 이래 팽팽해진 가죽을 찢고 여우든 늑대든 튀어나오려고 한다 피가 흐르는데 핏자국이 달무리처럼 푸른 시트로 번져가는데 본능이라니 보름달 때문이라니 조용히 해라 진리를 말하는 자여 진리를 알거든 너만 알고 있어라 더러운 인간들의 복음 주기적인 출혈과 복통 나는 멈추지 않는데 복잡해죽겠는데 안으로 안으로 들어오려는 인간들 나는 말이야 인사이더잖아 아웃사이더가 아냐 넌 자면서도 중얼거리네 갑작스런 출혈인데 피 흐르는데 반복적으로 열렸다 닫혔다 하는 큰 문이 달린 세계 이동하다 반복적으로 멈추는 바퀴 바뀌지 않는 노선 벗어나야 하는데 나가야 하는데 대형 생리대가 필요해요 곯아떨어진 이 인간을 어떻게 하나 내 외투 안으로 손을 넣고 갈겨쓴 편지를 읽듯 잠꼬대까지 하는 이 죽일 놈을 한방 갈기고 싶은데 이놈의 애인을 어떻게 하나 덥석 목덜미를 물고 뛰어내릴 수 있다면 갈기를 휘날리며 한밤의 철도 위를 내달릴 수 있다면 달이 뜬 붉은 해안으로 그 흐르는 모래사장 시원한 우물 옆으로 가서 너를 내려놓을 수 있다면

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HYSTERIA

I want a bite out this human. If only I could take a bite and kill you on the subway, speeding. Hey, who do you think you’re touching? Hey, you, get your hands off me! I’m about to be ripped apart. Any second, I might get torn. I had plans to scream and throw a fit. But I take my hand and push deep into my lower stomach. Breathe. Deep. Don’t fucking touch me. I said stop leaning on me. Driving me nuts, what the fuck? Trying to pop out this leather, taut, a fox or wolf.  Flowing blood like a lunar halo, you think the bloodstains that spread through blue sheets are instinctual? Because of the full moon? Shut your mouth. Truth speaking woman, if you know the truth, keep it. This is the gospel of filthy humans. Periodic bleeding. Stomachaches. Although I’m not stopping, although I’m complicated as hell, people keep trying to get inside me. I’m an insider, me. Not an outsider. You mumble even in your sleep. Sudden hemorrhaging. Blood flowing. Repeatedly closing. Opening. The action of a world with a big door.  That wheel that repeatedly stops as it turns. The route that doesn’t change. I need to get out. Escape. I need an extra duty maxi pad. What to do with this passed-out-fucker? This fucker with his hand in my coat, talking in his sleep like reading a scribbled letter. I want to beat my lover, but what to do with the motherfucker?  If only I could jump and bite the back of his neck and run, if only I could sprint over the railroad tracks of a single night, my wild hair flapping, if only I could go to the red coast, moonlit, to the sandy beach that flows, and there, beside the cool well, I would lay you down, if only.

HYSTERIA

I want a bite out this human. If only I could take a bite and kill you on the subway, speeding. Hey, who do you think you’re touching? Hey, you, get your hands off me! I’m about to be ripped apart. Any second, I might get torn. I had plans to scream and throw a fit. But I take my hand and push deep into my lower stomach. Breathe. Deep. Don’t fucking touch me. I said stop leaning on me. Driving me nuts, what the fuck? Trying to pop out this leather, taut, a fox or wolf.  Flowing blood like a lunar halo, you think the bloodstains that spread through blue sheets are instinctual? Because of the full moon? Shut your mouth. Truth speaking woman, if you know the truth, keep it. This is the gospel of filthy humans. Periodic bleeding. Stomachaches. Although I’m not stopping, although I’m complicated as hell, people keep trying to get inside me. I’m an insider, me. Not an outsider. You mumble even in your sleep. Sudden hemorrhaging. Blood flowing. Repeatedly closing. Opening. The action of a world with a big door.  That wheel that repeatedly stops as it turns. The route that doesn’t change. I need to get out. Escape. I need an extra duty maxi pad. What to do with this passed-out-fucker? This fucker with his hand in my coat, talking in his sleep like reading a scribbled letter. I want to beat my lover, but what to do with the motherfucker?  If only I could jump and bite the back of his neck and run, if only I could sprint over the railroad tracks of a single night, my wild hair flapping, if only I could go to the red coast, moonlit, to the sandy beach that flows, and there, beside the cool well, I would lay you down, if only.

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