Tears, Such Beautiful Waterdrops

Contents

I hope your weeping will become music 11
Tears, such beautiful waterdrops 13
The stars in the early evening wash my face 15
My Poetry 17
The East Sea 19
The whole of a day’s life is today 21
Kakbuk 23
Don't make the word ‘love’ lonely 25
Paper airplane 27
Sometimes sorrow is warm 29
I hope you fall asleep leaning on my shoulder 31
Things happening 33
Snow 35
I write poetry to connect hearts 37
Names 39
The strength to be lonely 41
Mountain 43
Coming back home in a train 45
Washing Birds 47
Winter sky 49
Thoughts beneath a magnolia tree 51
Resume of Balsam-flower nail-dying 53
Camellias 55
The word poetry 57
Autumn comes from afar 59
Sending off a bird and waiting for a bird 61
Wild roses 63
Practice with the crescent moon 65
Tell the birds what I say 67
Snug as a chick under a hen's feathers 69
Patchwork shadow 71
Let's go together 73
A sick person 75
New Year's greetings 77
Poem written at dawn 79
Give me your arms 81
A baby's cry 83
Sorrow to joy 85
Autumn evening 87
A single maple leaf 89
Departed days 91
Today is twilight 93
Wake up, today is the first day of October 95
Time to turn on the lights 97
Love 99
A small greeting to the face 101
An empty house 103
The dream of the grass seed 105
Puddle mirror 107
A poetry collection whose title I can't remember 109
French countryside 111
Like That 113
The present 115

My Poetry

I often fall asleep at night with the words on, then even
in my sleep I wander around looking for warm words like
cotton clothes. It’s been fifty-three years since I started
writing poetry. I have tried to make a set of clothes that can
withstand the cold wind with every stitch. I have tried to
write poems like the sound of rain falling on sesame leaves,
the wind blowing through reeds, the green leaves where bugs
sleep, the first flower buds hanging from the tips of branches,
apricot blossoms that I see when I get off at a small station,
I have tried to write poems like a scarf knitted by my own
hands after picking up the fallen stitches, like the warmth of
a blanket that I put my frozen hands in when I come back
from school on a cold day. It’s still unfinished, please wait.
For this small promise, I will walk steadily without resting for
the rest of my days. Even though my steps are slow, I will go
toward you, soothing my sore feet, if you just wait, if you just
endure and wait.

The word poetry

The word poetry breaks my ears open in a flash,
scales I had never heard before are reborn.
The wind bringing a congratulatory address,
the clouds reading a farewell address then leaving,
the green willow leaves of the reservoir waking up
and a tray of sunlight
rustling as it asks me to put something in it.
The blades of grass that have shaken off dew bring noon.
Someone keeps throwing the future in front of him.
A bouquet of words
brings to birth a constellation that was not there before.
A heart that asks where beauty is
is that beauty.
The shoes are heading toward a new life.

Sorrow to joy

No matter how much I sing, the stars are not happy.
No matter how much I dance, the butterflies are not happy

I walked alone to meet joy.
The wild flowers frowned, asking to be called by my name.
The weight of sorrow cannot be measured
even if I hold it in my hand.

But today, I am happy alone.

I got a letter saying that after reading my poems,
you hugged the book tightly,
copied out a line, then fell asleep.