Poem by Chanho Song

Dandelion Station

Dandelion Station is located next to Hwanggan Station.
A rusty, unbridled locomotive
nods its head back and forth
to pluck flowers around the track.

“Oh, dear, what a thoughtless mass of iron you are!
You cuckoo, who makes the long-tailed tit cry.”
A cock runs across toward the locomotive
and begins to peck at it.

Dandelions, did you pull the chick’s socks up
to the knee? Did you put on your nametag?
Yes yes yes. Good, then, let’s start!

Dandelions run,
they run and babble.
Dandelion Station is next to Hwanggan Station.

Locking Yourself Out, Then Trying To Get Back In

Locking Yourself Out, Then Trying To Get Back In

You simply go out and shut the door

without thinking. And when you look back

at what you’ve done

it’s too late. If this sounds

like the story of a life, okay.

It was raining. The neighbors who had

a key were away. I tried and tried

the lower windows. Stared

inside at the sofa, plants, the table

and chairs, the stereo set-up.

My coffee cup and ashtray waited for me

on the glass-topped table, and my heart

went out to them. I said, Hello, friends,

or something like that. After all,

this wasn’t so bad.

Worst things had happened. This

was even a little funny. I found the ladder.

Took that and leaned it against the house.

Then climbed in the rain to the deck,

swung myself over the railing

and tried the door. Which was locked,

of course. But I looked in just the same

at my desk, some papers, and my chair.

This was the window on the other side

of the desk where I’d raise my eyes

and stare out when I sat at that desk.

This is not like downstairs, I thought.

This is something else.

And it was something to look in like that, unseen,

from the deck. To be there, inside, and not be there.

I don’t even think I can talk about it.

I brought my face close to the glass

and imagined myself inside,

sitting at the desk. Looking up

from my work now and again.

Thinking about some other place

and some other time.

The people I had loved then.

I stood there for a minute in the rain.

Considering myself to be the luckiest of men.

Even though a wave of grief passed through me.

Even though I felt violently ashamed

of the injury I’d done back then.

I bashed that beautiful window.

And stepped back in.

                                  Raymond Carver

                                  ALL OF US - The Collected Poems

A Poem Not against Songbirds

A Poem Not against Songbirds

Lighten up, songbirds.  Give me a break.
No need to carry on this way,
even if it is morning.  I need more sleep.

Where were you keeping yourselves when I was thirty?
When the house stayed dark and quiet all day,
as if someone had died?

And this same somebody, or somebody else,
cooked a huge, morose meal for the survivors.
A meal that lasted ten years.

Go on, sweethearts.  Come back in an hour,
my friends.  Then I'll be awake.
You'll see.  This time I can promise.

                                            -Raymond Carver

Looking For Work

Looking For Work

I have always wanted brook trout
for breakfast.

Suddenly, I find a new path
to the waterfall.

I begin to hurry.
Wake up,

my wife says,
you're dreaming.

*

But when I try to rise,
the house tilts.

Who's dreaming?
It's noon, she says.

My new shoes wait by the door,
gleaming.

                - Raymond Carver