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The Three Way Tavern: Selected Poems
Ko Un, the preeminent Korean poet of the twentieth century, embraces Buddhism with the versatility of a master Taoist sage. A beloved cultural figure who has helped shape contemporary Korean literature, Ko Un is also a novelist, literary critic, ex-monk, former dissident, and four-time political prisoner. His verse―vivid, unsettling, down-to-earth, and deeply moving―ranges from the short lyric to the vast epic and draws from a poetic reservoir filled with memories and experiences ranging over seventy years of South Korea's tumultuous history from the Japanese occupation to the Korean war to democracy. This collection, an essential sampling of his poems from the last decade of the twentieth century, offers in deft translation, as lively and demotic as the original, the off-beat humor, mystery, and mythic power of his work for a wide audience of English-speaking readers. It showcases the work of a man whom Allen Ginsberg has called "a magnificent poet, a combination of Buddhist cognoscente, passionate political libertarian, and naturalist historian," who Gary Snyder has said is "a real-world poet!" who "outfoxes the Old Masters and the young poets both," and who Lawrence Ferlinghetti has described as "no doubt the greatest living Korean Zen poet today."
186 pages, Paperback
First published March 18, 2006
7 people are currently reading
236 people want to read
About the author
Ko Un
55 books71 followersIn korean: 고 은
Ko was born Ko Untae in Gunsan, North Jeolla Province in 1933. He was at Gunsan Middle School when war broke out.
The Korean War emotionally and physically traumatized Ko and caused the death of many of his relatives and friends. Ko's hearing suffered from acid that he poured into his ears during an acute crisis in this time and it was further harmed by a police beating in 1979. In 1952, before the war had ended, Ko became a Buddhist monk. After a decade of monastic life, he chose to return to the active, secular world in 1962 to become a devoted poet. From 1963 to 1966 he lived on Jejudo, where he set up a charity school, and then moved back to Seoul. His life was not calm in the outer world, and he wound up attempting suicide (a second time) in 1970.
Around the time the South Korean government attempted to curb democracy by putting forward the Yusin Constitution in late 1972, Ko became very active in the democracy movement and led efforts to improve the political situation in South Korea, while still writing prolifically and being sent to prison four times (1974, 1979, 1980 and 1989). In May 1980, during the coup d'etat led by Chun Doo-hwan, Ko was accused of treason and sentenced to 20 years' imprisonment. He was released in August 1982 as part of a general pardon.
After his release, his life became calmer; however, he startled his large following by revising many of his previously published poems. Ko married Sang-Wha Lee on May 5, 1983, and moved to Anseong, Gyeonggi-do, where he still lives. He resumed writing and began to travel, his many visits providing fabric for the tapestry of his poems. Since 2007, he is a visiting scholar in Seoul National University, and teaches poetics and literature.
Ko was born Ko Untae in Gunsan, North Jeolla Province in 1933. He was at Gunsan Middle School when war broke out.
The Korean War emotionally and physically traumatized Ko and caused the death of many of his relatives and friends. Ko's hearing suffered from acid that he poured into his ears during an acute crisis in this time and it was further harmed by a police beating in 1979. In 1952, before the war had ended, Ko became a Buddhist monk. After a decade of monastic life, he chose to return to the active, secular world in 1962 to become a devoted poet. From 1963 to 1966 he lived on Jejudo, where he set up a charity school, and then moved back to Seoul. His life was not calm in the outer world, and he wound up attempting suicide (a second time) in 1970.
Around the time the South Korean government attempted to curb democracy by putting forward the Yusin Constitution in late 1972, Ko became very active in the democracy movement and led efforts to improve the political situation in South Korea, while still writing prolifically and being sent to prison four times (1974, 1979, 1980 and 1989). In May 1980, during the coup d'etat led by Chun Doo-hwan, Ko was accused of treason and sentenced to 20 years' imprisonment. He was released in August 1982 as part of a general pardon.
After his release, his life became calmer; however, he startled his large following by revising many of his previously published poems. Ko married Sang-Wha Lee on May 5, 1983, and moved to Anseong, Gyeonggi-do, where he still lives. He resumed writing and began to travel, his many visits providing fabric for the tapestry of his poems. Since 2007, he is a visiting scholar in Seoul National University, and teaches poetics and literature.
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
May 4, 2015
KO UN : THE POET WHO SAYS WITHOUT SAYING
Buddhism has influenced the poetry of three different countries-China, Japan and Korea- in different ways. Chinese poems are particularly rich in poetic expression and imageries. Their vibrant poetic lines often convey a single ideal. At the same time they demonstrate clearly the multiplicity of manners, the diversity of techniques, and the creative freedom of the human spirit that is the truest embodiment of Ch'an, a brand of Buddhist practice that, born in China, evolved to spread and thrive in East Asia for over fifteen hundred years. Zen poetry of Japan follows a kind minimalism, condensing the immediate experience into a Haiku like pattern whose richness is often evoked in what is unsaid. Korean Buddhist poetry more worldly and dwells on the purity of experience and possesses a nervy clarity. It also dwells largely on translating the pain and sufferings of ordinary people into a sublime sphere with a heart of compassion. Ko Un, the greatest living Korean poet and a perennial contender for Nobel Prize, falls into this category.
True to the title of one of his books of poems, Ten Thousand Lives, Ko Un literally lived many lives in his epoch. Born in 1933, his life was physically and emotionally traumatized as a teenager when the Korean War broke out in 1950 killing many of his relatives and friends. He had been student in the years of Japanese occupation, a Buddhist monk when he began to write, and, after his return to secular life, established himself as an alienated urban poet. In 1962, he left the Buddhist clergy only to become a drunkard. He then became a school teacher and established reputation in the literary world and produced many volumes of poetry. In 1970, overcome with his harrowing past, he drank poison while sitting in a north hill in Seoul to commit suicide. Fortunately, the soldiers hunting Korean spies found him lying in the snow and took him to hospital and he survived the attempt after being in coma for 30 hours. Due to his involvement in pro-democratic movement between 1970’s and 1980’s, he was arrested four times, imprisoned, tortured-as of which he lost his hearing in one ear-and ultimately pardoned.
The Three Way Tavern contains poems from six different collections of his poetry, the most recent from the 1990s. The book is well-translated by Clare You and Richard Silberg and contains an illuminating forward by Gary Snyder. In her useful summary-introduction Clare You notes:
Ko Un's works are generally divided into three stages: the first period, of "nihilistic wantonness"; the second period, of "resistance activism" or "social responsibility"; and the third period, the poetic culmination of his artistry, "of the language of ordinary people."
Being a Buddhist at a critical juncture in his life, it is unsurprising to note that his poems adopt a short, straight to the point linear lyrical pattern mixing wit and Koan-like wisdom. Both the man and his surrounds are integral to his poetry. Being a poet of the common folks, many of his meditative poems delineate the poverty, suffering and inner strength of the people he has encountered in his life. They often come out dignified through his eyes of compassion. Simplicity has been the hallmark of his poetry as can be seen from the illustrations here.
In the Woods
In the twilight woods
the child with me
held my hand tightly.
We two as one,
wordless,
walked deep into the woods.
There it was,
my childhood just as I left it,
a single buck loped away
This simple poem is a philosophical meditation in the Buddhist tradition. The association between woods and childhood is something strong in many of our lives.
The poem depicts a simple, beautiful scene and Ko Un’s sparse, carefully chosen phrasing elevates the scene into something more significant, giving concrete form to Buddhist concepts of what could dryly be called ‘the oneness of all being’ and also of ’eternity’. The two figures in the poem, the child and the man, walk ‘as one’ into the woods, ‘as one’ in both in the physical sense of holding hands and the mental sense of experiencing the same moment. If the ‘twilight woods’ remind us of the poet’s age – he wrote this at sixty – and of the end of life, it is well a sense of rebirth – of his return being at the same time the child’s discovery, and of these two moments being united.
In this poem we find a concluding device which is Ko Un's most characteristic feature, a closing single, isolated line which is linked to the rest of the poem yet concludes it by pointing in an unexpected, new direction, opening onto other directions, instead of giving a conventional closure. The isolated last line is intriguingly beautiful for its simplicity and power. Time can't be held onto, though memory can be revived. I find the synergy of it quite uniting the times man travel through.
Barley Fields
Let the south of this wind
bear new life
like a barley field in winter.
Like a barley field in early spring
that sprouts, shaking snow off its head.
Be like a keen barley field
that rises up no matter what,
though buried, smothered.
trampled.
Be like a green barley field
that grows stronger
and rise up
when it's trampled.
On the first day of spring,
three green barley plants bring
plenty,
two green barley plants bring enough.
But no barley plants,
what do we do? It's a bad year.
Enduring long poverty
on the hungry barley hill,
the barley is full in April winds.
Like my children,
like my children
the barley ripens.
Let my golden life be full
like the barley field of the southern Peninsula.
I found this quiet poem quite inspiring. Without a life story full of pain, Ko Un could never have written what he has written. Pain authenticates his poetry. Having witnessed blighting tragedies and undergone many crushing and humiliating experiences in life, it is no wonder that the poet puts on a sanguine face drawing upon barley fields as an inspiration for holding the head high and envisioning a buoyant future.
His Buddhist poems are succinct and clever and often contain crazy wisdom. Here are two examples.
Echo
The mountains at sundown
What are you?
What…are..you…are…you…
Drunkard
I‘ve never been one guy
sixty billion cells!
But I get to call the shots.
Sixty billion cells
all drunk!
The section ‘Whisper’ contains some of his most beautiful poems including the Barley Fields. Here is another memorable one with its startling bare imageries. Amazing that a walk in winter can epitomize the reality of our existence.
Meeting Myself
Slack woods of late November,
so it goes.
Big and small pines, entombed in green needles,
stand quiet to let
everything else
sleep under the sun
So it goes.
Other trees hang on
to a few green leaves.
A bird, finding no place to hide,
flew away yonder
and left one feather.
Suddenly, at the moment’s tolling,
I trip on a skull.
I wish to conclude my illustrations with a poem that radiates joy, the joy of a simple encounter. Unlike many poets, Ko Un’s poems shy away from embellishment, riotous joy or facile , sentimental topics. There are hardly any romantic melodies, rhythmic rhapsodies or abstract indulgence. Everything is subdued, sublime and serene like a muffled melody. The impenetrable is made intimate through immaculate imageries.
Early Spring
A shy sixteen-year-old boy,
I went on an errand
to the dogless house.
Aunt, newly wed, long teal blue skirt,
smiled brightly,
taking puppy from my arms.
Though the flowers hadn't bloomed yet,
they were full in my heart with no place to hide.
As I walked back, skirting the wet rice paddies,
my heart had no place to hide,
not even in the boastful puff of clouds.
Ko Un's poetry is a heady mix of playfulness, wit, radiance, suffering, serenity and silence. He is a natural poet and his poems read as free verse without any artificiality. They undergo little formal or stylistic polishing. The key is the subject matter and how he conceives, develops and concludes it. He doesn't force a message but very often leaves the reader with a sense of mystery and wonder. It is this what makes his poems reflective and intriguing to any sensitive reader.
Buddhism has influenced the poetry of three different countries-China, Japan and Korea- in different ways. Chinese poems are particularly rich in poetic expression and imageries. Their vibrant poetic lines often convey a single ideal. At the same time they demonstrate clearly the multiplicity of manners, the diversity of techniques, and the creative freedom of the human spirit that is the truest embodiment of Ch'an, a brand of Buddhist practice that, born in China, evolved to spread and thrive in East Asia for over fifteen hundred years. Zen poetry of Japan follows a kind minimalism, condensing the immediate experience into a Haiku like pattern whose richness is often evoked in what is unsaid. Korean Buddhist poetry more worldly and dwells on the purity of experience and possesses a nervy clarity. It also dwells largely on translating the pain and sufferings of ordinary people into a sublime sphere with a heart of compassion. Ko Un, the greatest living Korean poet and a perennial contender for Nobel Prize, falls into this category.
True to the title of one of his books of poems, Ten Thousand Lives, Ko Un literally lived many lives in his epoch. Born in 1933, his life was physically and emotionally traumatized as a teenager when the Korean War broke out in 1950 killing many of his relatives and friends. He had been student in the years of Japanese occupation, a Buddhist monk when he began to write, and, after his return to secular life, established himself as an alienated urban poet. In 1962, he left the Buddhist clergy only to become a drunkard. He then became a school teacher and established reputation in the literary world and produced many volumes of poetry. In 1970, overcome with his harrowing past, he drank poison while sitting in a north hill in Seoul to commit suicide. Fortunately, the soldiers hunting Korean spies found him lying in the snow and took him to hospital and he survived the attempt after being in coma for 30 hours. Due to his involvement in pro-democratic movement between 1970’s and 1980’s, he was arrested four times, imprisoned, tortured-as of which he lost his hearing in one ear-and ultimately pardoned.
The Three Way Tavern contains poems from six different collections of his poetry, the most recent from the 1990s. The book is well-translated by Clare You and Richard Silberg and contains an illuminating forward by Gary Snyder. In her useful summary-introduction Clare You notes:
Ko Un's works are generally divided into three stages: the first period, of "nihilistic wantonness"; the second period, of "resistance activism" or "social responsibility"; and the third period, the poetic culmination of his artistry, "of the language of ordinary people."
Being a Buddhist at a critical juncture in his life, it is unsurprising to note that his poems adopt a short, straight to the point linear lyrical pattern mixing wit and Koan-like wisdom. Both the man and his surrounds are integral to his poetry. Being a poet of the common folks, many of his meditative poems delineate the poverty, suffering and inner strength of the people he has encountered in his life. They often come out dignified through his eyes of compassion. Simplicity has been the hallmark of his poetry as can be seen from the illustrations here.
In the Woods
In the twilight woods
the child with me
held my hand tightly.
We two as one,
wordless,
walked deep into the woods.
There it was,
my childhood just as I left it,
a single buck loped away
This simple poem is a philosophical meditation in the Buddhist tradition. The association between woods and childhood is something strong in many of our lives.
The poem depicts a simple, beautiful scene and Ko Un’s sparse, carefully chosen phrasing elevates the scene into something more significant, giving concrete form to Buddhist concepts of what could dryly be called ‘the oneness of all being’ and also of ’eternity’. The two figures in the poem, the child and the man, walk ‘as one’ into the woods, ‘as one’ in both in the physical sense of holding hands and the mental sense of experiencing the same moment. If the ‘twilight woods’ remind us of the poet’s age – he wrote this at sixty – and of the end of life, it is well a sense of rebirth – of his return being at the same time the child’s discovery, and of these two moments being united.
In this poem we find a concluding device which is Ko Un's most characteristic feature, a closing single, isolated line which is linked to the rest of the poem yet concludes it by pointing in an unexpected, new direction, opening onto other directions, instead of giving a conventional closure. The isolated last line is intriguingly beautiful for its simplicity and power. Time can't be held onto, though memory can be revived. I find the synergy of it quite uniting the times man travel through.
Barley Fields
Let the south of this wind
bear new life
like a barley field in winter.
Like a barley field in early spring
that sprouts, shaking snow off its head.
Be like a keen barley field
that rises up no matter what,
though buried, smothered.
trampled.
Be like a green barley field
that grows stronger
and rise up
when it's trampled.
On the first day of spring,
three green barley plants bring
plenty,
two green barley plants bring enough.
But no barley plants,
what do we do? It's a bad year.
Enduring long poverty
on the hungry barley hill,
the barley is full in April winds.
Like my children,
like my children
the barley ripens.
Let my golden life be full
like the barley field of the southern Peninsula.
I found this quiet poem quite inspiring. Without a life story full of pain, Ko Un could never have written what he has written. Pain authenticates his poetry. Having witnessed blighting tragedies and undergone many crushing and humiliating experiences in life, it is no wonder that the poet puts on a sanguine face drawing upon barley fields as an inspiration for holding the head high and envisioning a buoyant future.
His Buddhist poems are succinct and clever and often contain crazy wisdom. Here are two examples.
Echo
The mountains at sundown
What are you?
What…are..you…are…you…
Drunkard
I‘ve never been one guy
sixty billion cells!
But I get to call the shots.
Sixty billion cells
all drunk!
The section ‘Whisper’ contains some of his most beautiful poems including the Barley Fields. Here is another memorable one with its startling bare imageries. Amazing that a walk in winter can epitomize the reality of our existence.
Meeting Myself
Slack woods of late November,
so it goes.
Big and small pines, entombed in green needles,
stand quiet to let
everything else
sleep under the sun
So it goes.
Other trees hang on
to a few green leaves.
A bird, finding no place to hide,
flew away yonder
and left one feather.
Suddenly, at the moment’s tolling,
I trip on a skull.
I wish to conclude my illustrations with a poem that radiates joy, the joy of a simple encounter. Unlike many poets, Ko Un’s poems shy away from embellishment, riotous joy or facile , sentimental topics. There are hardly any romantic melodies, rhythmic rhapsodies or abstract indulgence. Everything is subdued, sublime and serene like a muffled melody. The impenetrable is made intimate through immaculate imageries.
Early Spring
A shy sixteen-year-old boy,
I went on an errand
to the dogless house.
Aunt, newly wed, long teal blue skirt,
smiled brightly,
taking puppy from my arms.
Though the flowers hadn't bloomed yet,
they were full in my heart with no place to hide.
As I walked back, skirting the wet rice paddies,
my heart had no place to hide,
not even in the boastful puff of clouds.
Ko Un's poetry is a heady mix of playfulness, wit, radiance, suffering, serenity and silence. He is a natural poet and his poems read as free verse without any artificiality. They undergo little formal or stylistic polishing. The key is the subject matter and how he conceives, develops and concludes it. He doesn't force a message but very often leaves the reader with a sense of mystery and wonder. It is this what makes his poems reflective and intriguing to any sensitive reader.
Read
January 24, 2024I'm always game for poetry -- literature of any sort, for that matter -- from other cultures. American culture can get claustrophobic, to put it mildly. And so I was glad to read the contemporary Korean poet Ko Un, even though it's never fair to fully judge poetry that runs the gauntlet of translation because who knows whether it's a good translation or bad?
Rather, some indication below of his style. Mostly short. Mostly simple language. References to Korean history, most specifically the war that Ko Un himself has lived through. Here's a very short example of his work:
By the Window
What else could I wish for?
There is a faraway place and
a place close at hand.
The Road Ahead
Let's not say we've arrived.
Though it's been ten thousand miles,
the road to go is longer
than the road I've come.
Day's end was chancy,
I spent the night like a sleeping beast,
the road to go still lies ahead.
Though loneliness has kept me company,
it wasn't loneliness alone;
it was the world
and the road ahead.
Surely it's
an unknown world.
The wind is rising.
Rather, some indication below of his style. Mostly short. Mostly simple language. References to Korean history, most specifically the war that Ko Un himself has lived through. Here's a very short example of his work:
By the Window
What else could I wish for?
There is a faraway place and
a place close at hand.
The Road Ahead
Let's not say we've arrived.
Though it's been ten thousand miles,
the road to go is longer
than the road I've come.
Day's end was chancy,
I spent the night like a sleeping beast,
the road to go still lies ahead.
Though loneliness has kept me company,
it wasn't loneliness alone;
it was the world
and the road ahead.
Surely it's
an unknown world.
The wind is rising.
May 14, 2012
Ko Un is a contemporary Korean writer, critic, activist and poet. He once was a Son Buddhist monk (What the Japanese call Zen originates in Chinese Chan and Korean Son Buddhism). He was jailed as a political prisoner during the regimes of Park Chung Hee and Chun Doo Hwan. He's traveled extensively and his works have been widely translated. He's Korea's greatest living poet and certainly one of the greatest poets in the world. Here's a sample:
If you go back before you were a man,
that's where your home is.
No, not even there, go back further.
Just try yelling without yearning
in the simple voice of an animal
what the beast returns to,
the pure land,* that's home.
* pure land is a Mahayana Buddhist reference to a place of beauty or possibly Enlightenment
But, Ko Un is also Daoist in his "After a Hangover"
Cherry blossoms burst
profusely.
Is regret
only human?
I can't even be a pal to Cherry Blossoms.
Is regret farther from Phony
than remorse?
ps if you think i'm giving too many "5's" just be aware that I won't review a book that I rate less than a 4 or a 5 ... okay, I might do a couple threes. But, why bother with the lesser books when there are so many great ones out there.
pps ... one more poem:
"The Three Way Tavern"
Wake up
understanding is a joy.
There can be no sadness,
said the rainy road
when I looked out after three drinks
at the three way tavern
Soooo, Korean, so Son (Zen), so Daoist and pretty much genius.
If you go back before you were a man,
that's where your home is.
No, not even there, go back further.
Just try yelling without yearning
in the simple voice of an animal
what the beast returns to,
the pure land,* that's home.
* pure land is a Mahayana Buddhist reference to a place of beauty or possibly Enlightenment
But, Ko Un is also Daoist in his "After a Hangover"
Cherry blossoms burst
profusely.
Is regret
only human?
I can't even be a pal to Cherry Blossoms.
Is regret farther from Phony
than remorse?
ps if you think i'm giving too many "5's" just be aware that I won't review a book that I rate less than a 4 or a 5 ... okay, I might do a couple threes. But, why bother with the lesser books when there are so many great ones out there.
pps ... one more poem:
"The Three Way Tavern"
Wake up
understanding is a joy.
There can be no sadness,
said the rainy road
when I looked out after three drinks
at the three way tavern
Soooo, Korean, so Son (Zen), so Daoist and pretty much genius.
March 7, 2015
This is a 2006 selection of the South Korean contemporary poet who is
an ex-monk, an activist, and teacher. Most of them are rather short and
meditative. He writes of everyday Korean lives and ordinary topics
are elevated by his concision and depth. An example is "By the Window":
"What more could I ask for?
There is a place faraway
and a place nearby."
an ex-monk, an activist, and teacher. Most of them are rather short and
meditative. He writes of everyday Korean lives and ordinary topics
are elevated by his concision and depth. An example is "By the Window":
"What more could I ask for?
There is a place faraway
and a place nearby."
February 7, 2008
Technically this book doesn't deserve 5*s, but I saw him at the Dodge Poetry festival last fall, and it was hands-down the best reading I've ever seen.
February 26, 2008
Translations slow down the impact somewhat, I think. Still, beautiful poems.
January 13, 2010
Some of these poems were great. Others, not so much. I think it is worth checking out, if you like poetry.
April 16, 2024
While I very much enjoy the work of Basho, Kenneth Rexroth's translations of both Japanese and Chinese poetry, and the poetry of Gary Snyder (who writes the foreward here), these poems largely fell flat for me. Some relied on a knowledge of historical context or location, which I lack. However, even the nature ones did not ring so true and simple as the above-cited works/authors.
March 18, 2011
Normally I'm a Basho fan, but Ko Un's selected poems in The Three Way Tavern are gorgeous in their simplicity, line, and attention to white space. Un's ability to move seamlessly through the intimacy of moments to the grandness of revolution is a marvel. I will return to these poems again and again.
November 23, 2016
This is a compilation of various Ko Un poems throughout the years from different collections, and so I found myself drawn to some more than others. In general, there's a graceful simplicity in his poetry I really love, a quiet that is nevertheless provocative. It is very charming, and a way to reset from the world at large.
July 29, 2018
[rating = B-]
This was a good intro into Korean Poetry. Although Ko Un shows immense talent, and taking that translation is not as good as the original, I find his poems a bit abstract and wandering. I liked how he painted Korea: as a place of spirituality, of ancestry, of hurt and war, of sorrow and joy, of humanity. Like W.G. Sebald, Un writes very historically, which is not my type of poetry. This sort takes inside knowledge of the place and distances those not privy to it. He has that touch of magic about him that Murakami and Mo Yan do, yet I still feel that he speaks to things on a much too personal level. Unlike William Carlos Williams who can make a bowl of plums feel universal and sincere, Ko Un falters here and tumbles in to mundanity for its own sake. This is worth a read though, and he should be celebrated as a Korean Poet, however I am not sure if his Universality is as strong as some may suggest.
This was a good intro into Korean Poetry. Although Ko Un shows immense talent, and taking that translation is not as good as the original, I find his poems a bit abstract and wandering. I liked how he painted Korea: as a place of spirituality, of ancestry, of hurt and war, of sorrow and joy, of humanity. Like W.G. Sebald, Un writes very historically, which is not my type of poetry. This sort takes inside knowledge of the place and distances those not privy to it. He has that touch of magic about him that Murakami and Mo Yan do, yet I still feel that he speaks to things on a much too personal level. Unlike William Carlos Williams who can make a bowl of plums feel universal and sincere, Ko Un falters here and tumbles in to mundanity for its own sake. This is worth a read though, and he should be celebrated as a Korean Poet, however I am not sure if his Universality is as strong as some may suggest.
September 28, 2019
These poems are on par with those of Rupi Kaur, that is to say, they're not really poems but ordinary phrases arranged to look like a poem.
When the British landed in Australia
they asked an aborigine,
"What's that thing leaping up and down?"
The native replied,
"I don't know,
Kangaroo, I don't understand you."
The name stuck.
Ah, how much grander not knowing is
than knowing.
I don't know Korean, so I can't read these in the original, but as they appear in their English translation they lack any rhyme or rhythm that could classify them as poetry. They don't follow poetic convention and they're wording is mundane.
When you spread wide, you spread thin, and as Ko Un is acclaimed with having published thousands of poems this saying is confirmed with his writing. Few of his poems are worth more than a cursory browsing. I wouldn't spend even more than an half hour with this collection. The style is unimpressive in any way; a middle schooler could write poetry as good.
What happened to the days when poetry was melodic, inspiring, and eloquent? Now poetry is just about experimenting with form and presenting banal themes.
When the British landed in Australia
they asked an aborigine,
"What's that thing leaping up and down?"
The native replied,
"I don't know,
Kangaroo, I don't understand you."
The name stuck.
Ah, how much grander not knowing is
than knowing.
I don't know Korean, so I can't read these in the original, but as they appear in their English translation they lack any rhyme or rhythm that could classify them as poetry. They don't follow poetic convention and they're wording is mundane.
When you spread wide, you spread thin, and as Ko Un is acclaimed with having published thousands of poems this saying is confirmed with his writing. Few of his poems are worth more than a cursory browsing. I wouldn't spend even more than an half hour with this collection. The style is unimpressive in any way; a middle schooler could write poetry as good.
What happened to the days when poetry was melodic, inspiring, and eloquent? Now poetry is just about experimenting with form and presenting banal themes.
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews