Classic Poem

One vague track,
like a broad highway opening ahead
after going astray for a while in a maze of alleys,
like an aching tooth
that flares up and explodes in the brain
when the wind blows, after vanishing a while in the jaw.

The world is in the midst of being established,
in the midst of being demolished,
in the midst of loneliness, the world
flares up somewhere between
the bar in Kwang-gyo where we met and made merry
and the room where I took refuge and slept
when sleep would not come.

Inwang-san? Or Nam-san? Or perhaps beyond Naksan?
That bar below Nak-san selling hooch?
Or the wine-jars
that used to stand torrid wrapped in blankets
in the inner room?
Or perhaps our alley, hotter even than us?
In some such alley, we threw off our coats,
stripped off our jackets, draped them over our heads,
bent our backs,
fled from the scorching porch, fled from the yard,
tripped on the sill of the gate, fell sprawling,
the world dry, the world burning up, we heard sounds
of water being sprinkled over the world.