햇살과 그늘의 콘서트

[이재모]

Concert of sunlight and shade

The terrace-land on Han River reeks of afternoon sun.

Wave after wave of sunlight floods into the lawn,

a puff of wind diving under the bridge.

Every time the wind hits its surface,

riverwater splashes, fluttering its silver scarfs in the air

mixing itself with and becoming one with the wind.

Shafts of light like the ones through a bamboo-grove

push their way out of clouds and dance waltz,

hugging the scales of water glittering white.

The water-skier on the riverwater opens his chest wide,

in which one water-ski runs dividing the blue water.

A powder-pink bicycle runs along the riverside

and inline-skating lovers holding their hands

enter the black glasses.

An old man fanning himself under the bridge-shade

turns himself into a wind, collects time from

the depth of cloud, builds stairs and places a ladder.

Climibing the ladder, he finds himself in a delightful silence

when he becomes a lonely islet awhile lookng far into the sky.

On the iron bridge, two trains intersect 

and drift apart in the opposite direction. In the far-off sea,

a cruise navigates away along the watercourse into a blur.

In the afternoon that flowers as a part of a short life,

layer after layer of shade like a thin fuzzy Korean paper

covers the sun; and countless hours that have crossed

my life start blooming and pile up on the riverwater,

when pages of time are being turned over one by one.