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In the Dark, and: Friend! In Your Fist. . ., and: Someone, and: Mountain Station, and: Year-End Fair, and: An Alley, and: Traveling Companions, and: A Chance Encounter, and: We Meet Again

In the Dark, and: Friend! In Your Fist. . ., and: Someone, and: Mountain Station, and: Year-End... S h I N G y E O N G - N I M ( 1 9 3 7 ­ ) in the dark The stench of blood was carried by the rain, and sobbing could be heard in the wind. It was summer but the streets were frozen white. Folks had shut their gates and hidden indoors. Could all those past deaths have been in vain? That year's bloodstains were still on the grass and rocks in the hills where I had gone, taking the kids. In the darkness of night all the grieving spirits would wake and fill the deep valley with their keening. Tell me, friend, what am I so afraid of? I was so anxious that I woke up the kid to go for a piss, and recalled vividly the last shot in Père Lachaise Cemetery. My eye shouted, Look, look! My ear screamed, Listen, listen! to the empty stillness. I felt ashamed to admit that I knew the tales entangled in that mountain valley. We buried our friend in the lee of a rock then scrubbed and wiped our muddy hands, wondering if all those past deaths that had taught us just how http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Manoa University of Hawai'I Press

In the Dark, and: Friend! In Your Fist. . ., and: Someone, and: Mountain Station, and: Year-End Fair, and: An Alley, and: Traveling Companions, and: A Chance Encounter, and: We Meet Again

(1937–), Shin Gyeong-nim
Manoa , Volume 27 (2) – Jan 21, 2015
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Publisher
University of Hawai'I Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2008 University of Hawai'i Press.
ISSN
1527-943x
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Abstract

S h I N G y E O N G - N I M ( 1 9 3 7 ­ ) in the dark The stench of blood was carried by the rain, and sobbing could be heard in the wind. It was summer but the streets were frozen white. Folks had shut their gates and hidden indoors. Could all those past deaths have been in vain? That year's bloodstains were still on the grass and rocks in the hills where I had gone, taking the kids. In the darkness of night all the grieving spirits would wake and fill the deep valley with their keening. Tell me, friend, what am I so afraid of? I was so anxious that I woke up the kid to go for a piss, and recalled vividly the last shot in Père Lachaise Cemetery. My eye shouted, Look, look! My ear screamed, Listen, listen! to the empty stillness. I felt ashamed to admit that I knew the tales entangled in that mountain valley. We buried our friend in the lee of a rock then scrubbed and wiped our muddy hands, wondering if all those past deaths that had taught us just how

Journal

Manoa – University of Hawai'I Press

Published: Jan 21, 2015

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