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Seven Sijo Poems

Seven Sijo Poems Seven Sijo Poems by Cho Oh-hyun Translated by Heinz Insu Fenkl Wi l d D uck s & Sh a d ow When I ask him--Master Haejang, hero of the hangover drink-- for tidings of the mountain temple, he says, Yesterday the wild ducks that played in the West Star lotus pond went away, and now, today, only the shadow of the dogwood remains 169 () () () () Th e Way to P is l Mou n ta i n Who is that returning on the winding road to Mt. Pisl, past the trees all stripped of time, the cloud-covered gorges below? Is it a pheasant that splits the sky with its fluttering wings? No kmungo strings, but if you tread there, won't you hear the rhyme? The road is spliced--as if to break--cut precipices--extending: is that scent the spice of hail grains soaked into your clothes? Does the temple sit, eyes shut, cloaked again in the inky dark? Just as well to be tucked away, in isolation, obscure. That lone bird, about now, does it drop a feather as it goes? A s I L o ok u p on Myse l f Sitting, in the http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Azalea: Journal of Korean Literature & Culture University of Hawai'I Press

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Publisher
University of Hawai'I Press
Copyright
Copyright © University of Hawai'I Press
ISSN
1944-6500
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Abstract

Seven Sijo Poems by Cho Oh-hyun Translated by Heinz Insu Fenkl Wi l d D uck s & Sh a d ow When I ask him--Master Haejang, hero of the hangover drink-- for tidings of the mountain temple, he says, Yesterday the wild ducks that played in the West Star lotus pond went away, and now, today, only the shadow of the dogwood remains 169 () () () () Th e Way to P is l Mou n ta i n Who is that returning on the winding road to Mt. Pisl, past the trees all stripped of time, the cloud-covered gorges below? Is it a pheasant that splits the sky with its fluttering wings? No kmungo strings, but if you tread there, won't you hear the rhyme? The road is spliced--as if to break--cut precipices--extending: is that scent the spice of hail grains soaked into your clothes? Does the temple sit, eyes shut, cloaked again in the inky dark? Just as well to be tucked away, in isolation, obscure. That lone bird, about now, does it drop a feather as it goes? A s I L o ok u p on Myse l f Sitting, in the

Journal

Azalea: Journal of Korean Literature & CultureUniversity of Hawai'I Press

Published: Mar 23, 2011

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