My online presence, has reduced significantly, I feel. I’d just like to offer an apology for not being more involved in other peoples’ writing; something I really enjoy engaging with. I am, as well as working 7 days a week sheltering tourists & feeding them, working on a collection of short stories, which is constellating in the forefront of my mind: their anxieties, movements, conversations— right there playing out, too quick for me to keep up with. As well as this I am thinking about reviews for 2 poets (you know who you are—things are happening); then of course poems don’t let up throughout all this activity, I have no control over their arrival. I am also, owing to recently taking to Twitter, finding many journals to submit to & have increased my submitting activity significantly. Then, reading, which is my entertainment. I am currently reading Notes from the Underground (again) alongside Nietzsche’s The Gay Science & I swear it is as if they complete each others sentences. I hope, perhaps after I have polished off some of the above, to write some incisive, multiple short pieces on these correlations as they turn up. I am just underlining & producing marginalia for future use at the moment; always a useful habit to get into.
So busy & apologetic (but pleased with so much activity) & here I’ll conclude with the next poem from the Yoon Yong set.
Jeju Airport (8:56 a.m)
…The Plane lands! The carousel | luggage
—people rushing to the toilet
—people rushing into the Malbok heat | to meet
placards | hand written names | strangers
who know each other from a phone call or email
—men in suits | importance-posture
as if each step were a spike in their profit margins
hiking up pecuniary scatter graphs
—& taxis | hire cars | mopeds humming in designated areas
—people sipping lattes | coffee | more like brown crayons
dissolved in skin-blisteringly hot water
—check-in | schedules & tickets— the flapping of digits
on digital boards | so much attention to time
in the business of tourism— the steady erosion of authenticity
even as they seek authentic experience.
Weather dense as granny’s fruit cake |
Halla Mountain barricaded behind breeze blocks of moisture.
The exoticism of palm trees | still | in this heat |
their previous incarnations |
parched rungs up slow-retting trunks.
I need a new hat: the weave came undone.
I need a Toothbrush & Tampons—Taxi?
“You’re not going to walk all that way alone
in this weather? | look at it…”