LTI Korea 
DLKL 
SIWF 
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Readings
A Short Story Reading by Chung Serang
"The Adventure of Missing Finger and Jumping Girl" by Chung Serang
By Korean Literature Now
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Readings
A Novel Reading by Lim Chulwoo
Whispering into a Stone Wall by Lim Chulwoo
By Korean Literature Now
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Readings
A Poetry Reading by Poet Ahn Sanghak “When That Person Came Back I Was Not There”
When that person came back I was not there. When That Person Came Back I Was Not There I should have waited for that person then. Just as a roe deer glances back briefly as it passes a ridge, I should have stood waiting there for at least that long. If it was night, I should have waited for dawn. If the season was winter, I should have waited for spring. Like a bear waiting for salmon, like a magpie waiting for dead leaves to fall before building a nest. I should have waited for that person to come. I should not have gone racing across the western plains as the sun was setting. I should not have crossed the eastward river while the dawn was far off. Like a lotus flower retaining its fragrance, waiting for night. like a dandelion preparing its bed, waiting for spring. I should have waited there then, as if putting down roots. I should not have gone roaming in the dark. I should not have gone wandering over the meadows in falling snow in search of that person. When that person came like morning, I was not there. When that person returned like spring, I was not there. No matter how urgent, I cannot go on to tomorrow, No matter how reluctant, I cannot go back to yesterday. The way time comes and goes was not something possible for me. The way seasons come and go was not possible for me. I should have stayed standing there, waiting for that person. ASIA Publishers, 2018, 121 pages Excerpts from pp. 40~45.
By Korean Literature Now
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Readings
A Poetry Reading by Poet Ahn Sanghak “A Volcanic Island”
A Volcanic Island April 3, 70th spring day The source of all the world’s sorrow is love. To the degree that love loses its form, sorrow arises. Once love has completely vanished, sorrow arises fully. That can be seen like an ID photograph anywhere on the volcanic island’s spring day. Rape flowers that have lost love blossom red then drop. Some love was buried in a pit with no time for leave-taking. Camellia flowers that have lost love bloom on leafless branches then drop. Some love took its leave by death in bosoms holding children hoping to save them. The volcanic island where land and sea blossomed with love just once is still dropping petals. On this island where petals long drop, human love, too, once it drops becomes a present progressive of flowers dropping, long ill. Some flowers, though they have plowed through seventy springs, are still dropping as petals that have lost love. Island that cannot be divided, island that cannot be scattered, pledging never to be divided, never to be scattered. Souls that have lost love thus, after risking their lives, are now dropping as petals. The source of all sorrow is love, souls eager to drop petals on a land where their sorrows wholly turn into united love, still wander, dropping plentiful petals. Yet still, they are not just dropping blindly, seen closely, rejecting this impure world, yellow flowers blooming yellow, red flowers blooming red, petals fluttering onto that day’s land, as yet, are still dropping. Soon, settling gently, petals that must cover the whole island, petals are now dropping onto love, origin of all the sorrows in the world. Truly the day when they will touch clear ground is near. translated by Brother Anthony of Taize
By Korean Literature Now
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Readings
A Poetry Reading by Poet Shin Yong-mok "Community"
Community May I use the dead person’s name? Since he’s dead, may I take his name? Since I gained one more name today the number of my names keeps increasing, soon I’ll have all death’s register. Might I be called Heaven and Hell? Over there where the man’s name is being erased from the lips of the woman being soaked in rain, prayers also have lost their way and like the petals being washed away on the floor, now they are being carried a few steps stuck to your shoes . . . I will reply to every falling petal. If at last, the collector of death, sorrow, even after searching all through the sodden village, is unable to find a welcome so comes to me requesting sleep, a kettle of cold water and one dry towel, I can ask, with a voice climbing up the body’s creaking stairs: What more do you need? But probably I will ask nothing, fearing it might want something like a chorus of flowers resonating then stopping in a garden, in the vestibule’s black umbrella above shoulders . . . like raindrops drip, drip, Low eaves, window panes, stretched out hands Above them As it takes oblivion’s pulse then says: I want to see him . . . want to see him . . . it might cry. Then I’ll indicate far off extinguished time and hand over his name like a lamp in a completely empty register. I fear I’ll probably remain alone. Floating like the sound of a flushing cistern in an empty room lent without the owner knowing Soul of water known as cloud, bringing into reality the thunder and lightning growing inside my body In order to steal your name. Come to think of it, death seems to have planted eyes in me, the stone that took away your name is being rained on. Ears have been added, like rain reading your name above a stone. Blending Heaven and Hell, am I allowed to be soaked? Over there, all the petals tapping on death, like the red lips of that woman leaving the garden, are praying for me . . . and here too If life is possible, just as rain stops and rainbows emerge only when summoned, if love is possible, may I give my name to the dead person? May I call a person by my name, once he’s dead? translated by Brother Anthony of Taize
By Korean Literature Now
