Skip to main content

some really wet paint

Seoul Station
(May 5th 2006)

Waiting for a bullet train I am heading to Pusan to see some Korean sea. It’s overcast, dirty, dusty, muggy. My shirt sticks to my body. It smells like shit and everyone is mumbling in staccato. Rush. Push. Bali bali. An old Korean lady (ajima) wanted money. When I refused she slapped my ass.

Pusan, Korea
(May 6th 2006)

“In the prosaic rooms of our later understanding . . .”
(Walter Benjamin)

I’m at the roulette wheel at Paradise Casino. I’ve never gambled with money. Heavy flooding outside and I have wet jeans, wet socks, and a wet head. I’m winning a few hundred at the wheel. I’ve many holes to fill. Turning language: turning tricks. I’m not holding, or folding. I’m letting go. From dry earth, modeled, stretched, torn, twisted my gods stretch out in rows upon rows of old teeth. A coarse shadow in the absence of draperies. Blood and fungus. I am building an illusion of choice.

Hot Sun Restaurant
(Gangnam, Korea May 17th 2006)

Baked chicken and Budweiser. Yellow raddish. My new shirt is sticking to my bones. This area is full of the young and fashionable. Haagen Daz and Starbucks. Polo and Abercrombie and Finch. How you dress is how you’re treated. You’re treated according to your branding. Ranked and filed. People swarm under paper lamps. My eyes cannot sit still.

Dental Clinic
(Banghak, North Seoul May 20th 2006)

“We penetrate the mystery only to the degree we recognize it in the everyday world.” (Walter Bejamin)

Today I am in a clean clinic with an aerial view of the dentist’s fingers. I am surrounded by mechanical devices. I’m becoming part of the furniture. The scraping and molding of teeth. The drilling. The clean smell of bones. This is not a spinning barber pole full of cheap hookers. Not a bridge with businessmen in power suits. This is not a room full of westernized noses and westernized eyelids (in Korea plastic surgery is the norm). Korea hangs by a single thread over a violent ocean. Korea is bali bali and not knowing what shadows snake the corners.


didi said…
Listen....submit some of your Korean micro-fiction to us please - send to Amy - I especially like this entry.

postpran said…

Thanks. I will send some to Amy. Like what you and Amy are doing with the audio and mag. Keep on rockin!

Popular posts from this blog

poets reading poets

There are on A now: Andrews, Antin, Apollinaire, Ashbery

A project from the Atlanta Poetry Group. Check it:

The Poetry of Tao Lin

Another Ireland by Robert Archambeau

This review really hit it for me. I recently read Maurice Scully's _Livelihood_ and Geofrey Squires _Untitled and Other Poems_ is on deck (I love that baseball term. It is baseball, right?)

I think this is from The Nortre Dame review, but I found it via goofle (I mean google).

Another Ireland: Part Two
Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
Geoffrey Squires, Landscapes and Silences. Dublin: New Writers' Press, 1996.
Catherine Walsh, Idir Eatortha and Making Tents. London: Invisible Books, 1996.

By Robert Archambeau

I began the first half of this article (Notre Dame Review #4) by mentioning some of the limits to the legendary hospitality Ireland has shown to its poets. If you arrive in Ireland from any point of departure outside of Eastern Europe, you will indeed find a public far more willing than the one you left behind to grant poets the recognition all but the most ascetic secretly crave. However, this hospitality has never extended to Irish poets w…