The award-winning poet Kim Ki-taek has been described as “an observer of minute and microscopic details” with a rational but compelling style of description that pulls you into his universe, where no encounter is ever mundane. The art critic John Berger, who gave us Ways of Seeing, would have found much to commend about the two poems presented below.
My Eyes Met His
My eyes met his for a moment.
His face was familiar,
but I couldn’t remember who he was.
Bewildered by the odd familiarity of unfamiliarity
I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
He, too, seemed to ponder who I was.
He was rummaging through a garbage bag.
He was inside the skin of a cat.
As if he were used to standing upright,
to walk with four feet appeared awkward.
As if complaining to me, who had disturbed his ransacking,
Meow, he let out with feeling.
But the strange sound like a baby crying unexpectedly
seemed unbearable for him to hear and
immediately he shut his mouth.
He didn’t run away like other cats.
As if angry over his own sad figure being caught,
he lowered his head, turning slowly, back arched,
and moved off into the distance for a long time.
