In Praise of Death 1926
This is a tribute to yun sim deok, her story and her work as a singer.
Here lies a letter addressed to You.Here lies in endless depth and spirituality and close calamity a moment with You.Here lie our shoes, laces tied and polished on the deck of some cruising ship,as our gravestones.And here we stand, hand in hand. Glances latched all over each other,in a desperate match to mount every living thing about the other into one single flesh,to capture, clearer than a picture would,with more beauty than a painting could,the heat of life with You.The mere possibility of this impossibility mocks our stance, but we are decided.- We have drafted our own superstition - To be so very entrenched as rain is with earth, so very ingrained like seeds are to soil,so much so that every simple touch sets alight a desperate blaze in a space full of ice. This is how You are.Within the same proximity of our tongues,yet it will never be enough. The Moon and her stars,under our naked sky,wouldn't dare cast their glow.For we carry our own,our own story of tragedylightyears ahead of any romanticist. It could not have been writtenin any play anywhere,nowhere but here does it debut. This deck is our theatre stage. Nestled between sharp waves,Neptune's ocean could not drown us.Feat upon feat could not conceal the sealthat bonds our affections,we are not their affair. We are the waves that shed their skins when provoked by wild winds,We are the wale that ever so often breaks the surface of these waters,to draw a breath from our typhoon.We are the birds that decorate this sky,We are the breeze that skatesabove this glassy path,We are the clouds that hide the sun. You and I become the very life we leave behind. You and Ilike Yin and Yangare to playwrights what life is to people- the core.And we'll be forever in the hearts of the curious, the lost and the guided,in the ambers of every spring,and in the fall of every snowin Praise of Death.