[Poetry] Two Poems by Jack Jung

POETRY - ISSUE FOUR

Cosmopolis

JACK JUNG

There was no difference where I went.
I was always sinking into the dark green sea,
And pebbles gleamed, startled by hard waves.
We were as identical as stones rubbed smooth.
The black tide of a born sea would swell,
And I prayed to be where I wanted to be from.

Moths at COEX Mall

The shoppers in coats like moths by firelight
congregate. Touching and touched. Suddenly, a piece

of fabric, thread or such, is in my mouth, it is soot
from a moth’s wings, it is salt of a wave, out

of the particles, a winged thing landing on my lips
as a deformed mustache. The cold underbelly

of an arthropod is hard, brushing its legs, tiny
and thin like an extra fine fountain pen nib scribbling

on my red. The strong fishy taste of its oily sweat
is the bitter ointment. The hairy insect grows

tall as a tide, expanding its wings and legs. This is what
space does, the claws of a bird groping my tongue,

almost ripping it out. Its face in a strike down
position, ready to pick my eyes out for dessert,

its beak as black as the night is, and its naked sides
are like the arms of an old crow lifting and lifting,

holding my head now. It croaks and jabbers.
There is something it wants to show now.

The largest underground bookstore is a grocer,
the books laid out like fruits. The lighting overhead

buzzes like honeybee. I held it once in a small fist
and was hurt. My tongue gets plucked like a petal.

Jack Jung studied English and American poetry at Harvard as an undergraduate. He is working on his Master’s thesis on modern Korean literature at Seoul National University.