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Taxi, Come Here – Poetry from Korea

Taxi, Come Here – Poetry from Korea

Taxi

The taxi hummed along,

As if in silence.

Yet no matter how far we went,

The U-turn to destiny never appeared.

Jejae Lee. A poetess from Korea, the Land of Morning Calm, shares a poem

Poetess Jejae Lee was born on March 4, 1993 in Daegu. She graduated from the Department of Creative Writing at Myongji University, published poetry collections ‘Glassed Eyes’. Jejae Lee poetess is a newcomer, but has an excellent command of metaphor and narrative construction, and she is one of the leading young Korean poets.

Featured-image-83-Tower-Daegu-South-Korea

Daegu

Taxi, Come Here

Told not to go to the quietest place,

The taxi began to walk instead.

To become the quietest,

It crossed an empty intersection,

Passed the bank and the church,

And descended beneath the subway stairs,

Farther down, even deeper.

Humming the song I’d heard in a dream –

“Taxi, come here”-

I followed her,

Who would never come here,

Into a narrower space.

Opening the door to the narrowest place,

Dr. Taxi slapped the taxi across the face.

“You were destined to be a taxi,

But you were born wrong.

You must go somewhere else.

I’ll prescribe something now, so stay still.”

The taxi muttered,

“I am a taxi. I am a taxi,”

Over and over.

I mimicked the words as they shifted—

From “taxi” to “sexy”

And from “sexy” to “three o’clock.”

It sounded as though we were singing.

Meanwhile, the doctor prescribed cigarettes.

“Three times a day after meals,

Remove the filter, chew thoroughly.

Swallowing it whole is not allowed.”

But moments later,

The taxi swallowed filter and all in one gulp,

Becoming even more despondent.

It asked,

“Then where should I go?”

At that,

The brick-walled doctor began to collapse.

From the rubble of Dr. Taxi emerged

A crumpled ghost taxi,

Its headlights flickering.

The taxi climbed into the driver’s seat

Of the ghostly taxi.

I sat in the front seat,

Then the back,

Watching the taxi drive itself.

From the front seat,

Wearing a white coat, I said to the taxi,

“Amor Fati.

You must love your fate.

Amor Fati.”

But the me in the back seat

Didn’t trust them in the front.

Instead, I composed a March of Fate:

“Fate, fate, fated you are.

Those who say such things should meet their fate too.”

The taxi hummed along,

As if in silence.

Yet no matter how far we went,

The U-turn to destiny never appeared.

“Weren’t we headed

To the quietest place?” I asked.

The brake,

Unable to remain silent,

Spotted a guardrail and said,

“Let’s try somewhere noisier.”

Suddenly the protagonist,

The brake,

Not believing in its fate,

Allowed the crash into the guardrail.

The crumpled taxi,

Further crushed,

Became the narrowest taxi.

The brick-walled driver’s seat,

And the front-seat me,

Both collapsed.

The back-seat me

Cleared away the rubble,

Climbed into the driver’s seat.

Up ahead,

Someone in a dress waved at me.

“Taxi, taxi, where should I go?”

To avoid going there,

I flickered my headlights.

***

택시, 이리로 와요

가장 고요한 곳으로 가면 안 된다는 말을 듣고서 택시는 걸어가기 시작했다 가장 고요해지기 위하여 아무도 없는 사거리 횡단보도를 건너 은행과 교회를 지나 지하철역 계단 밑으로, 더

밑으로 내려갔다 나는 꿈속에서 들었던 택시, 이리로 와요 라는 노래를 흥얼거리며 이리로는 오지 않을 그녀의 뒤를 쫓아 더 좁은 곳으로 들어갔다

가장 좁은 곳의 문을 열자 의사 Dr.택시는 택시의 따귀를 때렸다

당신은 택시가 되어야 했던 운명이군요 잘못 태어나셨습니다 당신은 다른 곳에 가야 합니다 지금부터 처방해줄 테니 조용히 있으세요

택시는 나는 택시다 나는 택시다 반복해 중얼거리기 시작했고 나는 택시가 색시로 색시가 세 시로 변해가는 발음을 따라 했다 그러자 우리는 꼭 노래하는 것처럼 보였다 그동안 의사는 담

배를 처방했다 하루 세 번 식사 후 필터는 빼고 꼭꼭 씹어 드세요 한 번에 삼키는 건 안 됩니다 잠시 뒤 필터까지 한 번에 삼키고 한층 더 우울해진 택시가 물었다 그럼 저는 어디로 가야 하나요? 그러자

벽돌로 이루어진 의사가 무너져 내리기 시작했다 무너진 Dr.택시 속에서 한 대의 찌그러진 유령 택시가 헤드라이터를 깜박였다 택시는 택시 속 운전석에 올라탔다 나는 택시의 앞좌석이나 뒷좌석에 앉아 택시가 운전하는 것을 지켜보았다 앞좌석의 흰 가운을 입은 내가 택시에게 말했다 아모르 파티. 너는 네 운명을 사랑해야 한다. 아모르 파티. 뒷좌석의 나는 앞좌석의 나를 믿지 않았다 나는 차라리 운명 행진곡을 지어 불렀다 운명 운명 운명하셨습니다 그런 말을 하