Insect rhythms rise and saw Beneath a half-moon midnight sky— Here a steady cricket’s chirping whir, There a syncopated shaker or an Intermittent washboard whisk. The invisible ensemble revels In jazzy solos and calls and responses, Weaving countless lines into a warm blanket Of song without a breath of silence— Incessant until the inscrutable conductor …
“It’s hard to resist, isn’t it?” “Yeah, I always walk by the plant section when I’m in here. I’m tempted to buy plants, even in the dead of winter when I know they’ll freeze.” We both laugh at ourselves and then push our buggies our separate ways along the grocery aisle. I wasn’t kidding, though. …
Spring is in the air, and jessamine’s in the pine tree’s hair. My second-story bedroom window looks out into a nearby stand of pine trees, and a flash of yellow caught my eye a few days ago as I opened my window shade. Grabbing a piece of paper, I dashed off a few exploratory lines …
For me at least, every poetry journey starts in an unexpected way. If you’re reading this after watching Extraordinary Attorney Woo on Netflix, then your journey to this spot had the same origin as mine a few months ago: the brief quote from the poem “Charcoal” by Ahn Do-Hyun that appears in Episode 12 of …
Continue reading Poems for the Autumn: A Collection of Korean Poetry by Ahn Do-Hyun
“What’s in a name?” Shakespeare once asked through the voice of Romeo. The same question crossed my mind when I stopped to contemplate the author of “The New Colossus.” The poem is one that comes to mind quite often when I consider the situation of immigrants and refugees around the world and particularly here in …
It’s the hour of the dragonfly. Have you seen it? I have. It’s the hour when dragonflies wing their way in sparkling iridescence over baked green grass and sidewalks shimmering with heat. They land for brief moments before skimming onward, disturbed by my walking too near, or by some inscrutable shift in the thermal currents …
Not that long ago, this time of year would have meant research papers, recitals, and final exams. In that context during college, I penned the following poem, which I'm sharing now as a brief poetic tribute to the season and to those who are currently finishing it out. "Finals" Death by a thousand paper cuts,Hands …
The first lines of this poem came to me as I was driving home in the evening and saw a lone white tree flowering in the woods near the highway's edge. "Spring's Reprise" The wild fruit trees are white with spring;The redbuds are empurplingThe brown and green and grayOf winter’s gentle passing away. Spring but …
