| 英文摘要 |
These days, I find myself mulling over a small poem about scattered memories (among other things) written by the South Korean poet, Lee Han-jik. In this poem, Lee follows his mind’s eye and the deliberate yet prickly warmth of a post meridian sun and conjures an afternoon spent at the zoo. In this zoo, an adult animal, perhaps Lee, himself, or maybe a common-enough middle-aged man, experiences the slow-rippling recognition that an old camel--a ruminating ungulate who appears as a strange yet familiar beast from some faraway, yet still unforgotten, dune--is his former school teacher. And, at this poet’s zoo, both of these creatures, the student and the teacher, stand in the same fading light, on the same terrain, with legs askew. Here, Lee captures the camel in the man, and vice versa, with a zoomorphical ingenuity that holds troubling and transformational qualities. |
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