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A Foreign Teacher’s First Year, 2005

Dizzied by impressions and sights,
still finding his way through Jinju city,
still struggling with the Korean alphabet,
insomnia holding sway,
the first year foreign teacher
looked up, saw beloved faces far away,
needlepoints of the indigo sky….

Naivety had been thrilled at the swift responses,
naivety accepting the job too quickly.
Excitement had not the sobriety
of asking measured questions aplenty….

So here he had come, some staff members
twittering, aflutter – but accommodating,
not without compassion, as awkwardness
and ineptitude left a thickened trail….

It seemed the 4th month into the year
was slowly, almost imperceptibly
sounding a hive of multiplying bees,
sounding growing skill of the beekeeper,
the reports smiling a crimson hue.
But by the 6th month, as though by a foreign will,
kiss of ill fortune (related to skill?)
the bees scattered, the bees too few.
A sagging business swiftly forgot friendliness:
the employer, Mr Kim, never outgrew
the shady hue of dislike, could not quell
his mutterings behind closed doors
even when business had been going well.

On the foreign teacher’s last day,
as Mr Kim walked through a beaming,
swing-squeaking playground during his break,
fall wearing a crown, fall dreaming,
images of his childhood arose,
images of mockery, belittlement,
longings discouraged, long gone faint,
images of excessive constraint,
the unfurling fascination and thrill
muted, the boy and young man moulded
to a culture’s collective will.
His ill will toward teachers, his father
who often wormed their way
into his dreams, what long had been kept at bay
swelled acceptable, justified now,
inflamed further at the foreigner that day –
whom he couldn’t forgive for his independence,
for finding his love, for finding his way.

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