『Black Leaves in the Mouth』, a posthumous poetry collection by Ki Hyeong-do, who debuted in the Dong-A Ilbo New Year’s literary contest in 1985.
This collection of poems, which is both my first and last, contains 60 poems that uniquely express the psychological structure of tyranny and fear inherent in everyday life through the form of memories.
His poetic world unfolds memories of his gloomy childhood and absurd experiences in a strange yet warm, desperate yet beautiful time and space.

Anyone who comes to this town for the first time
You have to cross a huge river of fog.
Until the group that went ahead is slowly erased
Like lonely cattle they
You have to stand on that long embankment.
Suddenly, I was alone in the empty hole of the fog
Until you feel trapped and horrified
--- p.11

Whenever that day comes
It's strange, I
Before I knew it, I was walking in the blue evening I had never seen before
There are black, dry trees
Below are different faces
People are passionate about something
Walking, or passing through a narrow passage
It's strange, like light clouds
Passing through each other

I call it a premonition, all movement suddenly stops
And the street is enveloped in silence for a moment (omitted)
--- p.27

After a very long time
A weak bookmark will drop this paper
At that time, my heart built so many factories
Foolishly, there was so much to record.
Like a dog slowly scurrying under the clouds
You hovered in the air tirelessly
All I have is sighs
In every evening street, youth stands silently
I counted the days I lived with wonder
No one was afraid of me
My hopes were filled with nothing but jealousy.
So, I'll leave a short note here first.
My life was a mad search for love,
I never loved myself even once
--- p.53

The taxi driver stuck his head out the dark window.
Sometimes I shout, and every time I do, the birds fly away.
This is the first time I've passed through a field and twilight,
I think of him, whom I have never met

I was in a distant place when it happened.
I was reading a book in the dust room
When I opened the door, the field was covered in fog.
That summer, the ground was littered with books and black leaves.
Every time I unfolded the folded clothes, white smoke came out.
Silence suits a servant, he wrote.
I have seen his face once.
I was at a newspaper office and my head was slightly bowed.
And then it happened, and shortly after he died.

His funeral was a riot of wind and rain.
The car carrying the dead man moved unbearably slowly.
People clung tenaciously to the funeral procession.
Black leaves fluttered around the white car.
My tongue slowly hardened, his young son
Unable to bear the encirclement of the leaves, he burst into tears.
That summer, many people disappeared en masse.
Appeared suddenly before the silence of the surprised
The tongues of the dead overflowed the streets.
The taxi driver occasionally looks back.
I don't trust that driver, I'm terrified
I stammer, he's dead
How many funerals had to be held silently because of that?
So who is he, and where am I going?
I have no more answers, where
No one knows if it will happen, anywhere
I have to go to a nearby province
This is the first time I've passed through a field and twilight,
I'm afraid of the black leaf clinging tenaciously to my mouth.
--- pp.58-59

There was a time when I couldn't write for a long time.
The weather in this land was bad and I couldn't stand it.
Even then, there was a street and cars passed by.
In the fall, I drank coffee on my way home from work and met a friend in Jongno when it was snowing.
But I couldn't write poetry.
The words I wanted to say were mostly scattered into the air without finding a form.
At least for me, I knew then that the helplessness of not being able to write could be the greatest enemy of the body.

It was snowing heavily at that time.
The snow fell from high in the sky to the ground.
But the ground did not accept the snow.
The snowflakes that seemed about to touch the ground were blown back into the air by the strong wind.
No snow was accepted, neither in heaven nor on earth.

But I know that those lonely night eyes will one day descend to the ground.
I believe that when the wind stops and the harsh, freezing night recedes, my eyes will shed tears and fall upon another world.
Until then, no death will come near the eyes.
---From "Poetry Notes"

For a while, I wrote poetry on the street, wary of irresponsible metaphors of nature.
The imagination of the street was pain, and I loved that pain.
But I still believe that the greatest sleep lies in nature.
That belief will call me someday.
I am ready to follow.
It looks like it's going to snow heavily.
---From "Poetry Notes"

Carrying thirty bundles of radish
My mom went to the market
He's not coming, the sun has set for a long time
I'm put in the room like cold rice
No matter how slowly I do my homework,
Mom isn't coming, footsteps like cabbage leaves, tap tap tap
I can't hear you, it's dark and scary
The sound of rain quietly falling through the cracks in the window
I was lying alone in an empty room, sobbing

A long time ago
It still brings tears to my eyes
Those days, the upper class of my childhood
--- From the text

My life was a mad search for love,
I never loved myself even once
---From "Jealousy is My Strength"

I've lost love and I'm bitter
Goodbye, short nights
Winter fog drifting outside the window
Goodbye, candles that knew nothing
White papers waiting for fear
Tears that replaced hesitation
Farewell, longings that are no longer mine
Like a blind man, I now grope and lock the door.
My poor love is trapped in an empty house
---From "Empty House"

muttering in the dark
Don't look for me......you irresponsible sighers
Hope that has been wandering all my life on the road
---From "Mumbling on the Road"

Some days, on a thick sheet of paper in the air
Until the yellow, hard sun sets
The Legion of Fog does not move a single step from the Saetgang River.
Female workers who are late for work pass by laughing
Between the black, blunt trees that emerge from the long darkness
Children are slowly emerging.

--From "Fog"