This is a collection of essays by poet Kim Sang-mi, who has been deeply loved by readers and is called the 'master of confessional poetry' and 'the Annie Ernaux of Korea.'

In this book, poet Kim Sang-mi confesses, in plain and restrained language, about her poetic origins, the flame of her youth and the tranquility of her old age, and the essence of literature that still passionately drives her.

The new prose is the most transparent confession I have made over the past 35 years as a poet.
From the ferocity of his youth to the gentle light of his old age, his prose is never cold. Rather, like an iceberg, it is solid, deep, and slowly melts sweetly, seeping into our hearts.

For readers who have followed his literature and life, this will be welcome news, like a postcard, and for readers who are encountering the poet's inner world for the first time, it will be a 'pattern of all waves' that quietly but powerfully approaches.

Day and night, life in Seoul, where one belongs nowhere, can sometimes be very brave, and at other times, as quiet as a mouse, thanks to the weapon called 'anonymity'.
I opened all the blinds inside me and started writing poetry.
The poem... ...burned with a brighter color, a deeper and more profound brightness, knowing that I loved myself so much.
And that became my 'pride'.
I don't know what happened after that.

--- p.19 From "The Last Kingdom"

The mystery of being alive was thus newly preserved in books, in things that were passing by without our knowledge.
As the saying goes, a real painting may be old, but a real thought is new and modern.
It lived not in coral or pearls, but in the eyes and hearts of those who passed by.
She stopped walking under the persimmon tree in front of the Tongin store in Insa-dong.
It was amazing to see such a beautifully grown persimmon tree in the middle of Seoul.
Raindrops were flowing down in small waterfalls between the green, lush leaves.
How beautiful! The rain, the persimmon tree, and everything standing between him suddenly seemed to surge forward, deeply moving.

--- p.25 From "Montage"

If you love someone, you tend to go all the way even if it means going through a rough patch, and life is like that too.
Even if I don't have food to eat tomorrow, I don't steal, beg, or steal food from others to live well on my own.
To the pure, all things are pure, to the simple, all things are simple.
And God definitely helps those people.
If I close my eyes and fast for just one day, the next day, I will naturally have enough food to eat for several days.
As if it fell from the sky.

--- p.60 From “Looking Longingly at Daisies”

The summer sea was like jazz.
It was lively, vivid, spontaneous and ever-changing.
There was always something new happening, and it was fluid and exciting.
It was full of freedom, sensuality, and youth, filled with endless yearning.
It was like a festival.
During the day, the salty air and the fresh water roared, the hot sunlight beating down at a right angle, and at night, the sound of waves buried in the darkness and the soft moonlight brought the beach and its people closer together, dyeing them in a secret, exaggerated romance.
I loved the open, simple, sticky, wildness and energy of the summer beach.
Just looking at it felt like a summer seascape painting was unfolding.
--- p.65

Yet, like Pascal Quignard, I am neither a bird nor a cat, and I cannot yet fly higher or be more graceful and agile. I am still wandering around alone, struggling to read from book to book, and I have not yet become a great thief worthy of admiration.
Instead, I am always striving to become a better, more independent and individual writer by 'opening books, living in books, and reading books', and I am still working hard to weave a web of language.

--- p.96 From "Language Theft"

If spring, summer, and winter are the seasons that inspire me to write poetry, then is autumn the season that makes poetry come alive? Even without writing poetry, I feel as if I'm spending a moment of poetry, my body and mind so passionate, so flexible, so sparkling, so vibrant.

--- p.122 From "Oh, a Beautiful Autumn Day"

Even if the burning desires of my youth have faded and fallen into the abyss due to 'accidental obstacles' or 'age', there was a time when those desires always burned.
Standing at the threshold of old age, that too seems like such a precious and lovely trace, and I smile brightly, really brightly, in the mirror.
I never once struggled to put out the fire, it just burned or burned away as it went.

--- p.146 From “In Front of the Mirror”

Let's live, slowly melting like a sweet iceberg, willingly and joyfully savoring the narrow and wide roads we haven't walked yet, the houses we haven't entered, the big and small windows we haven't opened, and the streams we haven't drunk from, with the people around us.
Everything I write is a path that passes through them and reaches me.
In that simplicity, in that joy, let me set myself free, even if my teeth rot a little.
It has been said that a true poet must always stand up to something, but now I don't want to stand up to anyone but myself.

--- p.187 From "Sweet Iceberg"