I've been thinking a lot about fish lately. It doesn't make much sense. Maybe I'm working on an essay in my head. I once wrote a short story that feautured kissing gouramis (p.s. that's a kind of fish). My main character found himself at the pet store when he was thinking. Not just after the fight he'd had with his girlfriend, but often. He'd gaze into fish tanks and watch the fish tumble around like the thoughts in his head. He's walk the blue aisles and feel a stillness among all those finned creatures. Neon tetras would dart about, like they were cutting to and fro on a lacrosse field. Some yellow thing--maybe a cichlid--glided skillfully through its faux-rock fortresses. And this man worked things out. The fish aisles of the pet store were a place of refuge for him, my character. I don't even remember his name.
Me? I just like fish tanks. I like peering into every tank and cage and adoption center at a pet store. Put a cardboard box of bunnies in a subway station, and you've got fifteen minutes of my time. I look at the guinea pigs, size up the chinchilla, consider holding the hedgehog, ask if there are ferrets, and hold two dwarf mice together in the palm of my hand. Regularly. That is neither here nor there. I was talking about fish.
My partner doesn't eat fish. Well, that's not true. Hannah would love to fry up some mackerel for breakfast tomorrow, which would be about number four on my list of the top ten worst smells I can imagine waking up to. To be fair, this is a normal Korean breakfast. To be fairer, she is not Korean, but a registered legal alien of the country, exactly like I am. (Only she really loves that she is an alien, whereas I find the term peculiar and don't really consider myself one. An immigrant, perhaps, but alien? She loves it so much, she probably introduces herself that way. She should have business cards made: H. J. W. alien.) But...even though she would love some buttery, lemony gilled thing in her tummy, she is against the fishing industry as it is. I can't help but agree with her sentiment when she shoots articles my way on overfishing or damage to the sea floor. I still eat fish occasionally.
About as often as I eat fish, I let fish eat me. You read correctly. I'm talking about Dr. Fish. More than half a dozen times last year, I let those little guys nibble in between my toes, and everywhere else from mid-shin down: ankles, heels, arches, tops, backs, sides, etc. I found new friends to go with me. I dragged visitors from other countries; I met friends for coffee and convinced them to dip their cleaned feet into the tanks (set in the floor at the coffee-shop spa). I've found myself become some version of my character. I've walked into this coffee shop, taken a lap, and just looked into the eyes of those fish. I didn't even make an appointment or order a smoothie. I just made sure that they were there. Just in case I needed them.
I've strolled in alone more than once just to check on them. To make sure they hadn't all died or been relocated. I'm still thinking about what they provided me. Comfort and joy, sure. Giggles (Gosh, they're ticklish). It's also something Hannah won't do. I tell her to try it. I try to work some persuasion magic only to find that she is immune to it. She's watched me giggle and shriek trying to hold my feet underwater. Seen me do this again with her brother, with her best friend. She just can't go there. It creeps her out and sounds incredibly unpleasant to her.
Something about it lets me let loose. Let's me laugh and feel weird and good and silly. It eases stress, makes me smile, and only costs $2. Also: my feet are smoother afterward. Plus, I'm a meal ticket for about a hundred mouths at once!
Aren't I giving back to the fish community? Providing them with delectable dead skin cells? Or am I just taking more away?
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1 comments:
I don't know any untranslated Korean poets because I'm just now learning Korean myself, but there's a great anthology of contemporary Korean women poets called Echoing Song that you might want to check out. I've also read and written about a collection of three Korean women poets called Anxiety of Words. It has poetry by Kim Hyesoon, Yi Yonju, and Ch'oe Sungja. All very interesting poets.
As far as male poets go, Ko Un is the most famous outside Korea, but I'm not incredibly familiar with his work. I have some books by him and another male poet still making their was to the US from Korea, so hopefully, I'll know more about him soon.
You might want to check out the webpage of Brother Anthony of Taize. He's one of the foremost translators of Korean poetry. He's mostly translated male poets, but also does work on Kim Seunghi's (another interesting feminist Korean woman poet) poems. His website has a ton of info on translations of Korean poetry and maybe would give you the names of some people to look at in the original language if you wanted.
Hope this helps!
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