Why I Sing the Mountain Though you stand there, lifeline severed, ruminating the solitude, the sound of your blood boiling down echoes in my ear, as does the sound of your flesh being digested. Life─in─death mountain, you are a giant living thing. I would dig a grave in your yellow clay, rebury my sorrow there, sound a thousand strings, sound them so that they never sound again. I would take the sorrow from grasses and trees. Every blast of wind and rain theat comes though you fight the favor. The mountain cannot cry out; it seems nightmared in sleep's depths. LEE KEUM-BAE