the science of dreaming: min yoongi, franny choi and lunar intimacy
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feversendFor Yoongi’s birthday, since I was all out of original ideas, I decided to do something I haven’t exactly tried before: put together some of his songs that are special to me along the structure of a poem I have long associated with him. It’s a connection that I drew for reasons inexplicable though it was definitely had a lot do with the section from ‘flower moon’ that I have quoted below.
The poem in question is Perihelion: A History of Touch by Franny Choi from her collection Soft Science, and I chose lines from all twelve lunar sections that her poem is divided into and chose lyrics that I felt corresponded to them best. I chose my songs first, instead of looking for what fit the poems better-- might as well go for my personal favourites on a project so niche, I thought. These are arbitrary choices that I expect won't mean much to anyone other than me but this means enough to me that I want to share it with someone else.
Franny Choi's poem-- all twelve of them that make up this one-- is about intimacy, something she herself realised when she was halfway through writing it. Perihelion is the point in an orbit when a planet is the closest to the sun and these poems reflect this state of being-- of being as near as possible to intimacy but without contact; these bodies are still many hundreds of miles apart from each other. Looking at celestial bodies as a metaphor for vulnerability reminded me strongly of the lyrics of 134340 and Choi's own insistence to look at intimacy here as something that blurs human boundaries further solidified this feeling.
The connection with Yoongi, or Suga, or Agust D, whosever lyrics you pick up, seemed almost simple then. For me, what makes most of his work so visceral isn't its anger or harsh language but the fact that no matter which of these personas he adorns, there is something terribly intimate about his speech, like he can't bear to share something so personal with people and yet can't bear to say anything other than this one true, honest thing that he knows and understands, whatever it may be.
In her book, Franny Choi examines the human experience from the perspective of a cyborg and Min Yoongi's discography urges his past expectations to let go off his future dreams and there is a certain wildness to their works, a rupture in how they think and how they want the readers and listeners to think but it is tempered by this overwhelming tenderness-- that isn't explicit at all but is there nonetheless.
I don't offer any analysis or comments in between the sections and lyrics I have chosen, there is really no way I can put in words the emotions some of these words stir in me. It is a hefty body of text because I couldn't pick whether the poem should go first or the lyrics and finally decided on the poem, followed by the lyrics and then the poem again, like a refrain. I found that repeating the poem not only changed the meaning of the lyrics but that of the poem itself.
I would suggest listening to the songs in full and reading the poems, too, in full instead of only the sections I have cut short and attached here. As with the repetition of the poem, these texts interact differently when you read them as excerpts and then in full, as well as listen to the tracks instead of reading the lyrics. Though I suppose, everybody responds to different media in varied ways so I can't account for what would work best for other people.
Full Poem: Perihelion: A History of Touch by Franny Choi
Translation credits: doolsetbangtan, Song Request translation by doyoubangtan
Songs: Tracklist, excluding Born Singer and also Eight
wolf moon | Born Singer
No moon in sight, so I howled at the exit sign instead. Red runes,
electric. Telling an old story of escape, of wind, a wide cold..
Otherwise, the dark, and our mouths, tearing at what bones we
found, grinning and hungry for something—something we
couldn’t, with all our words, name.
snow moon | Intro: 화양연화 (Intro: The Most Beautiful Moment in Life)
The magic where the streetlights turn the snow pink lasts only for
the first night, the same way, maybe, a blanket loses track of its
scent when it’s been touched by too many hands, or the way a
body grays when too many feet have dragged their cigarettes and
complaints through it.
worm moon | Interlude : Shadow
Like any girl, I pulled myself into shreds to test the rumor that
something with blood like mine could be halved and still whole.
And what did I learn? I buried myself all over the garden, but the
pieces only sprouted into new riddles: squid leg, spaghetti squash,
a jerking thumb. Their names still sounded like mine; everyone in
the same dress, chewing dirt to avoid each other’s eyes.
pink moon | 140503 새벽에 (140503 at Dawn)
I’d expected something pink; a slow, sweet trickle. Not this wet
tar, treacle, dark, like the blood had been stretching inside me for
years, slow-building into a sticky chord, the first falling away.
Soil’s been watered; come play. First stuck, first gum, first hum of
pollen, calling in the bees and readying to wilt.
flower moon | So Far Away (Ft. SURAN)
All
the trees wanted my number. Sent fuzzy messengers to murmur in
my ears: I get so afraid sometimes all I want all I want is. All
spring I brushed confessions out of my hair. Tore the little letters
apart and locked myself in the refrigerator, until the world
promised to stop birthing such soft things.
If I had a dream, a dream of flying away
dream, hope it to be there with you at your creation and at the end of your life
dream, will be generous to you wherever you stand
dream, will eventually be in full bloom at the end of hardships
strawberry moon | IU – eight (에잇) (Prod. & Feat. SUGA)
All summer long, the bushes had
whispered, Take me, shown us all the places we could kiss if we
wanted. And so, as the light died, we put our mouths on the least
lovable, the too-full, the easy-bruised, we shouted, I choose you,
and you, and you, and you, and canned that hunger, and spooned
it into our mouths on the coldest days.
The word forever is a sandcastle
A goodbye is like a disaster text alert
The morning I greet with the feeling of longing
After we each pass this eternity,
let us meet on this island
buck moon | Interlude : Set me free
Some of the cloven-hoofed things are good at leaping from one
rock-shelf to another without shattering. Good, in other words, at
falling. I never trusted that ankles were any match for my body’s
insistence on becoming earth again. So when I found myself on
the cliff face, I knew it was dive or dust.
sturgeon moon | 이상하지 않은가 (Strange; Feat. RM)
He pulled me from the mud. Laid me
out in the sun. Opened me down the center. Scraped every dead
daughter from my silly maw. I learned better next time. Next
time, I grew three extra rows of seeds. Hid them in my mouth.
Sharpened them to teeth.
harvest moon | Halsey – SUGA’s Interlude
Will you
pluck me before the dust does, root and all, radicchio tendon? I
promise, I’ll feed no upright animal. Only the bees and the bees,
beans sitting on the squash’s face. Will you turn your palms to the
sky? Will you turn your palms to the prayer hunger makes? Will
you feed and feed, and lick the bowl clean when we’re both full?
Will you
pluck me before the dust does, root and all, radicchio tendon? I
promise, I’ll feed no upright animal. Only the bees and the bees,
beans sitting on the squash’s face. Will you turn your palms to the
sky? Will you turn your palms to the prayer hunger makes? Will
you feed and feed, and lick the bowl clean when we’re both full?
hunter’s moon | 마지막 (The Last)
I pressed my snout to
the ground and breathed deep, watched the tendrils of my slug
trail bloom blue, bioluminescent. I followed the maze, pushbrooming
forest floor with face, followed the promise of a rapid
heart. Don’t ask who’s the bloodhound, who’s the hare, when
there’s a chase to be made: the clarity of a cardinal direction
clicking into place.
beaver moon | Lee Sora – Song Request (신청곡) (ft. SUGA)
We made our home in the place where the water slowed. Yes. We
flooded the plains until the landscape bloomed with wet. We
stopped the tub. We drew a bath and called the river to its new,
quieter life. Ring-builders. Kingdom carved. At the end of the
line, we made our own place.
cold moon | 사람 (People)
Cold-blooded and still flesh. Still
horned fingers groping the kelp bed. Still salt. Pull. Everything
the ice touches. Is ours. Is quiet now. We sink slow. We pray still.
For moon. We answer it now. Ourselves.
Cold-blooded and still flesh. Still
horned fingers groping the kelp bed. Still salt. Pull. Everything
the ice touches. Is ours. Is quiet now. We sink slow. We pray still.
For moon. We answer it now. Ourselves.
I have no real commentary to offer here, most of the connections I see in these are felt more than understood, there is no definite way to conclude something I see as an interaction of texts that I hold dear to me. This link that I'm attempting to map out is tenous as it is, without factoring in the fact that one medium has an auditory element to it-- reading Yoongi's lyrics mean not much to me outside the song it comes as a part of; that makes it an entirely different experience altogether. Thus, I would suggest, again, to listen to these songs and refer to the parts of Perihelion that I've chosen for them. To end, I'm going to rely on yet another person's words, those of Taylor Andrews in a review of Franny Choi's collection in Bmore Art, and these lines that stood out to me as what perhaps tied these two writers together all along:
"The world of these poems is not a gentle place—there are buried lovers, walls of cops, internet trolls, Nazis—but the speaker, even when pained or raw with rage, bends toward love."
The poem in question is Perihelion: A History of Touch by Franny Choi from her collection Soft Science, and I chose lines from all twelve lunar sections that her poem is divided into and chose lyrics that I felt corresponded to them best. I chose my songs first, instead of looking for what fit the poems better-- might as well go for my personal favourites on a project so niche, I thought. These are arbitrary choices that I expect won't mean much to anyone other than me but this means enough to me that I want to share it with someone else.
Franny Choi's poem-- all twelve of them that make up this one-- is about intimacy, something she herself realised when she was halfway through writing it. Perihelion is the point in an orbit when a planet is the closest to the sun and these poems reflect this state of being-- of being as near as possible to intimacy but without contact; these bodies are still many hundreds of miles apart from each other. Looking at celestial bodies as a metaphor for vulnerability reminded me strongly of the lyrics of 134340 and Choi's own insistence to look at intimacy here as something that blurs human boundaries further solidified this feeling.
The connection with Yoongi, or Suga, or Agust D, whosever lyrics you pick up, seemed almost simple then. For me, what makes most of his work so visceral isn't its anger or harsh language but the fact that no matter which of these personas he adorns, there is something terribly intimate about his speech, like he can't bear to share something so personal with people and yet can't bear to say anything other than this one true, honest thing that he knows and understands, whatever it may be.
In her book, Franny Choi examines the human experience from the perspective of a cyborg and Min Yoongi's discography urges his past expectations to let go off his future dreams and there is a certain wildness to their works, a rupture in how they think and how they want the readers and listeners to think but it is tempered by this overwhelming tenderness-- that isn't explicit at all but is there nonetheless.
I don't offer any analysis or comments in between the sections and lyrics I have chosen, there is really no way I can put in words the emotions some of these words stir in me. It is a hefty body of text because I couldn't pick whether the poem should go first or the lyrics and finally decided on the poem, followed by the lyrics and then the poem again, like a refrain. I found that repeating the poem not only changed the meaning of the lyrics but that of the poem itself.
I would suggest listening to the songs in full and reading the poems, too, in full instead of only the sections I have cut short and attached here. As with the repetition of the poem, these texts interact differently when you read them as excerpts and then in full, as well as listen to the tracks instead of reading the lyrics. Though I suppose, everybody responds to different media in varied ways so I can't account for what would work best for other people.
Full Poem: Perihelion: A History of Touch by Franny Choi
Translation credits: doolsetbangtan, Song Request translation by doyoubangtan
Songs: Tracklist, excluding Born Singer and also Eight
wolf moon | Born Singer
No moon in sight, so I howled at the exit sign instead. Red runes,
electric. Telling an old story of escape, of wind, a wide cold..
Otherwise, the dark, and our mouths, tearing at what bones we
found, grinning and hungry for something—something we
couldn’t, with all our words, name.
Rapping and dancing on the stage where I’ve wanted to be so much, I feel that I’m still alive
Though coming to and from work is tiring and exhausting, I can bear it because my people are watching
Though my body suffers from pain, I can stand it because cheers are coming in
Though I live on the boundary between idol and rapper, the difference before and after debut, my note is still full of rhymes
Though coming to and from work is tiring and exhausting, I can bear it because my people are watching
Though my body suffers from pain, I can stand it because cheers are coming in
Though I live on the boundary between idol and rapper, the difference before and after debut, my note is still full of rhymes
No moon in sight, so I howled at the exit sign instead. Red runes,
electric. Telling an old story of escape, of wind, a wide cold..
Otherwise, the dark, and our mouths, tearing at what bones we
found, grinning and hungry for something—something we
couldn’t, with all our words, name.
electric. Telling an old story of escape, of wind, a wide cold..
Otherwise, the dark, and our mouths, tearing at what bones we
found, grinning and hungry for something—something we
couldn’t, with all our words, name.
snow moon | Intro: 화양연화 (Intro: The Most Beautiful Moment in Life)
The magic where the streetlights turn the snow pink lasts only for
the first night, the same way, maybe, a blanket loses track of its
scent when it’s been touched by too many hands, or the way a
body grays when too many feet have dragged their cigarettes and
complaints through it.
My breath, risen up to my chin, is dreams that are squirming
The dribbles that get faster, and my heart that becomes happier
Though this moment feels like it’ll last forever,
once the sun-setting night comes again, it’s the riddled reality
The dribbles that get faster, and my heart that becomes happier
Though this moment feels like it’ll last forever,
once the sun-setting night comes again, it’s the riddled reality
The magic where the streetlights turn the snow pink lasts only for
the first night, the same way, maybe, a blanket loses track of its
scent when it’s been touched by too many hands, or the way a
body grays when too many feet have dragged their cigarettes and
complaints through it.
the first night, the same way, maybe, a blanket loses track of its
scent when it’s been touched by too many hands, or the way a
body grays when too many feet have dragged their cigarettes and
complaints through it.
worm moon | Interlude : Shadow
Like any girl, I pulled myself into shreds to test the rumor that
something with blood like mine could be halved and still whole.
And what did I learn? I buried myself all over the garden, but the
pieces only sprouted into new riddles: squid leg, spaghetti squash,
a jerking thumb. Their names still sounded like mine; everyone in
the same dress, chewing dirt to avoid each other’s eyes.
Yeah, I’m you and you’re me, do you get it now?
Yeah, you’re me and I’m you, you get it now, right?
We’re one body, and sometimes we will crash
You will never be able to take me off of you, you get it, right?
Yeah, you’re me and I’m you, you get it now, right?
We’re one body, and sometimes we will crash
You will never be able to take me off of you, you get it, right?
Like any girl, I pulled myself into shreds to test the rumor that
something with blood like mine could be halved and still whole.
And what did I learn? I buried myself all over the garden, but the
pieces only sprouted into new riddles: squid leg, spaghetti squash,
a jerking thumb. Their names still sounded like mine; everyone in
the same dress, chewing dirt to avoid each other’s eyes.
something with blood like mine could be halved and still whole.
And what did I learn? I buried myself all over the garden, but the
pieces only sprouted into new riddles: squid leg, spaghetti squash,
a jerking thumb. Their names still sounded like mine; everyone in
the same dress, chewing dirt to avoid each other’s eyes.
pink moon | 140503 새벽에 (140503 at Dawn)
I’d expected something pink; a slow, sweet trickle. Not this wet
tar, treacle, dark, like the blood had been stretching inside me for
years, slow-building into a sticky chord, the first falling away.
Soil’s been watered; come play. First stuck, first gum, first hum of
pollen, calling in the bees and readying to wilt.
Pretending that I’m not lonely, pretending that I’m not suffering,
needlessly pretending that I’m okay, and pretending hard that I’m strong,
I built a wall in front of me, “Don’t come inside”
I’m an island in this wide ocean, “Don’t abandon me”
needlessly pretending that I’m okay, and pretending hard that I’m strong,
I built a wall in front of me, “Don’t come inside”
I’m an island in this wide ocean, “Don’t abandon me”
I’d expected something pink; a slow, sweet trickle. Not this wet
tar, treacle, dark, like the blood had been stretching inside me for
years, slow-building into a sticky chord, the first falling away.
Soil’s been watered; come play. First stuck, first gum, first hum of
pollen, calling in the bees and readying to wilt.
tar, treacle, dark, like the blood had been stretching inside me for
years, slow-building into a sticky chord, the first falling away.
Soil’s been watered; come play. First stuck, first gum, first hum of
pollen, calling in the bees and readying to wilt.
flower moon | So Far Away (Ft. SURAN)
All
the trees wanted my number. Sent fuzzy messengers to murmur in
my ears: I get so afraid sometimes all I want all I want is. All
spring I brushed confessions out of my hair. Tore the little letters
apart and locked myself in the refrigerator, until the world
promised to stop birthing such soft things.
If I had a dream, a dream of flying away
dream, hope it to be there with you at your creation and at the end of your life
dream, will be generous to you wherever you stand
dream, will eventually be in full bloom at the end of hardships
All
the trees wanted my number. Sent fuzzy messengers to murmur in
my ears: I get so afraid sometimes all I want all I want is. All
spring I brushed confessions out of my hair. Tore the little letters
apart and locked myself in the refrigerator, until the world
promised to stop birthing such soft things.
the trees wanted my number. Sent fuzzy messengers to murmur in
my ears: I get so afraid sometimes all I want all I want is. All
spring I brushed confessions out of my hair. Tore the little letters
apart and locked myself in the refrigerator, until the world
promised to stop birthing such soft things.
strawberry moon | IU – eight (에잇) (Prod. & Feat. SUGA)
All summer long, the bushes had
whispered, Take me, shown us all the places we could kiss if we
wanted. And so, as the light died, we put our mouths on the least
lovable, the too-full, the easy-bruised, we shouted, I choose you,
and you, and you, and you, and canned that hunger, and spooned
it into our mouths on the coldest days.
The word forever is a sandcastle
A goodbye is like a disaster text alert
The morning I greet with the feeling of longing
After we each pass this eternity,
let us meet on this island
All summer long, the bushes had
whispered, Take me, shown us all the places we could kiss if we
wanted. And so, as the light died, we put our mouths on the least
lovable, the too-full, the easy-bruised, we shouted, I choose you,
and you, and you, and you, and canned that hunger, and spooned
it into our mouths on the coldest days.
whispered, Take me, shown us all the places we could kiss if we
wanted. And so, as the light died, we put our mouths on the least
lovable, the too-full, the easy-bruised, we shouted, I choose you,
and you, and you, and you, and canned that hunger, and spooned
it into our mouths on the coldest days.
buck moon | Interlude : Set me free
Some of the cloven-hoofed things are good at leaping from one
rock-shelf to another without shattering. Good, in other words, at
falling. I never trusted that ankles were any match for my body’s
insistence on becoming earth again. So when I found myself on
the cliff face, I knew it was dive or dust.
Set me free, I’m floating freely in the void
Set me free, these days, I feel melancholy for no obvious reason
One day, I crawl on the floor
On another day, I fly high in the sky
Set me free, these days, I feel melancholy for no obvious reason
One day, I crawl on the floor
On another day, I fly high in the sky
Some of the cloven-hoofed things are good at leaping from one
rock-shelf to another without shattering. Good, in other words, at
falling. I never trusted that ankles were any match for my body’s
insistence on becoming earth again. So when I found myself on
the cliff face, I knew it was dive or dust.
rock-shelf to another without shattering. Good, in other words, at
falling. I never trusted that ankles were any match for my body’s
insistence on becoming earth again. So when I found myself on
the cliff face, I knew it was dive or dust.
sturgeon moon | 이상하지 않은가 (Strange; Feat. RM)
He pulled me from the mud. Laid me
out in the sun. Opened me down the center. Scraped every dead
daughter from my silly maw. I learned better next time. Next
time, I grew three extra rows of seeds. Hid them in my mouth.
Sharpened them to teeth.
Polarization, the ugliest flower in the world
It’s been a long while since truth got eaten away by lies
Who would it be that benefits the most?
Who would it be that gets harmed the most?
It’s been a long while since truth got eaten away by lies
Who would it be that benefits the most?
Who would it be that gets harmed the most?
He pulled me from the mud. Laid me
out in the sun. Opened me down the center. Scraped every dead
daughter from my silly maw. I learned better next time. Next
time, I grew three extra rows of seeds. Hid them in my mouth.
Sharpened them to teeth.
out in the sun. Opened me down the center. Scraped every dead
daughter from my silly maw. I learned better next time. Next
time, I grew three extra rows of seeds. Hid them in my mouth.
Sharpened them to teeth.
harvest moon | Halsey – SUGA’s Interlude
Will you
pluck me before the dust does, root and all, radicchio tendon? I
promise, I’ll feed no upright animal. Only the bees and the bees,
beans sitting on the squash’s face. Will you turn your palms to the
sky? Will you turn your palms to the prayer hunger makes? Will
you feed and feed, and lick the bowl clean when we’re both full?
Ey, in my head, these wanderings that are only full of blue
In my mind, living are the self-loathing and excessive pride
I, full of dreams, grew up to have all my dreams realized but,
at the same time, am living with a thought that dreams are better when kept as dreams
In my mind, living are the self-loathing and excessive pride
I, full of dreams, grew up to have all my dreams realized but,
at the same time, am living with a thought that dreams are better when kept as dreams
Will you
pluck me before the dust does, root and all, radicchio tendon? I
promise, I’ll feed no upright animal. Only the bees and the bees,
beans sitting on the squash’s face. Will you turn your palms to the
sky? Will you turn your palms to the prayer hunger makes? Will
you feed and feed, and lick the bowl clean when we’re both full?
hunter’s moon | 마지막 (The Last)
I pressed my snout to
the ground and breathed deep, watched the tendrils of my slug
trail bloom blue, bioluminescent. I followed the maze, pushbrooming
forest floor with face, followed the promise of a rapid
heart. Don’t ask who’s the bloodhound, who’s the hare, when
there’s a chase to be made: the clarity of a cardinal direction
clicking into place.
Sometimes I’m afraid of myself
Thanks to self-hatred and depression that came to play again
Min Yoongi has already died (I killed him)
It’s been a long time since it became my daily life to compare my dead passion to others
Thanks to self-hatred and depression that came to play again
Min Yoongi has already died (I killed him)
It’s been a long time since it became my daily life to compare my dead passion to others
I pressed my snout to
the ground and breathed deep, watched the tendrils of my slug
trail bloom blue, bioluminescent. I followed the maze, pushbrooming
forest floor with face, followed the promise of a rapid
heart. Don’t ask who’s the bloodhound, who’s the hare, when
there’s a chase to be made: the clarity of a cardinal direction
clicking into place.
the ground and breathed deep, watched the tendrils of my slug
trail bloom blue, bioluminescent. I followed the maze, pushbrooming
forest floor with face, followed the promise of a rapid
heart. Don’t ask who’s the bloodhound, who’s the hare, when
there’s a chase to be made: the clarity of a cardinal direction
clicking into place.
beaver moon | Lee Sora – Song Request (신청곡) (ft. SUGA)
We made our home in the place where the water slowed. Yes. We
flooded the plains until the landscape bloomed with wet. We
stopped the tub. We drew a bath and called the river to its new,
quieter life. Ring-builders. Kingdom carved. At the end of the
line, we made our own place.
Yeah, for someone, I’m
spring; for another, winter
For someone, I’m the end; for another, the beginning
I’m someone’s happiness, another’s soul
Someone’s lullaby,
and at times, a din.
spring; for another, winter
For someone, I’m the end; for another, the beginning
I’m someone’s happiness, another’s soul
Someone’s lullaby,
and at times, a din.
We made our home in the place where the water slowed. Yes. We
flooded the plains until the landscape bloomed with wet. We
stopped the tub. We drew a bath and called the river to its new,
quieter life. Ring-builders. Kingdom carved. At the end of the
line, we made our own place.
flooded the plains until the landscape bloomed with wet. We
stopped the tub. We drew a bath and called the river to its new,
quieter life. Ring-builders. Kingdom carved. At the end of the
line, we made our own place.
cold moon | 사람 (People)
horned fingers groping the kelp bed. Still salt. Pull. Everything
the ice touches. Is ours. Is quiet now. We sink slow. We pray still.
For moon. We answer it now. Ourselves.
Flow along the way the water flows
Maybe there’s something at the end
A special life, an ordinary life, each of them on their own
It’s all good
It’s all good
Maybe there’s something at the end
A special life, an ordinary life, each of them on their own
It’s all good
It’s all good
Cold-blooded and still flesh. Still
horned fingers groping the kelp bed. Still salt. Pull. Everything
the ice touches. Is ours. Is quiet now. We sink slow. We pray still.
For moon. We answer it now. Ourselves.
I have no real commentary to offer here, most of the connections I see in these are felt more than understood, there is no definite way to conclude something I see as an interaction of texts that I hold dear to me. This link that I'm attempting to map out is tenous as it is, without factoring in the fact that one medium has an auditory element to it-- reading Yoongi's lyrics mean not much to me outside the song it comes as a part of; that makes it an entirely different experience altogether. Thus, I would suggest, again, to listen to these songs and refer to the parts of Perihelion that I've chosen for them. To end, I'm going to rely on yet another person's words, those of Taylor Andrews in a review of Franny Choi's collection in Bmore Art, and these lines that stood out to me as what perhaps tied these two writers together all along:
"The world of these poems is not a gentle place—there are buried lovers, walls of cops, internet trolls, Nazis—but the speaker, even when pained or raw with rage, bends toward love."
