Masks

SCENES FROM SOUTH KOREA, ANDONG, PART 2

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The holiday memories continue. Second stop Andong….

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Andong City centre

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ET in Andong

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How to figure out what the restaurant has to offer, Cow this time

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30 limit, 30 degrees and sunset in Andong

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The UNESCO world Heritage 600 year old Hahoe Folk Village with 232 inhabitants

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Rice Fields in Hahoe Folk Village

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Hahoe Folk Village, once home to Prime Minister Ryu Sengryong (1592 to 1598)

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Thatched roofs in Hahoe Folk Village

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The Mask Dance in the Hahoe Folk Village, shoulder walking

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The dance of the lions

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The Bull

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The Butcher out for the bull’s balls

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The forlorn Granny

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The village concubine, Bune

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Hahoe Folk Village

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Hahoe Folk Village

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Our lunch restaurant in the Hahoe Folk Village

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Restaurant treasures

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300 year old tree in the centre of the village with paper wishes

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Hahoe Folk Village

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Hahoe Folk Village

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Tourist transport in the Hahoe Folk Village

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The Mansongjeong Pine Forest in the Hahoe Folk Village

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The Mansongjeong Pine Forest and the Buyongdae Cliff

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Buyongdae Cliff

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Our African Queen ferry at Hahoe Folk Village

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Seen from above

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On top of the Buyongdae Cliff

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Welcome to ConfucianLand, Andong

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The uber modern Confucianland

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ConfucianLand which we renamed Confusionland (a lack of english explanations)

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The longest wooden Bridge in Andong

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The Wooden Bridge

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Looking towards the dam

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The wooden Trail

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Andong Folk Village

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Andong Folk Village

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Andong Folk Village

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Andong Folk Village rest stop where we received free tea

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Andong Folk Village

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Interior of house in Andong Folk Village

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Andong Folk Village

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Andong Folk Village

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Climbing the hills of the Andong Folk Village

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Andong Folk Village

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Andong Folk Village

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Andong Folk Village

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Andong Folk Village

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Andong Folk Village

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The cutest snake warning sign ever.

To be continued…

All photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

BURNING STARS 

/ deuxiemepeau / 9 Comments

 

We are liars, all and often, lying

in folds familiar, hoping

for holds to fill the failure,

settled into settlements

we never wanted but thinking

something, anything, this thing

is better than nothing, while

the Poet prefers to pen

the pessimism than to perish

with it. And still we are liars,

the pen turns thoughts

into reasons, into rough sketches

and in turn we soften the edges

with subtle suggestions

to make the truth more soluble,

the lie more acceptable.

We are all laying in masks

of mistrust, mistruths, the more

we take off- the more we build up.

Clothes cover only the concept

of identity; eyes can be distracted, tongues

can be thought to taste

what they are told, ‘I am forever,’

he said and she licked his longing

that left her not long after. ‘I am

comfort,’ she confided as she set

her claws into his confusion.

And the lie goes on forever,

like the sky; consistently blue

until it’s black, streaked

with bright stars already burning out.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

THE ANGEL OF THE EVENING

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As the evening falls
The angel strides,
Searching for the paths
Of silent mournful cries.

To her bosom she gathers,
Neath her wings she embraces,
All suffering little sinners
Who sigh neath darkened faces.

Her song is sweet
And the melody enchanting
And the wealth of her promise
Angelically enticing.

‘Do come to me,
Your angel of night,
Sweet loves lost children
Who from day have taken flight.

Arise from your shadows
And cast off your mask,
Deceive me with no lies
For it’s your sins that I ask.

Bequeath me with your faults
And I’ll bestow you with innocence,
For I am your saviour
And sweet redemptions are my promises.’

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