This poem is full of things. I’d like to talk about each one of them. There are beautiful sentences, a persimmon tree, sunlight, and the glow of the setting sun. The moon, an eye of the sky, is there with teary eyes. West wind and birdseed for magpies are there too. There’s everything except for one thing: sound. There is no sound of a voice, meaning nobody is talking here. There’s no auditory image. Although there is no sound in this poem, I don’t feel anything lacking.
There are many languages that carry meaning, and one of them is sound. However, movement is also a language. The way you look is also a language of your heart. A language with sound goes to the ears from the lips, but a language without sound goes to the heart from the heart. Sometimes, a language that doesn’t make sense is more genuine.
There is no sound in this poem, but it is full of a language that goes heart to heart. A young speaker listens to the persimmon tree, talks with the glow of the sunset, and resonates with the moonlight. This is why I feel this poem is full of things. There are many conversations in this poem. We have forgotten for too long about how many things the sunset, a persimmon tree, the sky, and birdseed for magpies can talk about.