Urge and urge and urge,
Always the procreant urge of the world.
Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex,
Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.
To elaborate is no avail, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so. - Whitman, Song of Myself 3.It’s hot n sweaty here where I live. "Chobok" (初伏), meaning “First Dog Day” is traditionally July 15th but this year, a bit late. These “bok” days (there are 3 in total) define summer here. It’s just 6-7 weeks long but it sizzles.
Here in S. Korea, the summer “hot” season arrives with a bang and then just stays. It’s hot, 35-40 degrees and 100% humidity. It’s like a stove was turned on.
There is a whole set of traditions associated with it and how Koreans handle it. They range from hot chicken soup (samgyetang) to red bean porridge (patjuk) to watermelon. Traditionally, like the Arabs, Koreans believe you fight “heat with heat”. So drink something, eat something hot to survive the heat.
Nobody is outside, unless you venture out early in the morning. And even then, you’re labeled half-crazy. It’s like the inverse on a Canadian winter. Everyone stays indoors or drives in their air conditioned cars. It is what it is …
Sidebar: Korea has a very low birthrate. It’s disconcerting to many. The good news is, during Sambok, the most babies are conceived. Seems hot and sweaty is good for the nation.
But the cicadas are a true sign of the “bok” days. They start singing and you know it’s hot. They are such interesting creatures, if you care to do a little digging. In Korea, they are urbanites. In Japan, only in the countryside. Go figure. And entomologists are very uncertain about their habits, behaviors.
I love sitting outside early in the morning, with the dog and just listening to the off / on of their cry. It’s deafening, particularly when it is going to be very, very hot. As I sat today, I wrote a few words about these cicadas.
7am
already the summer heat is on the rise
already the cicadas are singing from the belly
already lust and desire fill the trees and fall on my ears.It’s a mystery;
nobody knows why it begins
nobody knows why it ends
the best we got is that it is a mating call,
a procreant urge to belong
to the longer version of life.More melodic than a Motown song
more industrous than a 1,000 data farms
more awoke in truth than a Tibetan gong
the cicadas play out nature’s right and wrong.I feel at home embraced by
this constant calling and the melodious
chorus of the many immodest cicadas
who delight in daylight frolicking.Alas, the heat is too much.
I return to my air-conditioned nightmare
12 floors up and the artificial hum
of an over-worked and worhipped A/C unit
that tempers the sweaty fervor that is life.
