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Poetry

"Poetry, to me, is a mirror through which I can see my own soul and a door through which I can enter into others' worlds."

Remy Woobin Lee is a Korean-American bilingual poet originally from Jeju & Seoul, South Korea, who was recognized as one of 45 semifinalists of the National Student Poets Program (NSPP).

He is committed to leveraging the transformative power of poetry to nurture empathy and connection in his community.​ As a passionate advocate of multiculturalism and environmentalism, he hosted multiple poetry readings, workshops, and speeches, including at the Asian American Footsteps Conference 2024 and Eco Day, as well as directing the 2024 & 2025 National Poetry Month celebrations at Hotchkiss as a member of the Student Library Advisory Council.

 

His poetry examines the complex nature of the human psyche, romance, and relationships. His love for poetry blossomed as he moved to a boarding school in the United States in search of self.

National Student Poets Program Poem:

Quote Collection, 2nd floor East, Heart museum.

 

Now that I think about this, lyrics don’t really tell you new stuff

You just find in some of them resonance, a familiar ding of your forgotten lullaby

 

Not all lines are meant for every occasion 

 

They come to you & you pick them

Like figuring out which watch to wear to work

Sometimes they weigh you heavy, 

Sometimes they just don’t ding

 

Resounding lines also change with time

& change in your heart, the fickle picker,

 

As you walk through your anthology of lines

In them you discover a passage of your heart,

 

Bells that used to ring your heart

So loud that it would squirm—

 

Now reflecting no gleam in your deep eyes

Dull as a sandpaper

A vase of past

Holding what your outgrown heart had shed

 

And next to the maps of paintings and assortments of vases

 

You start a new theme

 

A tapestry, a poem

A portrait 

Of your newborn heartborn heart

I am a poet

 

That is not to say I write poems for a living,

I am not quite that broken yet;

 

But that is to say I write poems for my living,

For my sighs to count in fumes of humanity

For my membership in the woeful camaraderie 

of those soft-footed and sin-sighted

may bask in sweet reverie;

 

For the tender prints of my fingers 

resting on this pen

may still hold defiance against time;

 

For this voice of mine memory, mightier than my own,

may still tell its tallies and tales

too far already to tell;

 

For this passenger of be-ing

may still break bread with those lagged behind &

share some skin over shots of Moon’s shine;

 

For this spark of a heart

may live long to see a signal reciprocate, 

a pulse return and fly out

 

For I write poetry to live, and live to laugh and die—

for I pray I must not until I’ve lived and written, 

and saw that it was good.

 

A poet. Some poems. A life.

Ode to the World That I Had Loved

 

I had loved the world,

When it was summer

& the glorious sun groomed the clouds

 

I was laid on the golden ground, 

drunk in the warmth of late noon,

When shy shadow tugged on the willow tree

Its lanky arms sweeping,

Cradling Summer’s child

With soft whispers.

 

I had loved the world

When the fruits cried out honey 

& the sun’s bosoms bloomed bright

 

When the grains grew wise &

Lifted their delights with arched behinds.

 

Even when the world was silent & stifled white

I had loved it still,

Called its cold smile bountiful,

found its frozen hills so fine.

 

I had loved the world

When the hills thawed

And the streams thickened

 

When the green hues spawned through the armored white and

Bled the hills green, green, golden.

 

Oh, I had loved, 

loved the world!—

Magnolia & osmanthus hanging

In wisps in wind

Leaving trail

Like no other wild perfume—once forgotten, but twice buried than abandoned, 

Luring me again to follow—

 

—Oh, how I have loved the world!

Dear-ssert

 

If you are what you eat, dear—

 

Then let me be your golden creme brûlée,

My dented sugar armor

Glazing on your torch-erous love

 

If you are what you eat,

Then let me be your brown tiramisu  

Terse and scornful with cocoa-coughs

but smooth & rich like no other

 

If you are what you eat,

Then let me be your chocolate fondant,

My frosty fortress embracing your silver saber

My sticky black heart oozing out for you

 

If you are what you eat,

& that you like to eat is sweet,

Would you let me be your dessert

Serve the sweet love you deserve

© 2025 Remy W. Lee. All rights reserved.
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