Something always remains after I write a poem. It doesn’t fill up no matter how much effort I put into it. Something remains, and that margin shames me. It’s an odd feeling, a mixture of remorse and anticipation for a new poem. That power of superfluity makes me consider poetry, crave it desperately.
From “Poet’s Essay”

Lee Jae hoon lends his ears to silent beings in his poetry collection Rock is Thunder. To be precise, he opens the mouth of the silent. It’s to cut a sedimentary rock open, to open a Pandora’s box, to give air to the beings that are believed to not exist. This gentle, refreshing work is like bursting open the unique stories inside a rock, once more raising the beings that could but turn to stone. It’s returning the forgotten name to its owner.

Oh Eun (Poet)