Korean poems

[jinjang]

Yun Tong-Ju (1917-1945)

All the excerpts of poems here I post are translated by Jaihuin Kim from the book Master Poems from Modern Korea since 1920

COUNTING THE STARS

Up in the sky where seasons pass
autumn fills the air.
In this quietude
I could almost count those autumnal stars,
yet I may not count them off one by one,
....



1940's

[jinjang]

Translated by Jai Huin Kim

DOES SPRING COME TO A LOST LAND?

Does spring come to this land no more our own,
to these extorted fields?
Bathed in the sun I go as if in a dream along a lane
that cuts across paddy-fields like parted hair


....


-1926

[jinjang]

Translated by JaiHiun Kim

INVOCATION

O name shattered to bits.
O name vanished into the void.
O name without response.
O name I'll be calling till death.


....


-1923

[Virgil]

Oh my Jin, those are just lovely poems. All I can think is how we in the west have gotten so cynical over the past century. I bet they just sound lovely in Korean.

By the way we have quite a Korean contingent in my neighborhood here where I live. It was funny a number of years ago. I decided to go to a Sunday night mass (I'm Roman Catholic) just because I saw people gathering by my church, and I didn't realize they had a Sunday night mass. So I decided I should attend since i wasn't doing anything and I noticed when I went in that everyone was asian. I thought that was odd at the time, and then when the priest walked up, he was asian too and I didn't know we had an asian priest. As you can guess i he started doing the mass in a language I didn't understand. I've been to a masses where it's in latin and in Italian but never in any other language. I can kind of pick up latin or italian but this was certainly a language I did not understand. At first I thought it was Filopino, since we have a substantial Filopino population around. But I got the feeling it wasn't. A girl sitteing next to me in the pew noticed I was not understanding, so she leans over and says this is in Korean. Oh I said, no wonder I don't understand. Will the entire mass be in Korean I asked? Yes, she said, so sweetly, you can stay but I'm sure you won't understand. Well, I didn't though the parts of the mass are universal and I went along. But I thought it was funny. I had not realized that so many koreans were Roman Catholic.

[jinjang]

I am glad you appreciated the Korean poems I posted here.

I was a Roman Catholic for 6 years. Catholic churches provided me a quietude for my meditations in the bustle of the city I lived in. Catholics were mostly private and less intrusive when it came to others' belief and theirs. I may have joined it for two reasons: the people and the priests. The two inspirational priests I met there could recite books and poems along with their sermons. "A beggar will remind you of Jesus Christ, when you start loving Christ, as the golden wheat fields will remind you of the Little Prince," said a gentle priest. About 5 millions out of 50 million Koreans are Catholics. A lot more are protestants.

May I ask which one is your favorite?

[billl]

I read them and liked them too. Maybe the second one the most.

[jinjang]

The same translator

WHAT A FALLEN SOLDIER SAYS

In a solitary mountain valley
I see a lone soldier dying,
wordless, motionless,
his eyes closed skyward.


....

[prendrelemick]

They are beautiful poems jinjang. I like the way they draw their imagery from the natural world and evoke the beauty found there.

I found these lines especially striking:

Blood is still gushing out of his heart;
it smells more pungent than roses.

Blood and roses are often compared by colour, but smell is so viceral and has a high impact.

I like the second poem best though. The connection of people and their land is something we are losing in our overconfident western societies, but I feel it strongly especially in springtime.

[Virgil]

I am glad you appreciated the Korean poems I posted here.

I was a Roman Catholic for 6 years. Catholic churches provided me a quietude for my meditations in the bustle of the city I lived in. Catholics were mostly private and less intrusive when it came to others' belief and theirs. I might have joined it for two reasons: the people and the priests. The two inspirational priests I met there could recite books and poems along with their sermons. "A beggar will remind you of Jesus Christ, when you start loving Christ, as the golden wheat fields will remind you of the Little Prince," said a gentle priest. About 5 millions out of 50 million Koreans are Catholics. A lot more are protestants.

May I ask which one is your favorite?
I did not realize one tenth of Koreans were Catholic.

I am really captured by this:


Does spring come to this land no more our own,
to these extorted fields?
Bathed in the sun I go as if in a dream along a lane
that cuts across paddy-fields like parted hair
to where the blue sky and the green field merge.
You mute heaven and silence fields,
I do not feel I have come here on my own;
tell me if I am driven by you or some hidden force.

[jinjang]

Blood and roses are often compared by colour, but smell is so viceral and has a high impact.
A good point! I naturally cringe at the sight or even mention of blood. I must have quickly browsed through that part. I agree with you: If one could imagine the smell, one must feel more keenly the aversion. I am anti-war. When others waged wars on Korean people countless times, which was true most of the time, they had to fight in the past. The humiliation of our colonization (1910-1945) by Japan left a big scar on many of our grandfathers and grandmothers. I understand the sentiment in the poem, even opposing any wars.

I like the second poem best though. The connection of people and their land is something we are losing in our overconfident western societies, but I feel it strongly especially in springtime.
It was written during our colonization by Japan, but I can see what you mean and how it can apply to our modern times. I see every day the nature get cleared to give room for more constructions for cookie-cutter residential areas. I keenly feel a sense of loss, looking at the bulldozed land. Every city should limit its boundary to make space for nature and wild animals. Thank you for reading my posts!


I bet they just sound lovely in Korean.
I am sorry I failed to answer this part.

Yes, they do sound lovely to my ear. I am leaving out many great poems in the book because they fall flat in translation. They are all Korean classical poems we grew up with. A masterpiece love story turns into a soap opera in translation, I feel. You know that already: there is a big difference between translating from French to English and from Korean to English. Little thread of commonalities between two vastly different languages makes it impossible to preserve all the beauty of an original poem when in translation.

[Virgil]

Translating poetry really is tough. The sound and rhythm of the language never comes through, and sounds are so important of in the art of language. But one does the best one can. Other than learning a foreign language, translation is the best one can do.

[jinjang]

Translating poetry really is tough
I agree. March Hare in French Symbolism thread mentioned it, too. What did he or she call? A mug's job? Translating is a daunting task but what I mean to say is that you lose more from Korean to English than from French to Egnlish.

This literature Network is excellent!

[prendrelemick]

The languages are from completely different roots, and the people are of different races.
But the sentiment, and inspiration behind poems you selected, show me that we have much in common. Perhaps there are universal themes that strike a chord everywhere.

[Gustavo L.]

Perhaps there are universal themes that strike a chord everywhere.

Yeah, I agree.

And thank you, jinjang, for share these beautiful poems. I think it's the first time I’ve read Korean poetry.

[jinjang]

OK, then, thank you! Let me see if I can keep the universal theme...
Here is one more poem and I hope you will like it as I do:

The same translator

I DO NOT KNOW

Whose step is that paulownia leaf
that falls silently in vertical wavelets
against the windless sky?

Whose face is that blue sky

....


-1926

[jinjang]

THE POPPY*

Ready to faint when held;
to crumble when hugged,
that flower is no other than
the poppy whose fame once drowsed
the whole of China
Though a mere yearly plant
it flares up my sunset garden
with its charm and beauty.


....





*Named after Yanggueyfei, it refers to the episode of her reigning beauty which captivated Emporer Shien and finally brought him to ruin.

[Virgil]

Very nice Jin. I like The Poppy.


Ready to snap when shaken,
more enchanting when pressed by lips,
the voluptuous beauty
of that poppy, a yearly plant,
once drowsed the whole of China.

Eye closed,
I see them dance;
a throug of nudes
dance around it;
dance drunk with dancing
What an image. I hope the poet meant female nudes, because that's got my piqued my interest. :D

[March Hare]

I like this selection of poems. I like the Kim So Wol especially. Tell me, Jin, is there a Walt Whitman of Korean poetry? I mean some poet who stands above the rest. Or a movement such as the romantics in England? Are the poets even placed into groups as they are in the Americas and Europe?

My apologies, I am unfamiliar with Korean. What writing system was used to write these poems? Is it called Hanga?

[prendrelemick]

Another beautiful poem that draws its imagery from nature, and uses man's universal apreciation and knowedge of the natural, for its effects. Is this a typical feature of Korean Poetry? Are there any recognised urban poets in Korea?

[jinjang]

Tell me, Jin, is there a Walt Whitman of Korean poetry? I mean some poet who stands above the rest.
Except Pak Song-yong who wrote POPPY, all the poets in this thread stand out equally in our heart and other equally important poets have yet to be included. Pak Song-yong is a contemporary poet and, therefore, less known.


I mean some poet who stands above the rest. Or a movement such as the romantics in England? Are the poets even placed into groups as they are in the Americas and Europe?
Thank you for asking because I did not think of giving different movements of these poems. Most of my poetry books are in Korean (Han-gul) ranging from classical to modern poetry. Not daring to translate them myself, I have been choosing these from the one book I have all in translation: Master Poems from Modern Korea since 1920.

Early 20th century is when our poets started having influence from West and from 1900 to about 1930, they are called new-style (different from traditional Chinese-influenced Korean poems written in Chinese characters) and romantic movement. From 1930 to 1940 there came purism and intellectualism in which period includes surrealism. Mid 1930 there also appeared nature and pro-life (not related to anti-abortion but in favor of vitality and life in general) movement. There came our independence and Korean War period followed by the contemporary 1960’s and 70’s on. The contemporary one has symbolism, surrealism, and the rest. Many poems are in mix of Korean and Chinese. When Chinese characters are used, it is most likely to clarify the homophones.

COUNTING THE STARS - nature and life movement;

DOES SPRING COME TO A LOST LAND? – new-style and romanticism;

INVOCATION – new-style and romanticism;

WHAT A FALLEN SOLDIER SAYS – so far the only female poet in the thread, Purism and Intellectualism;

I DO NOT KNOW – new-style and romanticism;

POPPY - contemporary


I hope the poet meant female nudes, because that's got my piqued my interest.:D

Ha ha…they are definitely female. You should live in France or in northern Europe because they are definitely more in tone with nature and because they seem to be at ease in nude without any sexual connotation. I ran into an interesting introduction to Sons and Lovers that has some excerpts from Lawrence’s review of Death in Venice. I will add it to my book review.



Another beautiful poem that draws its imagery from nature, and uses man's universal apreciation and knowedge of the natural, for its effects. Is this a typical feature of Korean Poetry? Are there any recognised urban poets in Korea?
Not at all. They are simply my favorites. Let me see if I can choose something different:

Yi Sang (1910-1937)

THE MIRROR

There is no sound in the mirror;
perhaps no world is that quiet.
I have ears in the mirror too,
two pitiful ears
that cannot hear my own voice.

....



-1934 (Surrealism)

[jinjang]

LIFE CHAPTER

When my knowledge fails before poisonous doubts
and my life is wilting like a blighted plant
unable to bear the burden of love and loathing
I will light out onto the remote desert of Arabia




In this burning solitude,
------
------
if I should fail to realize the essence in me
and my life in its state of primeval forest,
I would rather leave without regrets my bones
bleached in some nook of the sandy wilderness.

-1936 (Nature and Life)

ROCK

When I die, I shall be a rock,
Love and pity shall not touch,
nor joy nor anger moves me.
Exposed to the slashing weather
I will whip myself to withdraw inwards
in eternal, impersonal silence
until life itself is lost to memory:
drifting clouds, distant thunder.
No song will I ever sing
even in dreams;
nor will I weep in pain…

[quasimodo1]

The Greeting 2
I trust you're well. Another year has passed.
At the railing of the Tongjak Bridge I stand
looking out lazily over the golden river.
The water rushing westward
as if it would linger here a little longer
leaves behind
a surface quivering all by itself
like the fringes of a Turkish rug.
That light, if only I had compared it to
your narrow scowling eyes, I thought.

I only now received the postcard
you sent from Machu Picchu. ... {excerpt}

{Hwang Jiwoo, translated by Swaner Scott & Young-Jun Lee}

[Virgil]

LIFE CHAPTER

When my knowledge fails before poisonous doubts
and my life is wilting like a blighted plant
unable to bear the burden of love and loathing
I will light out onto the remote desert of Arabia

Where the sun blazes forever like the phoenix;
Allah alone wanders in agony over the expanse
of burning sands in everlasting desolation
that buries alive every living entity.

In this burning solitude,
What a marvelous opening to a poem. :)

Quasi, that's a really good one too. Thanks.

[jinjang]

Thank you! It is simply better to enjoy the poems with others than alone.
I am naturally of happy disposition but I seem to prefer sad poems.

Kim Kwang-gyun

GASLIGHT

The pale gaslight hangs against the empty sky.
Where does its sad signal beckon me to go?
The long summer day hastens to fold its feathers.
Rows of towering buildings dip in the twilight....





-1939

[jinjang]

Pyon Yong-no (1897-1961)

My own translation:

SPRING RAIN

A voice is calling, subdued and quiet.
I go out to see, ah, I go out to see.
A drowsy milky cloud drifts,
breathing heavily and dawdling lazily.

....



-1922

[prendrelemick]

Well done jinjang, another lovely poem. To translate a poem from another culture is no small thing.

I find myself examining the imagery and finding it reassuringly familiar. The sentiments and concerns expressed, and their progression through the verses are also familiar. It is the same with all the poetry you have put on this thread. I don't know why but I am somehow suprised at this, (and pleased.)

[Virgil]

Pyon Yong-no (1897-1961)

My own translation:

SPRING RAIN

A voice is calling, subdued and quiet.
I go out to see, ah, I go out to see.
A drowsy milky cloud drifts,
breathing heavily and dawdling lazily.

....



-1922

Excellent Jin. I can't vouch for the accuracy of the translation, but it certainly has its own beauty. That last stanza is very striking and really concludes the poem well.

[jinjang]

Virgil, I appreciate as always for your kind response.

The first two lines repeat identically in all three stanza:
"A voice is calling, subdued and quiet.
I go out to see, ah, I go out to see."

Because the word "quiet" alone does not deliver the complete meaning of the original word, I modified it in the second stanza as "secret" to give its undercurrent meaning.


Well done jinjang, another lovely poem. To translate a poem from another culture is no small thing.

Because I so wanted to post my beloved poem in its entirety, I gave it my best. I am very glad you liked it, too.

[jinjang]

Kim Tong-Myong (1901-1966)

My own translation:

MY HEART

My heart is a lake.
Come row your boat.
Hugging your white shadow, like jades
I will shatter into pieces by your sides.



....



-1937

Kim So-Wol(1902 - 1934)

He is my favorite poet.
Here is an article about him:http://www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/news/opinon/2008/01/137_17042.html


FAR IN THE FUTURE

Far in the future, when you look for me,
I will say, “I have forgotten.”

....




-1922

[jinjang]

There surfaces once in a while the debate between Korea and Japan for which country the isle belong to. "It is located 40 km east of the Korean peninsula, serving as the easternmost outpost of Korea." East Sea is what is known as Sea of Japan.

Yu Chi-hwan (1908 - 1967), my second favorite poet.
Translation by Jaihiun Kim

THE ISLE OF ULLUNG

----
----
The towering ranges of Mt. Changbaek that rolls
down in sweeping beauty across the land
must have flipped it into shape,
the youngest favorite of the territory.


....




-1948

[jinjang]

If my translation does not sound right in English, please do not hesitate to point out. I will be glad to adjust.

Sin Sok-Chong (1907-1974)

IT IS NOT YET TIME TO LIGHT THE CANDLE

The thin rays of the evening sun, slanting over the hill, feel sad.
Mother, please do not light the candle yet.
And are not the little birds of my meditation still
flying in the blue field of sky?
When at last the sky grows red like a red apple,
they say the little birds will come back with the darkness;
Our little lambs will not come home, enjoying the lingering sun beam and
lying on the worn-out green bed of the slope;
At long last, the evening fog is starting to spread thickly over the calm lake.
Nonetheless, Mother, it is not yet time to light the candle.
The quiet meditative face of an old mountain has not faded yet.
I have not heard the sound of the footsteps,
rustling against the hem of a black skirt dragged by the evening,
out of the far-off forests.
The sound of waves lapping across the distant dike gradually fades away,
It must be that the crows have fled far away with the wind,
after their visit to our savanna in late autumn.
Now the baby turns in his sleep on your back,
wanting to listen to your humming a lullaby.
Mother, please do not light the candle yet.
At long last, there appears a tiny star
in the sky beyond the timberline.

-1933

[quasimodo1]

jinjang: This is seamless English translation as far as a non-speaker can tell; don't change a word.

[jinjang]

Thank you very much, Mr. Quasimodo1! Your kind words mean a lot to me. I did my best to keep the original meanings and I was afraid that the flow of the poem may have been neglected. I will sleep very well after this and I will be grinning all day long. Happy Fourth of July!

Let me add a bit about the poet, Sin Sok-Chong (1907-1974):
He was born in Buan, a town in the province Chollabuk-do of South Korea, as I was. Chollabuk-do is the second most southern province on the west side and Buan is a small town near the west coast of Korean peninsula.

With the literary tradition of his family, the whole family moved into a remote village deep in the mountains in order to avoid the colonialists. Growing up in the mountains, he naturally developed the love of nature. He is known as the pastoral poet and the love of nature was his religion, which manifests itself in his poems.

[jinjang]

No Chon-Myong (1913-1957), the second female poet in the thread

I can not make up my mind about the first line and my mind is still divided. Alternate version of the first line: A sad creature with your long neck,

My translation:

DEER

Your long neck makes you a sad creature.
You always remain silent in gentle dignity.
With your fragrant crown,
you must have come from a high noble tribe.

Looking at your own reflection in the water,
you recall the lost legend.
With helpless nostalgia,
you crane your sad neck
to gaze at the distant mountains.

-1938

[jinjang]

I am rather frustrated and depressed, being unable to deliver the original beauty and the rhythm of the poem DEER above. It is a short but powerful poem. No matter how much I touch up, it just falls flat. She used liaisons not with consonants but with vowels. With such dainty and light steps like deer’s, how can you be sadistic and narcissistic?

Kim Hyon-Sung (1913-1976)

THE ABSOLUTE SOLITUDE

Only now have I come to touch
the remote edge of eternity I have been thinking of.

On that edge I rub my eyes
at last to awake from my long slumber.

From my fingertips
Although the stars of eternity scatter
and lose their lights,
from my fingertips

I feel anew the body heat
that comes even closer to me.
Through this heat and in solitary,
I embrace my eternity
that ends in me.
Now I end up setting adrift like dust
from my fingertips
the wings of my words lined with soft dreams.

Stroking again and again
the beautiful eternity that ends in me
with my winkled hands.

At my fingertips that cannot reach any farther
I close my lips in the end – together with my poems.

-1966

[jinjang]

Yi Yuk-Sa (1904-1944)

“Born in Andong, Kyong Sang Nam Do, in South Korea, Yi, better known by his pseudonym, Yuk-Sa, studied sociology at Peking University. He was jailed in Peking because of his underground activity for Korean independence and died in prison.”

Translator: Jaihiun Kim

THE GRAPES

Come July in my native town
grapes ripen into fruitfulness.

The legend of the place
hangs in clusters on vines.
The dreamy sky far out
comes to sink in each grape.

When the sea blue as the sky above
bares her breasts and a white sailboat comes
gracefully to the shore,
the guest dear to my heart will arrive,
way-worn, in a blue robe.

If he comes to share these grapes,
why should I mind wetting my hands?

------
------
-1939

[jinjang]

Kim Kwang-Gyun

Translator: Jaihiun Kim

LYRICISM OF AN AUTUMN DAY

Fallen leaves are the bank notes of the Polish
government in exile.
They remind me of an autumn sky spread
over the bombed-out city of Tulon.
The road like a rumpled necktie fades
into the cataracts of sunlight.
The 2 p.m. express races across the plains
puffing up cigarette smoke into the air.
The factory roofs flash their teeth
between the ribs of poplar trees.
Beneath a cellophane cloud sways in the wind
a crooked wire fence.
---
I catapult a stone into the air as if to shake
the gloom of thought off my chest;
It sinks, drawing a parabola,
beyond the screen of a slanting landscape.

-1940

[jinjang]

Yi Yuk-Sa (1904-1944)

My translation:

WILDERNESS

Eons of time ago
when heaven was first opened,
Hardly was there any cry of a rooster.

Even when the entire mountain ranges
drawn twirling seaward in love,
they dared not defile this place.

Countless times
the busy seasons bloomed and faded
A big river sprang open at last into flowing.

Snow falling, a lone aroma floats
from ume blossoms far off;
Scatter the seeds of humble songs!

In eons of time hence
A super being will come on a prancing white horse.
Let him chant the songs to echo in this wilderness.

-1940

To view ume blossoms, please go to the link:
http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2163/2304539022_a3b724d5f5.jpg

[Virgil]

Thanks Jin. I really liked the "Wilderness" poem, but they were all good. I really appreciate you translating and posting these. It gives me some insight into another culture and another tradition of poetry.

[jinjang]

I think you would have laughed out loud if you saw "any cry of a ****."

When the moderator replaced "any cry of a c**k" with "any cry of a ****," I was embarrassed first but I laughed out later, after quickly modifying **** with rooster. When I typed "any cry of a c**k," it did not cross my mind that I was using a forbidden word. I did not see it in context in that light. It was amusing.

I am very glad you enjoy them!

[jinjang]

Park, Hee-Jin

Bodhisattva is the goddess of mercy. The poet found comfort and peace in Bodhisattva from his despair and pain caused by his experience during the Korean War.

http://www.online-literature.com/forums/picture.php?albumid=514&pictureid=4770

My translation:

TO BODHISATTVA

Resting your foot on the stone lotus blossom
that cannot wither;
hence transcending the infinite time of this world,
Ah, you sit so near
yet so faintly far away.




....



-1956

[jinjang]

Ki, Hyung-Do (1960-1989)

He died at the age of 29 and his first and last collection of poems, A Black Leaf in My Mouth , was published in 1989 two months after his death.

My translations:

AN EMPTY HOUSE

Having lost my love, I write.

Farewell, brief nights.
Wandering winter fog outside the window,
Candlelight in its ignorance, Farewell!
White papers lying in wait for panic,
Tears in place of my hesitance,
Farewell, longing no longer mine.

Like a blind man, I now grope to lock the door.
My poor love is shut in the empty house.


A BLACK LEAF IN MY MOUTH

A Taxi driver shouts every now and then
putting his head out of the dark window
At each shout, birds fly away.
Passing through this strange field and twilight,
I think of him whom I have never met.

When it happened, I was at a distant province.
I was reading a book in a dusty room.
Thick fog covered the whole plain outside.
That summer the ground wandered, dragging my books and black leaf.
White smokes sprang out whenever folded clothes were opened.
He wrote that silence fits only a servant.
I have seen his face only once.
He bent his head slightly on a newspaper photograph.
Then it happened. Soon after the incident, he died.

His funeral was glossy all over in a gust of storm.
The hearse carrying his corpse advanced intolerably slow.
People were clutching obstinately at his funeral procession.
Black leaves were swaying all around the white car.
My tongue gradually hardened.
His little son burst into tears,
being unable to bear any longer the surrounding leaves.
That summer many disappeared in a mess
and reappeared in the silence of surprised others.
The tongues of the dead overflew the streets.
The Taxi driver looks back every now and then.
I do not trust the driver, in horror,
I grope, he is a dead man.
How many funerals stifled their breathings because of him?
Then, who is he? To which place am I going?
I can no longer keep silent. No one knows
where it can happen again. Wherever,
I must go to a nearby province.
Passing through this strange field and twilight,
I fear the black leaf clutching obstinately in my mouth.

IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE

The day was a staggering winter.
We mingled with others.
It was all my fault.
The very proximity eased me.
I want to forget the tavern.
I will run away when its memory comes.
The men were drunk with all their strength.
My stares poured out like straws.
None of the shouts could strike my mind.
There is none like you in this world.
All my memories lost a resting place.
I sobbed in that tavern.
The day was an intoxicating winter.
We mingled with others.
The men were tottering holding on to their remaining strength.
I have ugly lips.
It was all my fault.
I sobbed standing next to the coat left behind.
None of the laughs could raise my heavy heart.
I want to forget the tavern.
There is none like you in this world.
I lost my love in that narrow place.

[Logos]

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[jinjang]

Those are my translations.
I am sorry not to indicate that.

May I repost them?

[Logos]

Oh! I didn't realise they were *your* translations jinjang -- I'm sorry I had shortened some of your posts.. yes of course you can edit your posts to put the full version in or repost them.

[jinjang]

Ki, Hyung-Do (1960-1989)

He died at the age of 29 and his first and last collection of poems, A Black Leaf in My Mouth , was published in 1989 two months after his death.

My translations:

AN EMPTY HOUSE

Having lost my love, I write.

Farewell, brief nights.
Wandering winter fog outside the window,
Candlelight in its ignorance, Farewell!
White papers lying in wait for panic,
Tears in place of my hesitance,
Farewell, longing no longer mine.

Like a blind man, I now grope to lock the door.
My poor love is shut in the empty house.


A BLACK LEAF IN MY MOUTH

A Taxi driver shouts every now and then
putting his head out of the dark window
At each shout, birds fly away.
Passing through this strange field and twilight,
I think of him whom I have never met.

When it happened, I was at a distant province.
I was reading a book in a dusty room.
Thick fog covered the whole plain outside.
That summer the ground wandered, dragging my books and black leaf.
White smokes sprang out whenever folded clothes were opened.
He wrote that silence fits only a servant.
I have seen his face only once.
He bent his head slightly on a newspaper photograph.
Then it happened. Soon after the incident, he died.

His funeral was glossy all over in a gust of storm.
The hearse carrying his corpse advanced intolerably slow.
People were clutching obstinately at his funeral procession.
Black leaves were swaying all around the white car.
My tongue gradually hardened.
His little son burst into tears,
being unable to bear any longer the surrounding leaves.
That summer many disappeared in a mess
and reappeared in the silence of surprised others.
The tongues of the dead overflew the streets.
The Taxi driver looks back every now and then.
I do not trust the driver, in horror,
I grope, he is a dead man.
How many funerals stifled their breathings because of him?
Then, who is he? To which place am I going?
I can no longer keep silent. No one knows
where it can happen again. Wherever,
I must go to a nearby province.
Passing through this strange field and twilight,
I fear the black leaf clutching obstinately in my mouth.

IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE

The day was a staggering winter.
We mingled with others.
It was all my fault.
The very proximity eased me.
I want to forget the tavern.
I will run away when its memory comes.
The men were drunk with all their strength.
My stares poured out like straws.
None of the shouts could strike my mind.
There is none like you in this world.
All my memories lost a resting place.
I sobbed in that tavern.
The day was an intoxicating winter.
We mingled with others.
The men were tottering holding on to their remaining strength.
I have ugly lips.
It was all my fault.
I sobbed standing next to the coat left behind.
None of the laughs could raise my heavy heart.
I want to forget the tavern.
There is none like you in this world.
I lost my love in that narrow place.

[mono]

Beautiful work by Hyung-Do - thanks for sharing, jinjang. I especially liked the first one, "An Empty House." Feel free to share more of his work, if you feel up to it. :)

[Judas130]

The same translator

WHAT A FALLEN SOLDIER SAYS

In a solitary mountain valley
I see a lone soldier dying,
wordless, motionless,
his eyes closed skyward.


....

This is wonderfully poignant. It reminds me of imagism, but that may be because of the translation, i'm not sure. Thank you for posting these poems!
peace