Standing by a Winter Field by Oh Sae-young

Posted on December 24, 2012

Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Darcy Brandel

Photography by Hwang Moon-sung

Standing by a Winter Field by Oh Sae-young

A person suffering from love
even once
should visit a winter field.
There is fullness
of an empty space, pleasure
of a person giving freely.
A few fallen grains
on a rice paddy after the harvest.

A person mourning separation

even once
should visit a winter field.
There is comfort
in the heaven that eternalizes
these encounters on earth.
The eyes of a pond
looking up at faraway stars.
A person afflicted with longing
even once
should visit a winter field.
There is awareness
that to watch you is to watch me,
to be alone is to be with others.
The scarecrow
watching the empty field alone.

겨울들녘에서서/오세영

사랑으로 괴로운 사람은

한 번쯤
겨울 들녘에 가 볼 일이다.
빈 공간의 충만,
아낌 없이 주는 자의 기쁨이
거기 있다.
가을 걷이가 끝난 논에
떨어진 낟알 몇 개.

이별을 슬퍼하는 사람은

한번쯤
겨울 들녘에 가볼 일이다.
지상의 만남을
하늘에서 영원케 하는 자의 안식이
거기 있다.
먼 별을 우러르는
둠벙의 눈빛.

그리움으로 아픈 사람은
한번쯤
겨울 들녘에 가볼 일이다.
너를 지킨다는 것은 곧 나를 지킨다는 것,
홀로 있음으로 오히려 더불어 있게된 자의 성찰이
거기 있다.
빈들을 쓸쓸히 지키는 논둑의 저
허수아비.

Oh Se-young (1942~ )was born in Yeongkwang, Jeollanam-do. He is both a prolific

poet and critic. He has published eighteencollections of poetry. His lyrical poetry is known for its
simplicity; it is often imbued with Buddhist imagination of the emptiness of self and nonattachment
to materialism. After years of shuttling between academia and creative writing, he has recently
retired from teaching at Seoul National University. Oh is a recipient of many prestigious awards
including the Sowol Poetry Award, the Jung Ji-yong Literary Award, and the Manhae Literary
Award.
Posted in Oh Sae-young | Tagged winter poem | Leave a reply

The Winter Sea by Kim Nam-jo

Posted on December 24, 2012
2
Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid

Photography by Shawn Malone

The Winter Sea by Kim Nam-jo (1927- )

I went out to see the winter sea.
The unknown bird, the bird I wished to see,
had died and wasn’t there.

The bitter sea wind froze

even the truth into tears
when I thought of you.
The fire of futility
was burning above the water.

It is always
time
that teaches me.
Nodding my head, I stand in the winter sea.

Though my remaining days are few,

let me have a soul
where one prayer opens
the door to more passionate prayers.

I went out to see the winter sea.

The water of endurance was creating
pillars in the depths of the water.

겨울바다/김남조
겨울 바다에 가 보았지
미지(未知)의 새
보고 싶던 새들은 죽고 없었네

그대 생각을 했건만도
매운 해풍에
그 진실마저 눈물져 얼어 버리고
허무의 불 물이랑 위에
불붙어 있었네

나를 가르치는 건
언제나 시간
끄덕이며 끄덕이며 겨울 바다에 섰었네
남은 날은 적지만
기도를 끝낸 다음 더욱 뜨거운
기도의 문이 열리는
그런 영혼을 갖게 하소서

겨울 바다에 가 보았지
인고(忍苦)의 물이
수심(水深) 속에 기둥을 이루고 있었네

출전: “현대문학” (1967)

Posted in Kim Nam-jo | Tagged sea, winter poem | 2 Replies

The Snow Day by Kim Nam-jo

Posted on December 24, 2012
Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid
Painted by Kang Jang-won

The Snow Day by Kim Nam-jo (1927- )

The Winter tree
and the wind–
the wind’s long tress of hair
hangs all day long on the edge of the branches

like transparent laundry,

making the tree and the wind
become one, no longer isolated from one another.

Not alone.
Nobody is alone.
Neither am I.
In fact, even when I stood alone under the sky,
hasn’t the sky at least stood with me?

Life always stands somewhere

on the stone stairs
of grace.

Love always stands somewhere

on the gravel road
of Providence.

Soothing the complaints with words,

I will live, becoming more generous.
Knowing life is a grateful festival,
I will enjoy this life.

The tears that have ascended, pure icy flowers

around my eyes this new year,
descend again, carrying white snow.

설일(雪日)/김남조
겨울 나무와
바람
머리채 긴 바람들은 투명한 빨래처럼
진종일 가지 끝에 걸려
나무도 바람도
혼자가 아닌 게 된다.
혼자는 아니다
누구도 혼자는 아니다
나도 아니다
실상 하늘 아래 외톨이로 서 보는 날도
하늘만은 함께 있어 주지 않던가

삶은 언제나
은총(恩寵)의 돌층계의
어디쯤이다

사랑도 매양
섭리(攝理)의 자갈밭의
어디쯤이다

이적진 말로써 풀던 마음 말로써 삭이고

얼마 더 너그러워져서 이 생명을 살자
황송한 축연이라 알고
한 세상을 누리자

새해의 눈시울이
순수의 얼음꽃, 승천한 눈물들이 다시 땅 위에 떨구이는
백설을 담고 온다.

Posted in Kim Nam-jo | Tagged Snow, winter poem | Leave a reply

The Moonrise Hill by Lee Sung-bu

Posted on October 11, 2012
1
Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid
Jiri Mountain; Photography by Ha Sung-mok

The Moonrise Hill by Lee Sung-bu

The moon that rises over Jiri Mountain
doesn’t illuminate grass and trees and roads,
but she shines upon the traces of tears
that won’t come off from inside people’s hearts.
The stars of early autumn look closer
and the sky is a deep blue mirror.
The hearts touched by this moonlight
have disappeared in a row, intermittently,
into the mountain’s shadow, and today,
even the ghosts have stopped their wandering and shouting
and pass between shadows, dropping their heads.
I only glimpsed the moon that rises over the hill–
a moon that has seen me in the midst of quiet and yet has not spoken–
and I have collapsed on the grass to catch my breath.
Every time brightness and shadow rustle together,
I hear lost love, sorrow, and anger
rushing in again.

달뜨기재/ 이성부
지리산에 뜨는 달은
풀과 나무과 길을 비추는 것이 아니라
사람들 마음속 지워지지 않는
눈물자국을 비춘다
초가을 별들도 더욱 가까워서
하늘이 온통 시퍼런 거울이다
이 달빛이 묻은 마음들은
한줄로 띄엄띄엄 산그림자 속으로 사라지고
귀신들도 오늘은 떠돌며 소리치는 것을 멈추어
그림자 사이로 고개 숙이며 간다
고요함 속에서 나를 보고도 말 걸지 않는
고개에 솟는 달 잠깐 쳐다보았을 뿐
풀섶에 주저앉아 가쁜 숨을 고른다
밝음과 그림자가 함께 흔들릴 때마다
잃어버린 사랑이나 슬픔 노여움 따위가
새로 밀려오는 소리를 듣는다

*달뜨기재 지리산 동쪽 웅석봉과 연결된 산줄기의 고개 이름

Jiri Mountain is located in the southern region of South Korea, spanning three provinces: North and
South Jeolla, as well as Gyeongsang. Throughout Korean history, the mountain has taken up a
variety of different meanings, reflecting many writers’ desires and needs of different moments in
time. For some Korean writers, Jiri Mountain is a tragic figure of tumultuous modern Korean history.
For others, it has been a figure of the magical, the sacred, the abundant, and the motherly. For others,
Jiri Mountain has been metaphorized as a mountain of the people and resistance, but also as a
mountain of death and resentment, where fierce battles were fought between the end of Japanese
colonial rule and the Korean War, slaughtering many Koreans. And still yet, for others, the mountain
is a space of life and hope that renews the lives of today and tomorrow.
Posted in Lee Sung-bu | Tagged Jiri Mountain, Moon | 1 Reply

Persimmons of Jiri Mountain by Heo Su-kyung

Posted on October 11, 2012
Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid
Jiri Mountain; photography by Ha Sung-mok

Persimmons of Jiri Mountain by Heo Su-kyung

With the wind of late autumn,
drenched persimmons fall.
The blue ridge of Jiri Mountain fades into white,
covering the husbands’ corpses,
What a red day,
on the very top branch
of the persimmon tree on Jiri Mountain?
Why are they stuck on the frozen sky, shuddering?–
like the kids who end up wearing dry tears
in the corners of their eyes
as they work through their constipation,
like the husbands who spit out persimmon seeds
and disappeared into the fading sunset
glowing with flocks of geese,
who cannot plead their guilt or ask for forgiveness.
With every footstep, anyone who walks
through the modern history of Korea
passes through a storm of white persimmon flowers.

지리산 감나무/ 허수경

늦가을 바람녘
비 맞은 감이 지네.
남정들 썩은 삭신을 덮고
허옇게 허옇게 지리산 청마루도 흐려지는데
지리산 감나무 맨 윗가지
무신 날이 저리 붉은가.
얼어 붙은 하늘에 꽉 백혀 진저리치고 있는가.
된 똥 누다누다
눈꼬리에 마른 눈물 달은 자식들처럼
감씨 퉤 퉤 뱉다 기러기떼
선연한 노을 끝으로 숨어버린 남정들처럼
잘못도 용서도 구할 수 없는
한반도 근대사 속을
사람 지나간 자취마다 하얗게 쏟아지는
감꽃폭풍.

Jiri Mountain is located in the southern region of South Korea, spanning three provinces: North and
South Jeolla, as well as Gyeongsang. Throughout Korean history, the mountain has taken up a
variety of different meanings, reflecting many writers’ desires and needs of different moments in
time. For some Korean writers, Jiri Mountain is a tragic figure of tumultuous modern Korean history.
For others, it has been a figure of the magical, the sacred, the abundant, and the motherly. For others,
Jiri Mountain has been metaphorized as a mountain of the people and resistance, but also as a
mountain of death and resentment, where fierce battles were fought between the end of Japanese
colonial rule and the Korean War, slaughtering many Koreans. And still yet, for others, the mountain
is a space of life and hope that renews the lives of today and tomorrow.
Posted in Heo Su-kyung | Tagged Jiri Mountain, Persimmon | Leave a reply

Jiri Mountain by Kim Ji-ha

Posted on August 4, 2012
1
Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid
Jiri Mountain, photography by Ha Sung-mok

Jiri Mountain by Kim Ji-ha

When I look up at the snow-covered mountain,
it makes my blood boil
When I look at the green bamboo forest,
it makes me burn with anger.
Below that bamboo,
below that mountain,
the red blood still runs.

Oh, that which runs fully

and wails,
still over that field,
winding over every ridge—
Oh, the flag,
the dazzling white cloth
that leaves behind the burning eyes.

Oh, one rusty sickle and that long poverty that I embraced, crying,
and those who left, leaving behind
the futile promise of return–
oh, that which still wails in my heart!

Oh, the haunting sound that pounds upon me like this,

below the frozen winter,
the thing that has flown like a stream
and still come back like a stream–
oh, the old song.

When I look up at the snow-covered mountain,

it makes my blood boil;
When I look at the green bamboo forest,
it makes my anger burn.
Oh, it is still alive, winding through my heart,
oh, Jiri Mountain,
oh, Jiri Mountain!

지리산 /김지하
눈 쌓인 산을 보면
피가 끓는다
푸른 저 대샆을 보면
노여움이 불붙는다
저 대 밑에
저 산 밑에
지금도 흐를 붉은 피

지금도 저 벌판
저 산맥 굽이굽이
가득히 흘러
울부짖는 것이여
깃발이여
타는 눈동자 떠나던 흰옷들의 그 눈부심

한 자루의 녹슨 낫과 울며 껴안던 그 오랜 가난과

돌아오마던 덧없는 약속 남기고
가버린 것들이여
지금도 내 가슴에 울부짓는 것들이여

얼어붙은 겨울 밑
시냇물 흐름처럼 갔고
시냇물 흐름처럼 지금도 살아 돌아와
이렇게 나를 못살게 두드리는 소리여
옛 노래여

눈 쌓인 산을 보면 피가 끓는다
푸른 저 대샆을 보면 노여움이 불붙는다
아아 지금도 살아서 내 가슴에 굽이친다
지리산이여
지리산이여

Posted in Kim Ji-ha | Tagged Jiri Mountain, Korean mountain poem | 1 Reply

Heavenly King Summit by Kim Young-jae

Posted on August 4, 2012
2
Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid

Jiri Mountain, photography by Ha Sung-mok

Heavenly King Summit by Kim Young-jae

The ascent was far and long
but I stayed there only a moment–
the place that I used to see only from afar,
having never climbed;
the top of my life
that I wished to climb surely once.

Who would climb this rough mountain road on my behalf?

Breaking my two knees, I have rid myself of foolish ways.
The world lies silent below the mountain;
looking at it, oh, I break myself again.

천왕봉/ 김영재
오르는 길 멀고 길지만 머무를 시간 너무 짧구나
이제껏 오르지 못하고 멀리서만 바라본 곳
단 한번 꼭 오르고 싶었던
내 삶의 정수리

내 대신 누가 험한 산길 오르고 오르겠느냐
두 무릎 꺾이며 꺾이며 어리석었던 나를 버렸다
산아래 고요히 누운 세상
아! 그걸 보며 나를 또 꺾는다

Posted in Kim Young-jae | Tagged Heavenly King Summit, Jiri Mountain, Korean mountain poem | 2Replies

The Maple Tree’s Protest by Lee Won-kyu

Posted on August 4, 2012
Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid
Photography by Ha sung-mok

The Maple Tree’s Protest by Lee Won-kyu

She also wants to send a message;
The maple tree longs to say a word
to the people who have driven in straws and sucked her blood,
even before the spring comes on Jiri Mountain.

She might want to say:

“This is as cruel as the Relentless Hell;
kill me instead.”
But the maple tree is silent.
Blooming her lemon yellow flowers,
waving her leaves like a child’s palm,
the maple tree does not say a word.
The late fall of the same year,
she only reveals to the people
coming to enjoy the foliage
the dark, dry, twisted leaves,
only to remind them that Jiri Mountain
without its colorful leaves
is the Relentless Hell.

고로쇠나무의 항변/ 이원규

저도 한 소식 전하고 싶은 것이다
지리산의 봄이 오기도 전에
빨대 꽂고 쪽쪽 피를 빠는 인간들에게
단풍나무과의 고로쇠나무도
한 말씀 전하고 싶은 것이다

무간지옥이 따로 있간디
차라리 죽여달랑께, 할 법도 한데
고로쇠, 고로쇠는 말이 없다
담황색 꽃을 피우고
아기 손바닥 같은 잎은 내저으며
고로쇠는 고로쇠 아무 말이 없었다

다만 그해 늦가을
단풍놀이 온 인간들에게
말라비틀어진 검은 잎을 보여줄 뿐
단풍잎 하나 없는 지리산이 곧
아비지옥이란 것을 깨우쳐줄 뿐

시집『자연 속에서 읽는 한 편의 시 08』(국립공원, 2007)

Posted in Lee Won-kyu | Tagged environmental, Jiri Mountain | Leave a reply

Jirisan Mountain by Lee Si-young

Posted on July 11, 2012
Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid
Jiri Mountain, Photography by Bok Hyo-geun

Jirisan Mountain by Lee Si-young

I still do not know the name of the man with the disheveled hair.
The mountain man came down stealthily like a fox when the night deepened,
and hid himself in Sister’s room.
The man approached the paper screen door
to hand over the deer-hoof flowers and gooseberries with a smile,
and, when I tried to touch his big foot,
he suddenly disappeared over the back wall.
Even when the gunshots from the Bungdemi lookout flew up
and the pine-knot fire rolled up from the search crew behind the mountain,
his black hand came without fail to hand over the kudzu roots.
Sister embraced the frightened animal who rode upon the foot of the mountain,
holding her breath in the boiling night–
it was that night when Sister packed up and escaped to the mountain.
The man was hung up on the back wall, pierced by a bamboo spear,
spilling blood and reeking a foul smell.
Father, returning from the police station, hid himself in the bamboo forest,
and even when our house was burning, Sister didn’t come back.
There was only a rumor that a full-term pregnant woman came down
to the neighboring village and, assisted by night, gave birth to a vibrant boy
and disappeared.

지리산(智異山)/ 이시영
나는 아직 그 더벅머리 이름을 모른다
밤이 깊으면 여우처럼 몰래
누나 방으로 숨어들던 산사내
봉창으로 다가와 노루발과 다래를 건네주며
씽긋 웃던 큰 발 만질라치면
어느새 뒷담을 타고 사라지던 사내
벙뎀이 감시초에서 총알이 날고
뒷산에 수색대의 관솔불이 일렁여도
검은 손은 어김없이 찾아와 칡뿌리를 내밀었다
기슭을 타고 온 놀란 짐승을 안고
끓는 밤 숨죽이던 누나가
보따리를 싸 산으로 도망간 건 그날밤
노린내 나는 피를 흘리며 사내는
대창에 찔려 뒷담에 걸려 있었다
지서에서 돌아온 아버지가 대밭에 숨고
집이 불타도 누나는 오지 않았다
이웃 동네에 내려온 만삭의 처녀가
밤을 도와 싱싱한 사내애를 낳고 갔다는 소문이 퍼졌을 뿐

Lee Si-young (1949- ) was born in Gurye, Jeollanamdo. He studied creative

writing at Seorabeol College of Arts. Since his literary debut in 1969, he has published poetry
collections such as The Full Moon (1976), Into the Wind(1986), Friend, the Road Is Far (1988), The
Song Dangling with Dew (1991), The Pattern (1994), The Gap (1996), The Quiet Blue
Sky (1997), The Silver Whistle (2003), The Sea Lake (2004), The Aroma of Cow Dung(2005),
and For Our Dead (2007). He has received many prestigious literary awards, including The Jung Ji-
yong Literary Award (1996), The Dongseo Literary Award (1998), Modern Buddhist Literary Award
(2004), The Jihoon Award (2004) and The Baeksok Literary Award (2004). For the last forty years,
he has strived to write “poetry, resisting the reality and contradictions of the day.” He currently
teaches creative writing at Dankuk University in Seoul.

Posted in Lee Si-young | Tagged Jiri Mountain, jirisan mountain | Leave a reply

The Old Hill by Lee Si-young

Posted on July 11, 2012
Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid
Photography by Hye Hyon

The Old Hill by Lee Si-young

In my hometown, Woosadool, persimmons may be ripening.
Coming home from school, I would climb the persimmon tree
suffering with a hungry stomach, and sing,
wishing that the autumn sunlight could ripen them,
wishing that the blue sky could ripen frost-laden persimmons.
Swinging my head between the branches,
I would sing mournful songs.
Ah, where did Giltay go?
Holding on to the tree till after the sunset,
Giltay would wipe his tears with his small fist,
gazing at his empty chimney where no smoke did rise.
Ah, where did Giltay go,
leaving behind his lame widow mother
below the persimmon tree?

옛동산/ 이시영
우리 고향 웃사둘 마을에는 감이 익겠지
학교에서 돌아오면 나무에 올라
주린 배를 참으며 노래 불렀지
가을볕 부신 햇살에 감이 익어라고
푸른 하늘 한가득 서리 묻은 감이 익어라고
가지 가지 사이로 머리통을 흔들며
노래 슬픈 노래 불렀지
아 길태는 어데 갔노
저녁이 지날 때까지 나무에 달라붙어
연기 오르지 않는 빈 굴뚝을 바라보며
작은 주먹으로 눈물 훔치던
아 길태는 어데 갔노
다리 저는 홀어머니 감나무 밑에 남겨둔 채

Lee Si-young (1949- ) was born in Gurye, Jeollanamdo. He studied creative

writing at Seorabeol College of Arts. Since his literary debut in 1969, he has published poetry
collections such as The Full Moon (1976), Into the Wind(1986), Friend, the Road Is Far (1988), The
Song Dangling with Dew (1991), The Pattern (1994), The Gap (1996), The Quiet Blue
Sky (1997), The Silver Whistle (2003), The Sea Lake (2004), The Aroma of Cow Dung(2005),
and For Our Dead (2007). He has received many prestigious literary awards, including The Jung Ji-
yong Literary Award (1996), The Dongseo Literary Award (1998), Modern Buddhist Literary Award
(2004), The Jihoon Award (2004) and The Baeksok Literary Award (2004). For the last forty years,
he has strived to write “poetry, resisting the reality and contradictions of the day.” He currently
teaches creative writing at Dankuk University in Seoul.
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