Korean Poetry - "One Pebble" by Kim Nam-ju

Posted by GwangJu (at 2011/10/26 08:42)

"One Pebble" by Kim Nam-ju

Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid



Between the sky and the earth

not a single breeze stirred, and I could not breathe.



That stifling, heart-wrenching day

my friend and I walked along the bank.

I told him we would become pebbles—

small stones

that would create a little ripple on the river

and disappear quickly.



On a dark night without sunlight

I told him we would become a spark—

a light

that would flicker like a firefly

and die out as soon as dawn breaks.



I didn’t ask my friend then,

how much of history would depend on the pebble?

I didn’t ask my friend then,

how much darkness would the light push away?

I was just content to have a friend

with whom I could share death.


 

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Kim Nam-ju (1946-1994) was born in Haenam, Jeollanam-do and studied English at Chonnam National University. He is known as one of the major resistance poets in South Korea, leading the people’s movement in the 1970s and 80s that ultimately toppled the dictatorship in Korea. Because of his activism, he was imprisoned twice, for more than ten years in total. In prison where paper and pencil were not allowed, he wrote many poems on milk cartons with the nail he made by grinding a toothbrush. These poems were later published in two collected volumes of his prison poetry, The Sunlight on the Prison Bar. His poetry bears witness to the tyranny of dictatorship and the hardships of the oppressed. He published such poetry collections as Requiem, My Sword My Blood, One Fatherland, The Weapon of Love and In This Lovely World. He received the Yun Sang-won Literary Award in 1993 and the National Literary Award in 1994. His poems have also been memorialized by Korean activist, rock singer An Chi-hwan in his album entitled "Remember."


2011/10/26 08:42 2011/10/26 08:42

Erasing Myself


By Oh Sae-young - Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid


On the mountain,

to live along with the mountain

is to become the mountain.

If a tree erases itself,

it becomes a forest;

if a forest erases itself,

it becomes a mountain.

On the mountain,

to live befriending the mountain

is to erase myself.

To erase myself

is also to erase you,

like a bellflower that blooms

by burning up longing

all night long.

When dew erases itself

it becomes fog;

when fog erases itself

it becomes a blue sky.

Likewise, on the mountain,

to live along with the mountain

is to erase myself.


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Oh Sae-young (1942- ) was born in Yeongkwang, Jeollanam-do. He is both a prolific poet and critic. He has published at least eighteen collections of poetry. His lyrical poetry is known for its simplicity; it is often imbued with Buddhist imagination of the emptiness of self and non-attachment 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.


2011/09/26 12:14 2011/09/26 12:14

“For the Bruised Souls” by Koh Jung-hee
Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid

 

Under the sky even the bruised reed

shakes freely for one season—

if a tree is deeply rooted

even if the trunk is sawed off, new buds sprout.

The bruised souls, let us shake fully,

let us suffer, shaking fully.


Even the floating weed that moves without root,

it will bloom, where water collects around it.

Like everywhere in the world a brook will run,

like everywhere in the world a lamp will get lit.

Let us go, suffering ones, putting our skin side by side.

If we decide to be lonely, won’t we be able to go anywhere?

If we risk our life to go, would the setting sun be a problem?


Passing over the land of suffering and sorrow,

let us stand on the field deeply rooted.

Even if we block it with two arms, the wind will blow.

There are no eternal tears,

is no eternal lamentation.


Under the sky even in the pitch dark night

a hand comes along that we can get hold of.

 

Koh Jung-hee (1948 – 1991) was born in Haenam, Jeollanam-do, and studied at Hanshin University. A passionate feminist, she often offered sharp criticism on modern Korean society, whether it was political oppression or gender inequality. In June, 1991, she died, swept up by a torrential rain, while climbing up the Snake Valley of Jiri Mountain, a mountain she loved a great deal and wrote about often. Known for resistance poetry, particularly based upon the Gwangju Uprising, as well as for lyric poems, she derived many of her poetic inspirations from Gwangju and Jeolla-do (often known as Nam-do). In her lifetime she published at least ten collections of poetry and received the Korean Literature Award in 1983.

About the Translators:

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Chae-Pyong Song grew up in Gwangju and Jeollanam-do and studied at Chonnam National University. He is an associate professor of English at Marygrove College in Detroit, Michigan, where he has taught since 2001. He has published articles on modern fiction, as well as translations of Korean poetry and fiction. His translations of Korean literature have appeared in The Gwangju News, list, The Korea Times, New Writing from Korea, Sirena, Metamorphoses: Journal of Literary Translation, and Azalea: Journal of Korean Literature and Culture. Along with Anne Rashid, he recently won the Grand Prize in the Poetry Category of the 40th Modern Korean Literature Translation Awards for translating Kim Hyesoon’s poems. His fields of interest include twentieth-century English literature, postcolonial literature, translation studies, and globalization of culture.


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Anne Rashid is an assistant professor of English at Carlow University in Pittsburgh, where she has taught since 2008. She has published poetry in Adagio Verse Quarterly and Lit Candles: Feminist Mentoring and the Text. In 2009, she and her co-translator, Chae-Pyong Song, received the the Grand Prize in the Poetry Category of the 40th Modern Korean Literature Translation Awards given by The Korea Times. She and Song have published translations in New Writing from Korea, list, The Gwangju News, Azalea: Journal of Korean Literature, and Sirena. Her current research interests include African American literature, literature of environmental justice, and twentieth-century women’s poetry. 

2011/08/10 08:12 2011/08/10 08:12

Weehya! Poetry Book is out!

Posted by doug stuber (at 2010/07/08 08:35)
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Weehiya, poems from 1973 until 2008 is out and available at The First Alleyway, the GIC, and directly from Doug Stuber who usually carries one or two around.  Since the poems start back when Doug was thirteen, many are simple enough to double as good Hangeul-learning experiences.

It is beautifully translated into Korean by Park Yeon Seong, Go Mi Ran, Kim Soon and Jeong Kang Hee. The original English is found on the left-hand pages, Korean translations are on the right, hence an ideal text book for those brave enough to use it as such in hakwons, public schools or universities.

Many poems were booted from the book as they are inappropriate for Korean consumption, and can be found on blogs such as:


dougstuber.wordpress.com/

 

dougstuber.blogspot.com

The poem "Weehiya" itself is not in the book, and a couple poems mentioned on the back cover are ALSO not in the book, which was not meant as a joke, I promise.

The book is in the tradition of American poetry. Korean poetry, traditionally, is about the seasons, nature, geographic landmarks and love. Stuber writes about and at those in dire need of a head butting, those who abuse power, those who wage-slave the masses for their own profit, and against war, etc. A street poet and non-academic poet, Stuber attempts to also relate, in relative calmness, a life full of self-made upheaval. He laughs at this fate, and so should you.

In case you haven't seen enough pictures, there's always

http://picasaweb.google.com/dougstuber

For more information about the artist please see stuberpark.com.

2010/07/08 08:35 2010/07/08 08:35

I recently had the pleasure of assisting in the preparation of a proposal to the UNESCO Memory of the World Register seeking formal recognition of the events that took place in Gwangju between May 18th and May 27th, 1980. As a resident of this city for nearly six years, I’d often heard stories of the brutal suppression of the student-led protests against the imposition of martial law by the ruling military regime. While I listened to these stories with interest and sympathy, the events described seemed so distant from my own experience of Korea as to seem incredible. It was only after reading the accounts and testimonies of survivors and witnesses that I began to put things in their proper perspective.


Without doubt the most moving of these accounts was that of journalist Kim Cheong-gun, who after struggling for an expression that adequately captured the events he was witnessing, settled on ‘human hunting’. According to Kim, ‘the violence against young women was particularly severe: the prettier the woman and the more care with which she was dressed, the worse it was for her.’ In his contribution to Reports on Kwangju by Special Correspondents, Kim asks: ‘How do we put into words a situation where a woman’s clothes are ripped to shreds, where those parts of her anatomy that distinguish her as a woman become the focus of attack?’


After reading such accounts, I found myself eager to explore the literary responses to what has proven to be a landmark event in the nation’s history. As such, I reached for a volume of poetry that had sat (unread) on my shelf for several years –The Sound of MyWaves by Ko Un. Anyone at all familiar with Korean poetry would not fail to recognize the name Ko Un. Not only has he been the nation’s leading poet for almost half-a-century, but his name is routinely mentioned in connection with the prestigious Nobel Prize for Literature. During his lifetime, Ko Un has often found himself at the forefront of the struggle for human rights. Unsurprisingly, therefore, his life and his writing were greatly affected by the Gwangju Citizens’ Uprising.

Although Ko Un’s early work was characterized by a pervasive nihilism, this changed following his imprisonment for his role in the events of May 1980. Ko was confined in a special section of a military prison, and for nearly two years lived under the threat of execution. During this time, he embraced a new understanding of life’s impermanence. While earlier in his career the transitory nature of existence had driven him to despair, he now realized that the value of one’s life originated from the fact that it was, by its very nature, impermanent.


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Ko Un - 2009
Photograph by Mariusz Kubik

In 1984, Ko Un published a collection of poems entitled Homeland Stars in which he tackled the events that occurred in Gwangju in the spring of 1980. He seemed to sense, even back then, that time would soon erode the memory of the tragedy that had seen so many of the city’s youth injured or killed. In a line from ‘Kumnam Street’ Ko states, ‘The fighting and the carnage were all forgotten, / neon signs soared flashing in the evening air’.

As the anniversary of the Gwangju Citizens’ Uprising approaches, the writings of Ko Un serve to illuminate the paradox of the enormous price paid to secure our basic human rights and the seemingly slight regard in which we hold them.

      Elton LaClare        

2010/05/10 22:50 2010/05/10 22:50