By an Unnamed Warrior’s Grave by Lee Si-young

Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid

By an Unnamed Warrior’s Grave by Lee Si-young (1949- )

Leaving you here,
we shouted “the time of reconciliation!”
Lifting up high our gunshot-wounded arms,
clinking the glasses,
we had already forgotten our wounds.
After dancing at the plaza
where democracy was to come
we had forgotten our wounds and all we had sacrificed
to forget you,
finally shaking our heads,
to forget you who were lying down, painted, within the grave.
But the spring sun
that hadn’t removed the paint from your whole body
is not our spring any more.
It’s a lie; it’s hypocrisy.
The warrior, the youth who disappeared as a cold flower
on the dawn of May 27, 1980,
was pushed back by the closing-in forest of guns and bayonets.
Any history that shouts, leaving you here,
is not a history.

무명용사의 무덤 곁에서/ 이시영

너를 여기 두고
화해의 시대를 외쳤구나 우리는
총창으로 그어진 팔을 높이 들어
술잔을 부딪치며
우리는 어느새 우리의 상처를 잊었구나
민주주의가 온다는 광장에서 한바탕 춤을 춘 뒤
우리는 우리의 목발을 잊었구나
너를 잊기 위해
고개 저어 마침내
무덤 속 페인트칠한 채 누운 너를 잊기 위해
그러나 햇빛 아래 네 온몸의 페인트를 벗겨내지 못한
봄은
더이상 우리의 봄이 아니다
거짓이다 위선이다
1980년 5월 27일 새벽
좁혀드는 총칼의 숲에 밀리다가
차가운 꽃 한 송이로 스러진 용사여 젊음이여
너를 여기 둔 채 외치는 그 어떤 역사도
역사 아니다

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 published poetry collections such as The Full Moon (1976), Into the Wind (1986), Friend, the Road Is Far (1988), The Song Dangled with Dew (1991), The Pattern (1994), The Gap (1996), The Quiet Blue Sky (1997), The Silver Whistle (2003), The Sea Lake (2004), The Fragrance of Cow Dung (2005), and For the Dead of Ours (2007). He received many literary awards, including The Jung Ji-yong Literary Award (1996), The Dongseo Literary Award (1998), Modern Buddhist Literary Award (2004), The Jihoon Award (2004), The Baeksok Literary Award (2004). In a recent interview, he said “I have written poetry, resisting the reality and contradiction of the day.” He currently teaches creative writing at Dankuk University in Seoul.

 

Gwangju, Our Love by Kim Yong-taek

Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid

Gwangju, Our Love by Kim Yong-taek (1948- )

Gwangju, our love,
that does not freeze
even during dictatorship’s biting winter,
where snow does not accumulate
though it is dumped like bullets–
here living water gushes with steam.

우리 사랑 광주/ 김용택

엄동 같은 독재에도 얼지 않고
총알처럼 눈 퍼부어도
눈 쌓이지 않는
생수 솟는 김나는 샘
우리 사랑 광주.

Kim Yong-taek (1948- ) was born in Imsil, Jeollabuk-do. With lyrical (often regional) vernacular, he has written many poems about undamaged agricultural communities and the profound beauty of nature. His poetry collections include The Sumjin River, A Clear Day, Sister, The Day Is Getting Dark, The Flower Letter I Miss, Times Like A River, That Woman’s House, and Your Daring Love. He also published essay collections such as A Small Village,What’s Longed for Exists behind the Mountain, A Story of the Sumjin River, and Follow the Sumjin River and Watch. He was awarded the Kim Soo-young Literary Award (1986) and the Sowol Poetry Award (1997). He currently teaches at Woonam Elementary School.

The South I Long for by Kwak Je-gu

Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid

Photography by Kim Kyung-hwan (Youngchui Mountain, Yeosu)

The South I Long for by Kwak Je-gu (1954- )

Where is the place?
If you look, you will find the place azaleas bloom like tears
at a corner of the foot of the mountain.
If you call toward it,
putting together your big jointed hands
it answers with clouds mixed with tears–
the place where blood-filled tears gather again.
When you look back to the land you miss
which in deepening darkness lies alone, becoming sorrowful,
today who is calling it, thirsting for deep love?
Young poet, do you know
everywhere in this land
you can see clearly with open eyes:
in the autumn melody when the autumn wind blows,
in the spring melody when the spring wind blows,
in the quiet sound of the rising tide,
the undying, sorrowful powers of this land
that are like corn, green peppers,
and winter larva in snow,
come into bloom on our collapsed hearts.

그리운 남쪽/ 곽재구

그곳은 어디인가
바라보면 산모퉁이
눈물처럼 진달래꽃 피어나던 곳은
우리가 매듭 굵은 손을 모아
여어이 여어이 부르면
여어이 여어이 눈물 섞인 구름으로
피맺힌 울음들이 되살아나는 그곳은
돌아보면 날 저물어 어둠이 깊어
홀로 누워 슬픔이 되는 그리운 땅에
오늘은 누가 정 깊은
저 뜨거운 목마름을 던지는지
아느냐 젊은 시인이여
눈뜨고 훤히 보이는 백일의
이 땅의 어디에도
가을바람 불면 가을바람 소리로
봄바람 일면 푸른 봄바람 소리로
강냉이 풋고추
눈 속의 겨울 애벌레와도 같은
죽지 않는 이 땅의 서러운 힘들이
저 숨죽인 그리움의 밀물소리로
우리 쓰러진 가슴 위에 피어나고 있음을

Kwak Je-gu (곽재구) was born in Gwangju in 1954. He studied Korean literature at Chonnam National University. He made his literary debut as a poet with “At Sapyung Station,” which won the Spring literary award organized by the Joongang Daily in 1982. From 1981 to 1987, he worked as a member of “May Poetry,” a group of creative writers deeply inspired by the Gwangju Uprising in 1980. His poetry collections include At Sapyung StationJeonjang-po ArirngKorean LoversA Song of Seoul and The Clear Current. He currently teaches creative writing at Suncheon National University. In 1996, he received the Dongseo Literary Award.

The May of My Heart by Kwak Je-gu

Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid

The May of My Heart by Kwak Je-gu (1954- )

I longed to open a green umbrella hanging
with a pink ribbon wrapped around it.
Standing in the spring wind blowing in,
I longed to collect flowers along the bank
and flowers of my heart,
and spray them toward the glowing sky of the South.
I longed to shout a poem that makes one burst into tears
toward the grass surging strongly
from the wound of a rocky mountain.
For that which was burned to bones and
for that which collapsed and then became more beautiful,
I longed to pin a few short flowers
onto the heart of the naked land after the snow melted.
And then I longed to become a star.
I longed to become the starlight of the eastern sky
which has a warm heart,
a star that descends on the dew-drenched, dawn grass
and with the incomprehensive fragrance of the sky
puts to sleep the sorrows of this land.
Ah, what should I do, my love?
On this May day in my heart,
only the azaleas hanging with black ribbons around their stalks
maniacally burn the spring mountains and streams.

내 마음의 오월/ 곽재구

분홍  리본이 달린
초록빛 우산 하나 펼쳐 주고 싶었다
불어오는 봄바람 속에 서서
강둑 위의 꽃들과
내 마음의 꽃들을 함께 모아
불빛이 타는 남녘 하늘에 뿌려 주고 싶었다
돌산 응어리에 거칠게 솟아난 풀들을 향하여
미치게 눈물 나는 시 한 구절 외쳐 주고 싶었다
불타서 뼈로 남은 것들과
쓰러져서 더욱 아름다운 것들을 위하여
헐벗은 땅 눈 녹은 가슴에
키 작은 풀꽃 몇 송이 꽂아 주고 싶었다
그리고 이제는 별이 되고 싶었다
이슬 적신 새벽 풀밭에 내려와
알 수 없는 하늘의 향기로 이 땅의 슬픔들을 잠재우는
가슴 뜨거운 동녘 하늘의 별빛이 되고 싶었다
아아 그러나 어찌하랴 사랑이여
내 마음의 오월 그 하룻날은
꽃대궁에 검정 리본을 매단 진달래만
미친 듯 봄 산천을 불태우고 있음을

Kwak Je-gu (곽재구) was born in Gwangju in 1954. He studied Korean literature at Chonnam National University. He made his literary debut as a poet with “At Sapyung Station,” which won the Spring literary award organized by the Joongang Daily in 1982. From 1981 to 1987, he worked as a member of “May Poetry,” a group of creative writers deeply inspired by the Gwangju Uprising in 1980. His poetry collections include At Sapyung StationJeonjang-po ArirngKorean LoversA Song of Seoul and The Clear Current. He currently teaches creative writing at Suncheon National University. In 1996, he received the Dongseo Literary Award.

 

 

The Rice Ball of Tears by Koh Jung-hee

Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid

The Rice Ball of Tears by Koh Jung-hee (1948-1991)

The rice ball on which even the angel of death shed tears,
the rice ball over which sisters and brothers sobbed:
have you eaten the rice ball of Gwangju?
The rice ball that makes a fire pillar rise up after you eat it,
the rice ball that makes the Youngsan River roll up and down
when you share it:
have you eaten the rice ball of freedom?
The rice ball mixed with Mother’s blood tears
at the floor of the Hakdong Market
and at the Yangdong Market,
the rice ball seasoned with the sisters’ wailing
at Hwajungdong, on Hwasun Neorit Hill,
on Kumnam Street, and at Sansoodong:
have you eaten the rice ball of sanctuary?
Have you eaten the rice ball of community?
Oh, love, love, love,
the apocalyptic river water of May,
the people who will run to Gwangju, toward Gwangju
until we climb up Mudeung Mountain, Lake Chunji of Baekdu Mountain,
climbing over Lake Baekrock of Halla Mountain,
wash the snow and the rice in the deep blue lakes of Baekrock and Chunji
that will feed more than sixty million people
and share the rice ball of reunification,
the rice ball of equality,
the rice ball of humanity,
let us flare up as rice and firewood
at the home where dim evening smoke rises at dusk.

눈물의 주먹밥/고정희

저승 사자들도 눈물 흘린 주먹밥
형제자매 뜨겁게 오열하던 주먹밥
광주의 주먹밥 먹어보았나
삼키면 불기둥 일어서는 주먹밥
나누면 영산강이 굽이치는 주먹밥
자유의 주먹밥 먹어보았나
학동 시장바닥에서
양동 복개상가에서
어머니의 피눈물로 버무린 주먹밥
화정동에서 화순 너릿재에서
금남로에서 산수동에서
자매들의 통곡으로 간을 맞춘 주먹밥
해방구의 주먹밥 먹어보았나
공동체의 주먹밥 먹어보았나
사랑이여 사랑이여 사랑이여
오월의 종말론적 강물이여
무등산에 백두 천지연 올라
백두 천지연에서 한라 백록담 올라
백록담과 천지연 그 시퍼런 물에
육천만 먹고 남을 쌀 씻고 눈 씻어
통일의 주먹밥 나누는 그날까지
평등의 주먹밥
인류의 주먹밥 나누는 그날까지
광주로 광주로 달려갈 겨레여,
해거름녘 저녁연기 아련한 고장
우리 쌀과 장작불로 타오르고 타오르자

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.

 

Don’t Sing of May as a Blade of Grass that Withers in Wind by Kim Nam-ju

Translated by Chae-Pyong Song and Anne Rashid

Don’t Sing of May as a Blade of Grass that Withers in Wind
by Kim Nam-ju (1946-1994)

Don’t sing of May as a blade of grass that withers in wind.
May didn’t come lyrically like wind,
nor did it lie lyrically like a blade of grass.

May came with a beast’s blood-stained claws.
May came with the teeth of crazy dogs hungry for blood.
May came with the soldier’s bayonet cutting the pregnant mother’s womb.
May came gorging on the children’s eyes that popped out like bullets.
May came with American tanks that trampled down the breath of freedom.

Don’t sing of May as a blade of grass that withers in wind.
May didn’t come lyrically like wind,
nor did it lie lyrically like a blade of grass.

May rose with the wailing of an angry lion.
May rose with the blood-stained hair of the slaughtered young woman.
May rose with the last scream that destroyed men shout.
It was the Freedom’s suicidal attack that jumped into the forest of guns and swords.
It was the hammer heated in the fire at the ironworks.
It was the kitchen knives of the boys who rushed out of the restaurants.
It was the rice ball rolled by the innocent lips of barmaids.
It was the dynamite where all the human emotion toward injustice
congealed in love and exploded in hatred.

Don’t sing of May as a blade of grass that withers in wind.
Wind is not fitting poetic language for the beast’s claws.
Don’t sing of May as a blade of grass that withers in wind.
Grass blades are not fitting poetic images for the blood battle resisting massacre.
There is no room for the lyrical to stand
in between the bloody massacre and the armed resistance.
Nor does it deserve a place–
not in Gwangju streets in May of 1980!

바람에 지는 풀잎으로 오월을 노래하지 말아라/ 김남주

바람에 지는 풀잎으로 오월을 노래하지 말아라
오월은 바람처럼 그렇게 서정적으로 오지도 않았고
오월은 풀잎처럼 그렇게 서정적으로 눕지도 않았다

오월은 왔다 피묻은 야수의 발톱과 함께
오월은 왔다 피에 주린 미친개의 이빨과 함께
오월은 왔다 아이 밴 어머니의 배를 가르는 대검의 병사와 함께
오월은 왔다 총알처럼 튀어나온 아이들의 눈동자를 파먹고
오월은 왔다 자유의 숨통을 깔아뭉개는 미제 탱크와 함께 왔다

노래하지 말아라 오월을 바람에 지는 풀잎으로
오월은 바람처럼 그렇게 서정적으로 오지도 않았고
오월은 풀잎처럼 그렇게 서정적으로 눕지도 않았다

오월은 일어섰다 분노한 사자의 울부짖음과 함께
오월은 일어섰다 살해된 처녀의 피묻은 머리카락과 함께
오월은 일어섰다 파괴된 인간이 내지르는 최후의 절규와 함께
그것은 총칼의 숲에 뛰어든 자유의 육탄이었다
그것은 불에 달군 철공소의 망치였고
그것은 식당에서 뛰쳐나온 뽀이들의 식칼이었고
그것은 술집의 아가씨들의 순결의 입술로 뭉친 주먹밥이었고
그것은 불의의 대상을 향한 인간의 모든 감정이
사랑으로 응어리져 증오로 터진 다이너마이트의 폭발이었다

노래하지 말아라 오월을 바람에 지는 풀잎으로
바람은 야수의 발톱에는 어울리지 않는 시의 어법이다
노래하지 말아라 오월을 바람에 일어서는 풀잎으로
풀잎은 학살에 저항하는 피의 전투에는 어울리지 않는 시의 어법이다
피의 학살과 무기의 저항 그 사이에는
서정이 들어설 자리가 없다 자격도 없다
적어도 적어도 광주 1980년 오월의 거리에는!

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.