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 (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.
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
One midnight in May martial law descended upon us.
We were beaten up like dogs and dragged in.
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
One day in May we rose up,
clenching a thousand-year-old anger, clutching empty hands, we rose up.
We ran to the fresh green street, our street,
to Kumnam-no, the street of liberation, to rise up.
We drove away the pitch dark night,
firing our hearts with democracy, people, and nation
against the division of treason
against the treason of forty years of fascism,
against the tank of martial law we rose.
Sing! Fight! Bury these ghastly bodies!
On this fresh green street, our street,
soon we fell down from bullets,
shedding blood.
We fell, spilling red blood–
collapsed corpses, we were dragged on and on,
covered by gray dust, covered by ash,
we were taken somewhere like dead dogs,
carried on the military trucks that rushed by.
Oh, Mangwol Cemetery is not the only place, the only place.
Seven hundred, eight hundred, or two thousand patriots
are still buried in unknown territory.
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
One day in May we fought to the end,
at Province Hall, in deserted back alleys,
we fought, stepping on the bloodstains of our dead comrades.
We fought proudly in the name of the Civilian Army of the Gwangju Uprising,
against foreign forces,
against compradors,
against the legacies of the Yushin dictatorial reform,
defending the lives of our land who could not be desecrated,
we died with punctured chests.
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
At dusk, in the street outside Province Hall, a high school student tore his clothes
and his cry echoed through the streets:
“my sister was murdered brutally and ferociously–
give me a gun. I can fight.”
Soon after, he too, was shot and killed.
“Your beautiful breasts chopped like tofu.”
Oh, young girls and pregnant women
were stabbed to death.
In the streets, back alleys, and dead ends
young men were killed and dragged away.
One day in May, on the street of democracy, people, and nation,
suddenly the savages descended:
the 20th Division of Yangpyong,
the Special Troop,
the 31st Division.
The martial law troops of the 7th Airborne, the 3rd Airborne, and the 11th Airborne broke in, randomly shooting M16 rifles,
crushing with their gun handles,
stabbing again and again with their fixed bayonets;
reeking of liquor, they shot to death even those who surrendered.
Oh, the screams of this Inferno ran over the streets, like waves.
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
Afterwards, the silence of the tremendous terror, like the steel grave,
extended over the living and the dead.
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
From death we had to start all over again.
Those who survived, even those who forgot their grief had to return
and start all over again in the street of death.
We have died and have no words.
We have lived and have no words.
We were jailed, gagged, without even the sky to look towards,
gnashing our teeth,
every heart filled with a thousand years of bitter resentment,
swallowing this time of shame.
Down the violated street military boots of the 5th Republic marched heavily.
After that May, we carried death on our backs.
One snowy day,
we first came out to Kumnam street and Chungjang street,
and shook one another’s hands once again:
“You are alive.” “You are, too.”
Then we ran to Mangwol cemetery and wept.
Since then we came together every year and rose up.
Over and over we identified the enemies hiding on the dark side,
blowing our hot breath and defrosting the windows.
The star spangled banner flies high over this land–
this land swarms with Japs.
Now Gwangju is not Gwangju—Gwangju is not only a place.
It is the heart of the history of this land.
So many people rose up in every street–
every town, people met whispering:
lives of workers have become lumps of coal,
cows are worth nothing, and farmers have swallowed pesticides and perished.
A taxi driver burned himself up.
Families have been asphyxiated by coal fumes.
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
College students set themselves on fire, falling like flowers,
and tens of others are ready to follow.
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
Billions of Won were spent on teargas, apple bombs, and other god-damn bombs,
which blew up in our eyes and made us blind,
or shocked our chests and we collapsed.
Those who threw a stone were dragged out and beaten up till they vomited blood.
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
The struggle for justice has not ended in the factories or the schools.
Even in prisons the struggle goes on for victory.
But in the cities of deception the flag of blood-ties waves strong,
Japan’s ruling party gleefully enters in and out,
like eunuchs who visit their in-laws.
Even the trash of the Yushin dictatorship has returned to take its part.
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
To break these foreign forces, these compradors, this betrayal,
to sweep up this division and this fascism,
to achieve our independence,
our equality, and our reunification,
to dance a dance of history,
let our bodies terribly rot,
buried deep in this history.
We will fight, dead.
We will fight, feverishly living.
So we live, out of breath.
Oh, May!
Oh, May!
Oh, May of the splendid, green, dazzling days!
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
On a day dense with teargas
we shed tears and cough.
The cuckoo sings; at night it sings mournfully.
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
Oh, dead fighters, friends,
a hundred years of struggle is not over yet.
We have to fight a hundred years more, friends.
We must fight on from generation to generation.
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
What will we do if May passes by forgotten?
No matter what, we will always unite again.
The scattered will meet again.
Blood-boiling May,
the month of struggle that shakes the whole body,
May, you are us.
United, we move on, breaking the waves of the ocean.
Although May has passed,
May is always alive in us.
We ourselves are May.
We are May.
We are May.
Shouts bursting from seven million of our people!
The masses of joy and embracing that will burst
from every corner of this land on that morning!
Oh, that’s our May. Liberation achieved from death.
that day, come quick!
Ko Un was born in Kunsan, Jeollabuk-do in 1933. As a recipient of numerous literary awards, Ko Un is one of the most famous contemporary poets in Korea. Since his debut in Hyondae Munhak in 1958, he has since produced over 120 literary works, including novels and critical writings. In 2010 he completed Maninbo, a now 30-volume poetry collection that had been published in installments over a period of twenty three years.
Korean Poetry in Translation 