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History : Kim Sowol (1902–1934) | A Poet Who Made Sorrow Into Song

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History : Kim Sowol (1902–1934) | A Poet Who Made Sorrow Into Song

Kim Sowol (1902–1934) — a poet who made sorrow into song. He gave voice to the Korean han through the rhythms of old folk songs: plain words, aching repetition, grief that never breaks into rage. He died at thirty-two, with only one poetry collection published in his lifetime. I wanted to carry these poems to those who cannot read Korean. Yet no translation is ever singular — so I offer two together. One, as near as possible to his written words; the other, as near as possible to his meant words.

엄마야 누나야

엄마야 누나야 강변 살자,

뜰에는 반짝이는 금모래 빛,

뒷문 밖에는 갈잎의 노래,

엄마야 누나야 강변 살자.

Mommy, sister, by the riverbank let’s live,

In the yard, sparkling golden-sand light,

Outside the back gate, the song of reed leaves,

Mommy, sister, by the riverbank let’s live.

Poetic Adaptation

Mother dear and sister mine,

Come and live beside the stream,

Where the golden sand is shining

And the yard is bright with gleam.

Past the gate behind the cottage

Hear the rustling rushes sing—

Mother dear and sister mine,

Come and live beside the stream.

진달래꽃

나 보기가 역겨워

가실 때에는

말없이 고이 보내 드리오리다.

영변(寧邊)에 약산(藥山)

진달래꽃,

아름 따다 가실 길에 뿌리오리다.

가시는 걸음걸음

놓인 그 꽃을

사뿐히 즈려 밟고 가시옵소서.

나 보기가 역겨워

가실 때에는

죽어도 아니 눈물 흘리오리다.

Azalea Flowers

When you go,

finding me repulsive,

I will silently and gently see you off.

On Yak Mountain in Yeongbyeon,

azalea flowers—

I will pick an armful and scatter them on your path.

Step by step as you go,

tread softly

and trample those flowers lightly beneath your feet.

When you go,

finding me repulsive,

even if I die, I will not shed a single tear.

Poetic Adaptation

When you grow tired of me, my dearest,

And turn at last to go,

Without a word, without a murmur,

I’ll let you gently go.

Upon the slopes of Yaksan mountain

The azaleas blow;

I’ll gather up an armful for you,

And scatter them where you go.

Step after step, as you pass over,

Upon that path you’ll tread—

Tread softly, dearest, tread upon them, Though softly tread them down. When you grow tired of me, my dearest,

And turn at last to go,

Though I should die for love of you,

No tear of mine you’ll know.

산유화(山有花)

산에는 꽃 피네

꽃이 피네

갈 봄 여름 없이

꽃이 피네

산에

산에

피는 꽃은

저만치 혼자서 피어 있네

산에서 우는 작은 새요

꽃이 좋아

산에서

사노라네

산에는 꽃 지네

꽃이 지네

갈 봄 여름 없이

꽃이 지네

Flowers on the Mountain

On the mountain, flowers bloom,

flowers bloom—

without autumn, spring, or summer,

flowers bloom.

On the mountain,

on the mountain,

the blooming flowers

bloom all alone, far off by themselves.

A small bird crying on the mountain—

loving the flowers—

lives on the mountain,

so it says.

On the mountain, flowers fall,

flowers fall—

without autumn, spring, or summer,

flowers fall.

Poetic Adaptation

On the hill the flowers blow,

Flowers blow, and blow, and blow;

Through the autumn, spring and summer,

Ever do the flowers blow.

Upon the hill, upon the hill,

Blooms the blossom, lone and still,

A little way from all the rest,

It blooms alone upon the crest.

A small bird cries upon the hill,

Because it loves the blossom still;

And so it makes its home up there,

Among the flowers, in the air.

On the hill the flowers fall,

Flowers fall, and fall, and fall;

Through the autumn, spring and summer,

Ever do the flowers fall.

초혼(招魂)

산산이 부서진 이름이여

허공 중에 헤어진 이름이여

불러도 주인 없는 이름이여

부르다가 내가 죽을 이름이여

심중에 남아 있는

말 한마디는

끝끝내 마지하지 못하였구나.

사랑하던 그 사람이여

사랑하던 그 사람이여

붉은 해가 서산 마루에 걸리었다.

사슴의 무리도 슬피 운다.

떨어져 나가 앉은 산 위에서

나는 그대의 이름을 부르노라.

설움에 겹도록 부르노라.

설움에 겹도록 부르노라.

부르는 소리는 비껴가지만

하늘과 땅 사이가 너무 넓구나.

선 채로 이 자리에

돌이 되어도

부르다가 내가 죽을 이름이여

사랑하던 그 사람이여

사랑하던 그 사람이여…

Summoning the Spirit

A name shattered into pieces,

a name scattered in the empty sky,

a name with no master even when called,

a name that will cause my death if I keep calling it.

One word

that remains in my heart—

in the end, I could not finish it.

That person I loved,

that person I loved.

The red sun hangs on the ridge of the western mountain.

Even the herd of deer cries mournfully.

On the mountain where I have sat down, fallen away alone,

I call your name.

I call it until I am overwhelmed with sorrow. I call it until I am overwhelmed with sorrow.

Though the sound of my call veers away,

the space between heaven and earth is too wide.

Even if I stand here in this spot

and turn to stone,

a name that will cause my death if I keep calling it—

that person I loved,

that person I loved…

Poetic Adaptation

Name shattered, scattered into a thousand pieces,

Name unmoored and drifting on the empty air,

Name that owns no master, though I call it—

Name that I shall die of, calling, calling there.

One word lay folded deep within my breast,

And to the end I never set it free.

O thou I loved — O thou I loved so dearly!

Now the red sun hangs upon the ridge of evening,

And deer cry out, a sorrow-laden herd;

Here on this hill, fallen apart and sitting,

I call your name into the falling dark.

I call till grief doubles upon grief,

I call till grief redoubles, and again—

My voice goes out and veers away, unanswered,

For heaven and earth lie far too wide between.

Standing as I am,

turned, though, to stone—

Name that I shall die of, calling, calling,

O thou I loved,

O thou I loved so dearly…

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