Azaleas

A Book of Poems

Kim Sowol, David McCann

• Publisher: Columbia University Press
• Year: 2007
• ISBN:
  9780231511452
• Topic: Letteratura
• Subtopic: Collezioni letterarie asiatiche

Available for the first time in English, Azaleas is a captivating collection of poems by a master of the early Korean modernist style. Published in 1925, Azaleas is the only collection Kim Sowol (1902-1934) produced during his brief life, yet he remains one of Korea's most beloved and well-known poets. His work is a delightful and sophisticated blend of the images, tonalities, and rhythms of traditional Korean folk songs with surprisingly modern forms and themes. Sowol is also known for his unique and sometimes unsettling perspective, expressed through loneliness, longing, and a creative use of dream imagery-a reflection of Sowol's engagement with French Symbolist poetry.

Azaleas recounts the journey of a young Korean as he travels from the northern P'yongyang area near to the cosmopolitan capital of Seoul. Told through an array of voices, the poems describe the young man's actions as he leaves home, his experiences as a student and writer in Seoul, and his return north. Although considered a landmark of Korean literature, Azaleas speaks to readers from all cultures. An essay by Sowol's mentor, the poet Kim Ok, concludes the collection and provides vital insight into Sowol's work and life. This elegant translation by David R. McCann, an expert on modern Korean poetry, maintains the immediacy and richness of Sowol's work and shares with English-language readers the quiet beauty of a poet who continues to cast a powerful spell on generations of Korean readers.

1. For My Love

Someday Long After

Visit me, someday long after,

and I might say I have forgotten.

Blame me, in your heart,

Missing you so, I have forgotten.

Still blame me for all of that,

Not believing you, I have forgotten.

Today, yesterday, I did not forget you,

but someday long after, I have forgotten.

Plucking Grass

Up on the hill behind our house the green grass grows,

and across the floor of the grove’s sandy stream,

shadows of the grass I tossed in go floating away.

Where, I wonder, is the love I long for?

Every day, thoughts of my love return.

Every day alone on the hillside out back,

every day, I pluck grass to toss into the stream.

Tossed in, borne off on the stream’s flowing waters,

as the grass blades float lightly away,

how the waves seem to press, nudging at my breast.

Where, I wonder, is the love I long for?

With no place to give my piteous heart rest,

every day I pluck and toss the grass on the water,

letting cares, like the grass, go floating lightly away.

The Sea

Where is the sea whose pulsing white waves

fall and rise as the seaweed grows red?

Where is the sea whose fishermen sit

on their boats as they sing songs of love?

Where is the sea whose sky cobalt hues

at twilight die gently away?

Where is the sea whose old wandering birds

build flocks as they follow away?

Where is the sea I long to cross over,

another land there on the far side?

On the Mountain

Up on the mountain, looking out

where the sea blocks the way,

before my eyes, floating in a dream, a dream of sky,

the village appears where my love now stays.

As idle boat songs drift in from afar

by the landing place crossing the white sands,

day turns dark, fog thickens and covers,

while the waves break into flowers falling far away.

Nightfall at last, the water birds cry,

the boats, one, then two, set out after the waves,

over the vast sea, the very sea,

and are gone like fallen leaves.

Alone on the mountain I keep watch the night through,

and as I drench my body in morning’s red light,

I turn my ears to the water’s faint song

passing the window where my love now stays.

Though at the swaying, waking song of the water

my love should startle awake and look out for me,

high up on the mountain, there on the mountain shall I be,

deep and fast asleep, and know nothing at all.

The Old Stories

As the dark night quietly draws on,

as night draws nearer the dim lamp’s light,

alone in pain and solitude

I cry endless tears.

Before, I knew nothing of tears,

as I passed along this small stretch of life.

The old stories of long, long ago

I learned with no sense of their sorrows.

But now that my love has gone away,

gone and truly left me,

everything I had thought was mine

has slipped away, now is lost.

Only those stories I learned long ago,

those alone remain with me.

Growing day by day ever stronger, the old

stories bring me to helpless tears.

Love’s Song

The clear song of my dear love

is always filling my heart.

Outside the gate I stand the day long to listen,

and my dear love’s sweet songs

come to my ear as the sun goes down and all turns dark.

As night draws on and I fall asleep, they come.

Gently swayed in the song melodies

I enter deep into sleep.

I lie down alone in this sleeping place,

but still they comfort me as I enter deep into sleep.

But when I wake, my dear love’s songs

have been lost and are gone with not a trace.

Try as I might to hear them again,

I have lost love’s songs, with not a trace.

Untitled

Look, dear friends, the sun goes down,

sun goes down, and day passes by.

Quick now, put on your coats;

let us climb past the peak too.

Look, dear friends, the sun goes down.

Everywhere the world glitters, bright.

Little by little, it all turns dark.

Now we have the darkness, and night.

Look, dear friends, night comes on.

The bats rise up by our toes.

Enough, now, so close your eyes.

Then let us go back down the valley too.

Love’s Words

Two months life flowed on like water,

stale water in the earthen pot leaked all away.

The words I am going so let us go together

are like an arrow piercing a living target.

The grasses may grow again in spring,

but like a tree broken off to its stump

or a bird that has broken both wings,

my body shall not flower again.

Each night, when cock’s crow marks the first hour,

it is the time to go out to greet your spirit.

When the moon at month’s end hangs at the ridge

is the time to prepare the rites for your soul.

Though life may flow by like water,

the words I am going so let us go together

might mean try to forget you,

but I shall never forget them till I die.

For...