April2011-56p2011.3.297:5PMPage36
Literature
Poetry
Selected Poems from My Life: A Birch Tree by Kut-byol Jung Translated by Chae-pyong Song and Anne Rashid
Kut-byol Jung (1964~) was born in Naju, Jeollanam-do. She is a professor of Korean literature at Myungji University in Seoul. Working as both a poet and a critic, she has published four poetry collections: My Life: a Birch Tree (1996), A White Book (2000), An Old Man’s Vitality (2005) and Suddenly (2008), along with two collections of critical essays: The Poetics of Parody (1997) and The Language of Poetry Has a Thousand Tongues (2008). She has also edited an anthology entitled In Anyone’s Heart, Wouldn’t a Poem Bloom?: 100 Favorite Poems Recommended by 100 Korean Poets (2008).
Translators’ Brief Bios: Chae-pyong Song is an associate professor of English at Marygrove College in Detroit, Michigan. Recently, along with Anne Rashid, he won the 40th Korean Literature Translation Awards for translating Kim Hye-soon’s poems. His fields of interest include 20th-century English literature, postcolonial literature, translation studies, and globalization of culture. Anne M. Rashid is an assistant professor of English at Carlow University in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania where she teaches American literature and creative writing courses. She and Song have published translations in The Korea Times, New Writing from Korea and Gwangju News.
The Floating House, the Fragmented Family “Who am I? Who am I in this house?” Father has a toothache and takes out his loose dentures, then puts them back in. “Please stop it, Father.” “What’s this fuss about every morning?” I walk out, throwing down the spoon, while biting on a piece of radish kimchee. “My womb is your house. A child is my child only when she’s at my bosom.” Mother cleans out the small testicle-like orchid. “Are you running out today again? Not good for others to see.” I walk out, stepping on the wound-like remnants of furniture Father threw out by the creaking gate. Whether it’s the dentures blooming in the yard or Father’s obliviousness to the world or the horrible testicle-like flowers or this broken Mother, family is an age-old hatred tamed for years. It’s the place where I rest, a place on which I turn my back three times yet in the end I will return to it because they are my flesh and blood. A place where short flowers bloom and ferocious dogs bark– a fortunate bloodline that can’t let go of the chains searching for each other. Risking my life in endless expectation, today once more I knock on the door of discord. The door handle I hold is rotten. There’s a familiar yelling sound. “Yes, it’s me.” I, the young one, also rot.
36
Gwangju News April 2011
흘러가는 집 날아다니는 가족 누구냐, 이 집에서 내가 누구야. 헐거워진 틀니를 뺐다 꼈다 치통을 앓는 아버지, 그만 좀 하세요, 아침마다 이게 뭐예요. 알타리무쪽을 씹다 숟가락을 던지고 내 배가 니들 집인디, 자식두 품안이제. 개불란을 닦는 어머니, 오늘도 나가실 거예요, 남들 보기도, 뻑뻑한 대문을 향해 내던져진 세간들의 상처를 밟고 마당에 꽃핀 틀니나 세상 찬란하기만한 아버지나 끔찍한 개불알꽃이나 금간 어머니나 오랫동안 다스려진 해묵은 증오라고 세 번 등돌리고 결국 살내음으로 세 번은 한 패가 될 내 쉴 곳 키 작은 꽃 피고 사나운 개 짖는 곳 서로를 찾아 수배의 사슬을 놓지 못하는 천만다행의 핏줄 그 끝없는 희망에 목을 걸고 오늘도 불화의 문을 두드린다 잡고 있는 문고리가 썩어 있다 정든 고함소리 네, 저예요. 새파란 나도 썩고 있다