앵두
오동나무 속의 어머니가 나와
사금砂金 한 웅큼을 건네주며
얘야, 소금 좀 다오, 소금 좀 다오, 했다.
벼랑을 품고 사는 나날,
앵두가 잘 익었어요, 라고 말하는 찰나
전나무에 얹혀 있던 작년의 눈이
잔모래처럼 날아와 이마를 때렸다.
얘야, 앵두가 잘 익으면 뭘 하니?
내겐 받을 손이 없구나.
두견새는 울지 말았어야 했다.
구름의 자양분을 먹고 자라는
누이들은 아직 피가 견고하지 않으니
어머니는 밤새껏 피울음 울다가 돌아갔다.
이튿날 앵두나무 가지를 보니
어린 누이들이 다닥다닥 매달려 있다.
.
Cherry
Mother said, from inside the Paulownia tree,
Before coming out and handing over a handful of gold,
“Child, please give me salt. Please give me salt.”
Clambering up cliffs these days
The moment I notice the cherries are ripe,
Last year’s snow on the fir trees
Strikes my forehead like wind-blown sand.
“Child, it is no use, even though the cherries are well-ripened,
I do not have any hands to receive them.”
The Cuckoo should not have cried
Mother disappeared after weeping tears of blood all the night through
after weeping tears of blood all the night through
Because my sisters, raised on cloud-milk,
Were not strong in their bodies.
The next day I saw little sisters
hanging in clusters on the cherry branches
.
.
시인 장석주 by Poet, Chang, SeokJoo
The poet, Seok-Ju Chang, was born in Non-San, Chung-Cheong-Nam-Do, South Korea, in January 8, 1955. His first published
work was “Midnight” that he received new and emerging poet award from Monthly Literature in 1975. In 1979, he awarded his poem, “Fly, Gloomy Dream” inChosun Il-Bo, Spring Literature and Dong-A-Il-Bo, Spring Literature, Critique, “Existence and Unrealism”.
.
Translated by Clara Soonhee Kwon-Tatum, Ph.D and Matthew Lewis, MA
