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<\/p>\n
Yu Jin Ko<\/p>\n
Wellesley College<\/p>\n
What’s Lost and Found in Translation:
\nKorean Poetry and the Case of Ko Un<\/p>\n
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One way or another, all translators of poetry contend with Robert Frost’s quip that poetry is “that which is lost…in translation” (Conversations on the Craft of Poetry<\/em>).\u00a0 The farther apart the original and transfer languages are, the more translators no doubt have to struggle to minimize what’s lost.\u00a0 As translation editor of the poetry on this site, I have been privileged to get a first-hand view of that effort and thus have come to appreciate more fully the difficulty of capturing the poetic qualities of the Korean originals in a language that is so distant from Korean. \u00a0Although the translations of each poet differ in their verbal features, all the translations come out of a shared struggle to carry over into English properties that distinguish the Korean language but for which adequate equivalents in English do not exist.\u00a0 Hence, the translations on this site represent efforts in a transaction that inevitably involves loss.\u00a0 This sense of loss is something that even I \u2013 a 1.5 generation Korean-American whose Korean remains rather stuck in early development \u2013 can feel acutely. \u00a0Nonetheless, what I also recognize equally acutely is that translation can also entail gains that are made possible by the distinctive characteristics of the transfer language.\u00a0 As many others before me have recognized, if we put aside the (unachievable) goal of perfectly replicating the original through strict verbal fidelity, we can celebrate the fact that translation can also involve a transformation that reshapes and recreates the original into a unique, or untranslatable, work.\u00a0 At the simplest level, translations can possess distinctive verbal features \u2013 reflective as they may be of the original \u2013 that cannot be translated back into the original language. \u00a0Translation then becomes a dialogue that allows us to see that poetry is also what is found<\/em> in translation.<\/p>\n Some examples from this site can illustrate this point, beginning with the following poem by Jae-mu Lee and its translation by Seung-Hee Jeon:<\/p>\n \uc2ac\ud514\uc5d0\uac8c<\/strong> \ubb34\ub98e\uc744<\/strong> \uafc7\ub2e4<\/strong><\/p>\n \uc5b4\ud56d \uc18d \ubb3c\uc744 I Surrender to Sadness<\/strong><\/p>\n As we wash the water in a fish tank The translation begins with a casual oddity that exists in the original, though to a lesser degree: water is said to be used to “wash” the water in a tank. \u00a0One might “wash” the tank itself or “cleanse” the water with water, but how does one wash <\/em>water with water?\u00a0 The verb in the original (\uc53b\uc5b4\ub0b4\ub2e4) might more literally be translated as “wash away,” which isn’t quite as odd, though it can also be used simply to mean “wash” or “clean.” The unusual use of “wash” subtly throws off the matter of fact ease of the opening clause and its semblance of introducing something perfectly ordinary. \u00a0In the second clause, the translation picks up the offhand surprise of “wash” with “scrub” (“I scrub my sadness\/ with sadness”).\u00a0 “Scrub” is a quite direct translation of the original verb (\ubb38\uc9c8\ub7ec \ub2e6\ub2e4) and conveys its (unexpected) quotidian register and tactile feel very well.\u00a0 However, the word “scrub” also adds a certain abrasiveness, especially in its sound, that roughens the feel of the action being evoked.\u00a0 In the final three lines of the original especially, the verbal register and tone shift somewhat to conjure the posture of acquiescent prayer. \u00a0What I would point out about the translation is that it repeats the first-person subject (I) in the final line, even though it is not strictly necessary (“I gather my hands and bow,\/ And I listen to its wisdom”).\u00a0 Because the subject is customarily implied in Korean sentences, “I” does not appear at all in the final two lines of the original.\u00a0 Inserting and repeating the subject would make the final sentence sound rather awkward.\u00a0 In contrast, the repetition of “I” in the translation emphasizes the deliberate, self-aware nature of the “surrender” that is adduced in the poem’s translated title.\u00a0 The original poem is wonderful in the way it mixes casual and simple lyricism with abstract, philosophical meditation.\u00a0 The translation clearly tries to capture the mood created by this mix, but it does so by drawing on nuanced resources of English that do not quite translate back into Korean.<\/p>\n One other poem will illustrate some further points: “Salt,” by SeokJoo Chang, translated by Clara Soonhee Kwon-Tatum and Matthew Lewis:<\/p>\n \uc18c\uae08<\/p>\n \uc544\uc8fc \uae4a\uc774 \uc544\ud30c\ubcf8\u00a0 \uc0ac\ub78c\ub9c8\ub0e5 \ud587\ube5b\uc774 \ud0a4\uc6b0\ub294 \uac83\uc740 \ub2e8 \ud558\ub098\ub2e4 \uc5fc\uc804\uc774 \uc775\ud788\ub294 \ubb3c\uc758 \uc11d\ub958\ub97c \ubcf4\uba70 \uc544\uc8fc \uc624\ub798\u00a0 \uae4a\uc774 \uc544\ud30c\ubcf8\u00a0 \uc0ac\ub78c\uc774 <\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Salt \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Like someone who is deeply scarred What sunshine breeds is single thing, Of a salt field, baking in the sun A person, in pain for so long, <\/p>\n This poem also contains an element of abstract meditation as the poet contemplates the traces left behind by sea water drying in the sun in a salt field.\u00a0 For the poet, the salt residues \u2013 “white bones” and “dots of white blood” \u2013 serve as emblems of what lies deepest in the ocean and in his heart: the pain of hating, which, he eventually confesses, surpasses by a “little” the pain of loving.\u00a0 The original is a powerful lyric that, somewhat like the previous poem, combines sonorous meditation with striking images and turns of phrases that fluidly move between epic utterance and colloquial conversation.\u00a0 Truth be told, that lyric power and the particular cadences that define the poem’s voice don’t quite carry over in translation.\u00a0 Yet it is also true that the translation departs from the original at numerous points and adds nuances that give the translation its own character.\u00a0 In the second line in the original, for instance, the sea is said to be\uacfc\ubb35\ud558\ub2e4, which could be glossed as “taciturn.” The translation interestingly takes the association of ponderous gravitas that Koreans often associate with taciturnity and renders the line as, “The ocean is heavy with silence.” \u00a0The physicality of the word “heavy” resonates with the sense that the sea is heavily burdened by the weight of emotion.\u00a0 The sea is further animated by the mixed and somewhat quixotic metaphor (present in the original and reminiscent of Metaphysical poets) of the sun’s glare “biting the ocean’s body,” as if the sun and sea were engaged in an entangled physical battle.\u00a0 Indeed, whereas the original indicates that the sun sinks or droops in exhaustion, the translation says that the sun, with the ocean’s body in its teeth, “hang[s] on,” as if determined to fight to the end.\u00a0 Hence it is that, in the poetic logic of the sequence, “the ocean vomits up” what it held in heavy silence deep inside.\u00a0 What’s disgorged turns out, however, to be “the hard water’s white bone.”\u00a0 “Hard” is the translation of “\ub2e8\ub2e8\ud55c,” which can range in meaning from firm to strong; but “hard water” also glances at the expression for water with high mineral content (\uacbd\uc218).\u00a0 That is, the phrase “the hard water’s white bone” contains (at least the potential for) very subdued wordplay that is not present in the original.\u00a0 Ocean water takes on many guises in this poem, eventually evaporating to yield the ocean’s deepest secrets.\u00a0 Of course something is lost in translation, but something is also found.<\/p>\n ***********************<\/p>\n Nonetheless, it would be disingenuous to avoid talking altogether about what gets lost in translation when a poem is rendered into English.\u00a0 To get at this subject, I would like to turn to the poetry of perhaps the best known poet in Korea, Ko Un, whose monumental thirty-volume series of poems called Ten Thousand Lives <\/em>(\ub9cc\uc778\ubcf4) has reached Western audiences. The existing translations of his poetry are valiant attempts with many admirable qualities that nonetheless remain unsatisfactory at a basic level, not only because of the remarkable nature of Ko Un’s poetry, but because of the nature of the Korean language.<\/p>\n Ko Un is above all a vernacular poet.\u00a0 As is fitting for a work like Ten Thousand Lives <\/em>(or Maninbo)<\/em> that chronicles and gives voice to literally thousands of individual lives, he writes in the language of the people.\u00a0 However, poetry still retains a special place in Korean culture, at once populist and privileged, as indicated by the existence of a separate best-seller list for poetry, on the one hand, and the pervasive expectation that poets give voice to oracular wisdom, on the other.\u00a0 Hence, to speak in the vernacular for Ko Un involves not only reaching a wide audience in an accessible, demotic language, but also assimilating the many roles he has taken on in his life that require different linguistic registers: the imprisoned dissident, the public activist, the erstwhile Buddhist monk who encounters the world with deep wonder and understanding, the familiar uncle dispensing folk wisdom, the roistering troubadour who is the repository of humble histories, the prophetic sage, the epic historian, among many others.\u00a0 Capturing the sheer variety of linguistic registers, tones and keys would be a formidable task for a translator from any language, but this task is considerably complicated by features of the Korean language and the uses that Ko Un makes of them.<\/p>\n 1) The distinctive voice\u2014or voices, more properly\u2014of Ko Un\u2019s poetry is informed first of all by the layered intricacies of the honorific form in Korean.\u00a0 Unlike German or French, in which the formal case exists only for the second person, a far more nuanced and varied formal case exists for all utterances in all cases.\u00a0 For a simple third-person sentence like \u201cHe is eating,\u201d the verb inflection will differ significantly, depending on the social situation: who the subject is, who is being addressed and who is speaking.\u00a0 Because social stratification is far more intricate than it is in the West, and because language is far more embedded in those stratifications, the sheer variety of verb inflections that indicate different levels of formality and familiarity is dizzying.\u00a0 Indeed, a special verb inflection exists that is reserved solely for addressing the sovereign or a deity\u2014again whether directly in the second person, or simply when making a third-person declarative sentence.\u00a0 The relational nature of identity and speech is indicated very clearly by the sheer number of Ko\u2019s poems that announce their subject\u2019s social identity in the title, as in \u201cOld Jaedong\u2019s Youngest Son,\u201d or \u201cChin-ja\u2019s Older Brother.\u201d \u00a0One of the distinctive features of Ko Un\u2019s poetry is the mastery with which he combines intimacy with subtly discriminated degrees of formality.<\/p>\n Two contrasting examples can serve to illustrate one simple way that Ko Un makes use of forms of formality.\u00a0 In the early poem \u201cAzaleas\u201d from Maninbo <\/em>(Ten Thousand Lives,<\/em> Vol 1-10, translated by Brother Anthony of Taiz\u00e9, Young-moo Kim and Gary Gach), the narration uses a standard and very public form of the honorific, which contrasts with the subject being narrated and recalled:<\/p>\n Halmi Hill used to be ablaze with azaleas \ud560\ubbf8\uc0b0\uc5d0 \uc9c4\ub2ec\ub798 \ud65c\ud65c \ud0c0\uc62c\ub790\uc73c\ub098 The first two sentences relate the shared history of poverty (a recurring theme) using colloquial diction but with formal verb inflections, so that the feel of a historical saga produced by the underlying formality is accompanied by a certain intimacy.\u00a0 The third sentence (\u201cThose were hard times\u201d) shifts somewhat in tenor, as Ko uses a more poetic form of address\u2014akin to an apostrophe in literary terms\u2014to set off and memorialize the \u201chard times” (“O, hard times!” might be a more direct rendering).\u00a0 What makes the utterance in Korean stand out and resonate even more is that the poetic formality of the address contrasts with the colloquial sensibility of the phrase that is translated as \u201chard times” (\ub531\ud55c \uc138\uc6d4).\u00a0 It is the kind of phrase that those who suffered the hungry, harsh winters around Halmi Hill would have used. \u00a0In fact, it is a feature of Ko Un\u2019s poetry that it modulates verbally with the presence of the subjects beings depicted.\u00a0 This is a grammatical, aesthetic and ethical feature of the poetry in that it embodies, in Maninbo<\/em> in particular, the effort to bear witness to the ten thousand (or 4,001) lives and give those lives a voice.\u00a0 In \u201cAzaleas,\u201d the modulations extend further.\u00a0 This poem is one of many in Maninbo<\/em> that ends with a marked shift in linguistic register, in this case by introducing the voice of a girl who comes upon an azalea bush in bloom that survived the winter uprooting and builds a stone fence around it:<\/p>\n \u201cGosh!\u00a0 What am I doing, still here?\u00a0 Gracious,<\/p>\n goodness gracious!\u201d<\/p>\n \uc624\ub9c8\ub098! \uc5ec\ud0dc \ub0b4\uac00 \uc5ec\uae30 \uc788\uc5c8\ub124 \uc5b4\uca4c\ub098 \uc5b4\uca4c\ub098<\/p>\n The English translation doesn’t quite capture the voice of the little girl, with its wonderfully colloquial lilt.\u00a0 Further, the grammatical informality (in contrast to the narration\u2019s general formality) adds to the moment’s spontaneous immediacy and helps to bring the reader into the girl’s world.\u00a0 It\u2019s the entry of the girl\u2019s chatty voice that brings the poem to a close while creating that characteristic sense at the end of many of Ko\u2019s poems of a continuing, breathing life left in suspension.<\/p>\n In contrast, \u201cSamdok\u2019s Grandmother in Wondang-ri\u201d tells the story of Samdok\u2019s rather compulsively tidy grandmother in a conversationally familiar (grammatical) form:<\/p>\n If you pass behind the bier-shed, on past<\/p>\n Wondang-ri village,<\/p>\n at the top of the young pine grove in Wondang-ri \uc0c1\uc5ff\uc9d1 \ub3cc\uc544 \uc6d0\ub2f9\ub9ac \ub118\uc5b4\uac00\uba74 <\/p>\n The narration is very casual, with the first sentence being a fragment that lacks a main verb (no equivalent of “stands”) and all the other verb forms (“if you pass”) being informal.\u00a0 As is very often the case in Korean, the subject is implied, though the translators’ choice to use \u201cyou\u201d in a conversational way is apt.\u00a0 We are told that the grandmother\u2019s nickname is \u201cDusting\u201d (\uac78\ub808\uc9c8), \u00a0though in Korean the phrase referred to is literally scrubbing with a rag, which gives a different picture of a grandmother wet-mopping on her hands and knees.\u00a0 The ensuing descriptions further combine pathos and gentle comic irony as we\u2019re told with folksy, informal inflections,<\/p>\n If her son\u2019s father-in-law comes on a visit from his distant home,<\/p>\n as soon as he leaves she dusts the place where he sat<\/p>\n and dusts it again the next day,<\/p>\n muttering at the least excuse, \u201cIt\u2019s dirty here, it\u2019s dirty here.\u201d<\/p>\n Everywhere is spotless \u2013 corners of rooms,<\/p>\n the yard outside \u2013 without exception anywhere.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \uba3c \ub370 \ubc14\uae65\uc0ac\ub3c8\ub9cc \uc654\ub2e4 \uac00\ub3c4<\/p>\n \uadf8 \uc190\ub2d8 \uc549\uc558\ub358 \uc790\ub9ac \uac78\ub808\uc9c8\ud558\uace0<\/p>\n \uac78\ud54f\ud558\uba74 \uc5ec\uae30 \ub354\ub7fd\ub2e4 \uc800\uae30\ub354\ub7fd\ub2e4 \ud558\uba70<\/p>\n \ubc29\uad6c\uc11d\uc774\ub098 \ub9c8\ub2f9\uc774\ub098<\/p>\n \uc5b4\ub514 \ud55c \uad70\ub370 \ud560 \uac83 \uc5c6\uc774 \ub9d0\uc9f1\ud558\ub2e4<\/p>\n However, in a tragically ironic twist, this spotless house gets infected by smallpox, which ultimately kills the grandmother.\u00a0 The poem ends with the son\u2019s voice wailing at the funeral as he slips a few dirty rags into his mother\u2019s coffin: \u201cMother, Dust away up there to your heart\u2019s content\u201d (\uc5b4\uba38\ub2c8! \uc800\uc2b9 \uac00\uc11c\ub3c4 \uac78\ub808\uc9c8 \uc2e4\ucef7 \ud558\uc18c!). \u00a0A part of what\u2019s so moving and authentic about this last sentence is that the verb switches in inflection to a slightly more formal case\u2014more formal, that is, than the narration\u2014though it is one that is at once intimate and redolent of days gone by (somewhat akin to Elizabethan inflections like \u201cdoest\u201d or \u201cdoth\u201d).\u00a0 One still hears these inflections in use today, though they tend to be used by older generations, especially when they want to maintain a degree of formality while establishing familiarity.\u00a0 In the context of this poem, the switch in verbal register at the end adds an element of an ineffably more dignified sense of pathos to the story, even as the content of the sentence\u2014scrubbing away to her heart\u2019s content in heaven\u2014is so materially ordinary.\u00a0 It would not be an overstatement to say that the full humanity of Ko Un as a poet, and the full humanity of the people whom he has given voice to in his poems, cannot fully be heard without hearing the particular verb inflections of the voices.<\/p>\n 2) The two poems above, along with literally thousands of others, also illustrate the difficulty of translating another feature of Ko Un\u2019s poetry that is integral to his mission of embodying the voices that people Korea: the regional character of speech.\u00a0 Though by land mass Korea is relatively small, it is home to numerous dialects that differ quite significantly, from accent to idiom and even grammar.\u00a0 The instances when regional dialect enter the poetry are far too numerous to detail, though two simple examples can serve to illustrate some of the characteristic effects.\u00a0 One notices that place names play a large role in the naming of poems (\u201cThe Wife from Suregi,\u201d etc.), because Ko Un is very much a chronicler who tries to capture and preserve the spirit and material flavor of the countless little places and spaces that define the texture of Korean history and its living landscape.\u00a0 Hence, direct dialogue or indirect discourse will always be colored by the distinctive accents and idioms of the region, though in English it will all come across as simply standard speech, as in this reported dialogue between a butcher and his customers from \u201cKim T\u2019aesik the Butcher,\u201d which is very specifically set in Shinp\u2019ung-ri, a village in the Choong-Chung Province:<\/p>\n And when they exclaim: \u201cWhy thank you,<\/p>\n that\u2019s very generous of you,\u201d he replies,<\/p>\n \u201cHere you go, Boil it up and eat it!\u201d<\/p>\n \ud5e4\uc5d0 \uace0\ub9c8\uc6c1\ub124\uc720 \uc778\uc2ec \ud6c4\ud558\ub124\uc720 \ud558\uba74<\/p>\n \uc5b4\uc11c \uac00\uc11c \ub053\uc5ec \uc7a1\uc218\uc2dc\uc624<\/p>\n One misses entirely the Choong-Chung accent (which is as pronounced as a Southern or Mid-Western accent, for example) that is indicated in the different verb inflections. \u00a0(Imagine reading Huckleberry Finn <\/em>with all the accents and idioms normalized.)\u00a0 At the same time, a part of what makes this dialogue so gently comic is the ostentatiously polite geniality of the customers’ words; in fact, the previous section of the poem had indicated that the butcher will slice off the “best steak” and throw in “some soup bones for good measure” only if the customers speak in the formal mode (\uc874\ub313\ub9d0 \uc4f0\uba74).<\/p>\n One other quick and subtle example will have to suffice. \u00a0“The Wife from Kaesari” tells the story of an uncommonly silent woman with a “tiny voice” whose only words amount to replies of a “reluctant mmm<\/em>” in a “tiny sound” that is “eager to quickly crawl back” to her lips again.\u00a0 She finally does get a few dying sentences out on her death bed just before expiring as her three sons attend her, but they turn out to be mundane reminders about how “the lid of the soy-sauce jar up on the terrace\/ ought to be opened to the daylight,” or how “the lining in father’s jacket ought to be replaced” (\ub290\uc774 \uc544\ubc84\ub2d8 \uc637\uc19c \uc0c8\ub85c \ud2c0\uc5b4\ub2e4 \ub123\uc5b4\uc57c \ud560 \ud150\ub370).\u00a0 Inaudible and invisible as she was in life, we do know from the hint of dialect that creeps into her speech (\ub290\uc774is dialect for “your”) that her speech was at least distinguished by the region of her origins.\u00a0 Ko Un\u2019s poetry shares something with Whitman\u2019s Leaves of Grass<\/em> in offering a sweeping picture of a nation; what\u2019s distinctive about Ko Un is that the picture is created by countless but individual voices.<\/p>\n 3) Related to the two above features is another distinctive feature of the Korean language that Ko Un makes fresh, masterful use of, namely, the onomatopoeic characteristic of the language.\u00a0 It is not simply that words and phrases re-enact sounds; onomatopoeia extends in Korean to capturing the experience of all the senses as well as the emotions.\u00a0 Onomatopoeia is more properly a verbal form that often uses pure Korean words\u00a0 (as opposed to words with Chinese origins and etymology) to recreate a sensory experience.\u00a0 Each of the poems cited above contains instances that are integral to the rhythmic, aural and sensuous feel of the poems. \u00a0The azaleas in \u201cAzaleas\u201d are \u201cablaze,\u201d which translates a phrase (\ud65c\ud65c) that conveys the experience of something bursting and extending and which is sometimes used when someone wants to demonstrate physically how to open one\u2019s arms wide. \u00a0Such phrases are often doublets (akin to “hocus-pocus” or “hurly-burly”) that convey meaning as much through sensuous rhythm as their sense. \u00a0Samdok\u2019s mother lies \u201clingering in her sickness,\u201d which translates an adverbial phrase (\uc2dc\ub984\uc2dc\ub984) which indicates the gently wobbling motion of someone who slowly collapses. The quiet wife from Kaesari’s end comes suddenly: “Then in a flash she expired” (\uadf8\ub0e5 \uaf34\uce75 \uc228\ub118\uc5b4\uac14\ub124). \u00a0The key phrase is the adverbial\uaf34\uce75, an onomatopoeia that refers most often to the sinuous sound made in the throat when swallowing something whole; the death might be said to have taken place (to twist the idiom) in one quick gulp. \u00a0To take a minor example from another poem, “Chae-hak’s Finger” tells the story of a man who has a “special talent for making liquor,” but who is missing a finger because he had cut it off to give blood to his dead friend’s father while the latter was lying sick:<\/p>\n Even without one finger,<\/p>\n if he swirled the mix with his hand as he made it,<\/p>\n the savor of that makkolli <\/em>or hooch would cleave to the weary palate.<\/p>\n The final clause is\uadf8 \ub9c9\uac78\ub9ac \uadf8 \ubaa8\uc8fc \uc220\ub9db\uc774 \uace4\ud55c \ud600\uc5d0 \ub531 \ubd99\ub294\ub2e4, which includes the adverbial intensifier \ub531, which can be used to mean “exactly\u201d or\u00a0 “just right,” but which can also be used to indicate a sharp sound like a clack, or the slapping sound of something that sticks.\u00a0 The taste of the makkolli <\/em>(a rural rice wine) then sticks with just the right clack to the palate.\u00a0 When the material realities of village life are depicted in Ko Un\u2019s poems, Korean onomatopoeia helps to bring alive their smells, tastes, sounds, and feel\u2014their sensory texture\u2014in ways that recall Seamus Heaney\u2019s remarkable capacity to use sound to bring the texture of his Irish landscape and emotional terrain alive.\u00a0 The rootedness of Ko Un\u2019s poetry in the vernacular lives of people is part of what makes him a historian who captures what histories miss.<\/p>\n 4) Korean onomatopoeia, broadly defined, could be considered a subset of the much larger category that might rather too broadly be labeled \u201cidiomatic expressions.\u201d\u00a0 To say that Ko Un is a vernacular poet is also to say that he deploys idiomatic expressions with uncanny precision and nuance.\u00a0 Ko can be linguistically adventurous and highly inventive, especially in his poems that have Buddhist underpinnings.\u00a0 The often mystical and elusive nature of the spiritual experiences that he explores in such poems leads him to invent enigmatic figures and expressions. \u00a0However, one might make the case that Ko Un is equally inventive in using idiomatic expressions to poetic effect.\u00a0 In \u201cThe Wife from Suregi,\u201d Ko Un depicts a scene in which the sound of frogs at an embankment prevents the sound of a woman weeping in honor of her dead husband (in a ritual called jae-sa) from reaching him:<\/p>\n The wife from Suregi is weeping there,<\/p>\n but the croaking of frogs drowns out her weeping.<\/p>\n \uac1c\uad6c\ub9ac\uc18c\ub9ac\uc5d0<\/p>\n \uc218\ub808\uae30\ub301 \uc6b0\ub294 \uc18c\ub9ac \uc788\uc73c\ub098\ub9c8\ub098<\/p>\n I should point out that the Korean word for frog is itself an onomatopoeia and the place name Suregi is a near palindrome for “the croaking of frogs” (\uac1c\uad6c\ub9ac\uc18c\ub9ac), so that one hears the weeping of the wife blending into \u2013 or being drowned out by \u2013 the croaking of the frogs. \u00a0However, the original does not include a verb that means “drown out.”\u00a0 Rather, a fragmentary idiomatic expression is used that might be literally rendered as, “With the sound of the frogs\/ No use whether the wife from Suregi weeps or not.”\u00a0 That phrasing returns at the end of the poem:<\/p>\n At Frog Embankment<\/p>\n she weeps but the croaking of frogs drowns out her weeping.<\/p>\n It\u2019s no use to her dead husband\u2019s ears.<\/p>\n \uac1c\uad6c\ub9ac \ubc29\uc8fd<\/p>\n \uac1c\uad6c\ub9ac\uc18c\ub9ac\uc5d0 \uc6b8\uc73c\ub098\ub9c8\ub098<\/p>\n \uc8fd\uc740 \uc601\uac10 \ub4e4\uc73c\ub098\ub9c8\ub098<\/p>\n Once again, a literal rendering might be something like, \u201cWith the sound of the frogs\/ No use whether she weeps or not\/ No use whether the dead old man listens or not.\u201d\u00a0 The idiomatic construction carries with it a sense of futility and irrelevance \u2013 it\u2019s as though the actions (weeping, listening) were both inconsequential and interchangeable.\u00a0 So much of the pathos lies, that is, in the construction itself, as though the poem was focused on the nature of mourning and futility, rather than the circumstantial agency of frogs drowning out other sounds.\u00a0 One should add that the poem also alludes indirectly to a very famous story (heard in childhood and read in grade school, and reinforced thereafter) about a green-frog that doesn\u2019t listen to his mother and eventually spends his time during monsoons weeping that his mother\u2019s grave may get washed away by rains.\u00a0 The word for a recalcitrant and contrary child is \u201cgreen-frog.\u201d \u00a0The tragic irony in the poem is that the wife genuinely mourns \u2013 though able to offer only the poorest fare for the ritual \u2013 but it is no use whether she does or not.<\/p>\n One might say that all the poems I’ve cited are minor poems, but the collection that they are from\u2014Maninbo<\/em>\u2014is a living record of the details and humanity of the thousands of minor<\/em> lives that make up the human landscape of Korea\u2026or any other nation.\u00a0 Those details are captured in the distinctive verbal texture of each poem, but a part of what makes the texture distinctive is that it gets easily lost in translation.\u00a0 What all this means is that translators will always face a daunting, perhaps impossible, task when trying to communicate the full \u00a0experience produced by the poetry of someone with Ko Un’s remarkable artistry.\u00a0 But then they can also take heart in knowing that they are themselves artists with the distinctive powers of another language at their disposal.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Yu Jin Ko Wellesley College What’s Lost and Found in Translation: Korean Poetry and the Case of Ko Un One way or another, all translators of poetry contend with Robert Frost’s quip that poetry is “that which is lost…in translation” (Conversations on the Craft of Poetry).\u00a0 The farther apart the original and transfer […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1632,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[79,78],"tags":[115],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/koreanlit.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1634"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/koreanlit.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/koreanlit.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/koreanlit.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/koreanlit.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1634"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/koreanlit.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1634\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1635,"href":"https:\/\/koreanlit.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1634\/revisions\/1635"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/koreanlit.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1632"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/koreanlit.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1634"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/koreanlit.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1634"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/koreanlit.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1634"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n\ubb3c\ub85c \uc53b\uc5b4\ub0b4\ub4ef\uc774
\n\uc2ac\ud514\uc744 \uc2ac\ud514\uc73c\ub85c
\n\ubb38\uc9c8\ub7ec \ub2e6\ub294\ub2e4
\n\uc2ac\ud514\uc740 \uc0dd\ud65c\uc758 \uc544\ubc84\uc9c0
\n\ub450\uc190 \ubaa8\uc544 \uace0\uac1c \uc870\uc544\ub824
\n\uc9c0\ud61c\ub97c \uacbd\uccad\ud55c\ub2e4<\/p>\n
\nwith water,
\nI scrub my sadness
\nwith sadness.
\nSadness is the father of life.
\nI gather my hands and bow,
\nAnd I listen to its wisdom.<\/p>\n
\n\ubc14\ub2f7 \ubb3c\uc740 \uacfc\ubb35\ud558\ub2e4
\n\uc0ac\ub791\uc740 \uc99d\uc624\ubcf4\ub2e4 \uc870\uae08 \ub354 \uc544\ud508 \uac83\uc774\ub2e4
\n\ud604\ubb34\uc554 \ubcf4\ub2e4 \uc624\ub798\ub41c\u00a0 \ubb3c\uc758 \uc721\uccb4\ub97c \ubb3c\uace0 \ub298\uc5b4\uc9c0\ub294
\n\uc800 \ub561\ubcd5\uc744 \ubcf4\uc544\ub77c
\n\ubc14\ub2e4\uac00 \ub9d0\uc5c6\uc774 \ud488\uace0 \uc788\ub358 \uac83\uc744
\n\ud1a0\ud574\ub0b8\ub2e4<\/p>\n
\n\ud55c \ubc29\uc6b8\uc758 \ubb3c\ub9c8\uc800 \ud0c8\uc218\ud55c \ub05d\uc5d0 \uc0dd\uae34
\n\uc800 \ub2e8\ub2e8\ud55c \ubb3c\uc758 \ud770 \ubf08\ub4e4
\n\uc800 \ubc8c\ud310 \uc5d0 \ub0ad\uc790\ud55c \ubb3c\uc758 \ud770\u00a0 \ud53c\ub4e4<\/p>\n
\n\ube44\ub85c\uc18c \uace0\ubc31 \ud55c\ub2e4, \uc99d\uc624\uac00
\n\uc0ac\ub791\ubcf4\ub2e4 \uc870\uae08 \ub354 \uc544\ud508 \uac83\uc774\uc5c8\uc74c\uc744<\/p>\n
\n\uc5fc\uc804 \uc606\uc744 \ucc9c\ucc9c\ud788 \uc9c0\ub098\uac04\ub2e4
\n\uc5b4\uca4c\uba74 \uadf8\ub294 \uc99d\uc624\ubcf4\ub2e4 \uc0ac\ub791\uc744 \ud0a4\uc6cc\uac00\ub294
\n\uc0ac\ub78c\uc77c\uc9c0\ub3c4 \ubaa8\ub978\ub2e4<\/p>\n
\nThe ocean is heavy with silence.
\nLoving is more painful than hating.
\nLook at the glare of the summer heat
\nBiting the ocean\u2019s body (older than basalt) and hanging on.
\nThe ocean vomits up
\nwhat once it silently embraced.<\/p>\n
\nCreated by the drying of even a drop of water:
\nThe hard water\u2019s white bones
\nThe dots of white blood, scattered across the plains<\/p>\n
\nLooking like pomegranate seeds.
\nI finally confess,
\nHatred was a little more painful than love.<\/p>\n
\nPasses slowly by the salt field.
\nMaybe he is the kind who will breed
\nMore love than hatred.<\/p>\n
\nuntil I was four years old.
\nAfter that, for several years running
\nwe were reduced to grubbing out the azalea roots
\nand burning them to heat the rooms in winter.
\nThose were hard times.<\/p>\n
\n\uadf8\uac74 \ub0b4\uac00 \ub2e4\uc12f\uc0b4 \ub54c\uc600\uc2b5\ub2c8\ub2e4
\n\uadf8\ub4a4\ub85c \uba87\ud574 \uc9c0\ub098\ub294 \ub3d9\uc548
\n\uc9c4\ub2ec\ub798 \ubfcc\ub9ac\uae4c\uc9c0 \ub2e4 \uce90\uc5b4\ub2e4\uac00
\n\uaca8\uc6b8 \ubc29\uace0\ub798 \ub370\uc6cc\uc57c \ud558\ub294 \uc2e0\uc138\uc600\uc73c\ub2c8
\n\ub531\ud55c \uc138\uc6d4\uc774\uc5ec<\/p>\n
\nstands Samdok\u2019s family house.<\/p>\n
\n\uc6d0\ub2f9\ub9ac \uc794\uc1a5\ubc1c\uba38\ub9ac
\n\uc0bc\ub355\uc774\ub124\uc9d1<\/p>\n