Chung Kuk-in
What do you think of my life, you who dwell in dusty towns?
Don’t I come up to the elegant life of men of old?
In the world there are a great many like me;
I’m not ignorant of delight, though buried in a forest.
With a straw-thatched house beside a clear stream
I own the wind and the moon by luxuriant pines and bamboos.
The winter gone a few days ago, spring has returned;
The peach, damson and cherry are in bloom at sunset,
The willow and the grass are green in a drizzle.
As if cut by a knife or painted with a brush
In all things is manifest the artifice of nature.
Birds in the wood sing their amorous songs
Overcome by spring joy.
Since at one with nature,
I cannot but feel the joy.
I walk by the brushwood gate,
then sit in the pavilion.
Strolling and reciting a poem
I spend a day in the mountain, savoring alone
the true taste of tranquility.
My dear neighbors, let’s go
and see the scenery.
Today let’s tread the green grass;
tomorrow take a bath in the stream;
In the morning, gather herbs in the mountain
and in the evening let us go fishing.
The mellow wine newly fermented
I will pour in my hood of hemp;
I will drink it counting the cups
with the twigs of a flowering tree.
A breeze suddenly rises
and crosses the stream to me;
The fragrance falls in my wine
and flowers on my clothes.
Let me know when we run out of wine,
I’ll send the boy to the wine shop.
The grown-up walks ahead with a stick,
the boy follows with the wine.
Walking slow and singing
I get to the stream.
In the clear water of white sand
I cleanse the cup.
As I look down upon the stream
peach blossoms come floating by.
The Enchanted Land must be near.
Might that field belong to it?
I hasten to the summit
through a path among the pines,
Holding azzleases in the wind.
I sit in the clouds and see
below me curiously arranged
A great number of villages.
The sunlight in mist spread like a brocade,
the black field of a few days ago
Is now full of spring.
Fame avoids me,
so do riches and honors.
What friends have I
but the cool breeze and the bright moon?
Content and humble, I’m free from vain thoughts.
With such joys, how can I hope for more?
Chung Chol
I was promised to my lord when I was born.
The bond of our lifetime Heaven should know.
I was young and he loved me only;
Incomparable was my lot, my happiness.
I yearned to be with him all my life.
Now in old age I miss my lord.
A few days ago it seems to me
I ascended with him the Kwanghan Palace.[9]
How did I come from thence to the nether world?
My hair then neatly combed
is dishevelled these three years.
Rouge and powder I have,
but why should I make up?
Cares in my heart are piled in heaps;
I breathe but to sigh, I wake but to weep.
Life is short, but cares are endless.
Seasons change all too swiftly;
Sights and sounds arouse
my feelings without end.
A quick puff of the spring wind
cuts its way through piled snow;
The plum-tree in my yard has come into bloom.
What a subtle smell in the cold thin air!
At dusk the moon rises to shine at my bed,
and I feel sorrow as if I greet my lord.
Oh that I pick those plum-blossoms
and send them to my lord!
How would he take you, plum-blossoms?
Flowers have fallen, new leaves make a shade.
But lonely is the silk curtain,
empty the embroidered tent.
Removing the lotus tent,
I put up the peacock screen;
I am full of cares, my days are long.
I cut a silk cloth,
unravel colored threads;
Measuring it with a gold rule,
I make a dress for my lord.
Not only skillfully made, but how decorous it is!
Putting it in a white stone box
set upon a coral carrier,
I look toward where my lord is,
yearning to send it to him.
Hills or clouds, I wonder,
but how rough they look!
Who can travel such a long distance?
If sent, would he open the box?
Be delighted at my gift?
When wild geese fly crying
through a frosty night,
I ascend a high pavilion
and lift the crystal screen.
The polestar is out,
the moon at the eastern hill.
Greeting them as if my lord,
tears well up without my will.
Oh that I seize their bright light
and send it to the Phoenix Pavilion![10]
Hanging above the pavilion,
may it illumine the entire world,
Making steep mountains and deep valleys bright as day!
The whole world is frozen up,
white snow is everywhere.
No birds are flying, there’s no traffic of men.
It is cold enough here in the south,
How severe it must be up where my lord dwells!
Oh that I seize the sunlight
and let it shine upon my lord!
Oh the sun at my grass eaves
shine upon his pavilion!
Adjusting my dress, turning up sleeves halfway,
I lean on a tall bamboo at dusk
when my cares are endless.
The short day is easily done,
again I sit through a long night.
Setting the stringed instrument beside the lamp,
I sit aslant with chin in hand,
hoping to meet my lord in dream.
But cold is the embroidered quilt.
When will this night be gone?
Twelve hours a day, thirty days a month,
I try to forget my cares
ceasing from thought for a while;
But they have filled my heart,
penetrated to the marrow.
Even ten Pyunjaks[11] can’t cure this sickness.
Oh, my sickness was caused by my lord.
I prefer to die, become a butterfly.
Moving from one flower tree to another
I will sit with scented wings
on my lord’s clothes.
Even if he doesn’t recognize me,
I am going to follow him.
Huh Nansolhon
Young not too long ago
I’ve aged like an old woman.
I recall the joys of my girlhood,
but it’s no use to talk about them.
They only bring sorrow in age,
they choke me as I try to recount.
My parents brought me up with care
and hoped for me a respectable marriage.
Through fate and the office of matchmaker
I met as in dream a refined man of the world.
I behaved as if treading on thin ice.
When I turned sixteen, inborn beauty came of itself.
With such mind and looks I pledged to him my life.
But with the fleeting years and the envy of nature,
Spring winds and autumn moons
like a shuttle in a loom,
Gone is the snowy skin
and flowerlike complexion,
And I have turned ugly.
Who would be charmed to love?
I myself am ashamed of my looks.
And whom should I resent?
Is he at a pleasure house?
Has he fallen in love?
The sun has long set,
I don't know where he is,
Where might he be staying,
the white horse, the golden whip?
Far or near he be
I have no news from him,
Though he went away long ago,
how can I stop missing him?
Since I see no more of him,
I might learn to forget,
Yet long are the hours of a day,
tedious the days of a month,
The plum tree in my yard,
how many times has it bloomed and died?
On an icy night snow falls thick and fast.
Dreary rain falls on a long summer day,
Even the beauty of spring, the best season,
falls to delight with Its flowers and willows,
The autumn moon lights my room,
a cricket chirps nearby,
Lost in troubling thoughts,
I sigh long and tears fall.
Life is tenacious, to die is not easy.
Then I reflect and pull myself together.
The lamp lit, holding a harp on my lap
I play a tune along with my cares;
It sounds like a night rain
pattering at bamboo leaves
Or a crane that's come at last
to the stone post on the wall.[12]
Though my fingers are ardent as of old
The lotus curtains are silent,
nobody is here to listen.
My heart's torn to pieces.
I sleep to meet him in dream;
But leaves falling in the wind,
Insects singing in the grass
Disturb even my sleep
as if they have some grudge.
In spite of the Milky Way
Kyunwu and Jiknyo of Heavens[13]
Never fail to meet once a year
on the seventh evening of the seventh moon,
What sea separates us since he has left,
No news whatsoever is to be had?
Leaning against the parapet,
I look toward where he is gone,
Dews are on the grass,
evening clouds drift by;
Mournful are the bird songs
in a green bamboo grove,
Numberless are people in sorrow,
But is there another in misfortune,
ruined so early in life as I?
O, painful is my life without my lord.
Translated by
Lee Yount-gul