Korean Short Stories
Choi Jeongrye Winter Strawberries 겨울 딸기 Translated by Wayne de Fremery
Information This work was previously published in New Writing from Korea . Please contact the LTI Korea Library. library@klti.or.kr
About Choi Jeongrye Choi's poems usually originate from a profound contemplation of time and memory. For Choi, the process of identifying her true and unknown self embedded in the fragments of time and memory is a tool for understanding others and the world at large. What ultimately emerges from her exploration of fragmented memories and chaos of time is the sense of emptiness and loneliness that forms the very core of existence. A product of the poet’s ceaseless effort to pioneer a new frontier in her spiritual existence by unraveling the tangled relationship between memory and present existence, Choi’s poetic language is simple but intense, boldly rejecting sentimentalism as well as conventionalism. Plain words used in everyday conversations become unfamiliar all of a sudden, creating moments of fresh insight that reveal sorrow and pain of living. Everyday experiences entwine with fragments of forgotten memory to reveal the emptiness of life and destroy the idea of self as a solid, clearly defined being. Despite such dark subject matters, however, Choi’s language remains dynamic and full of life. LTI Korea eLibrary: http://library.klti.or.kr/node/391
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Winter Strawberries Vacations aren't for photos, and strawberries aren't for plates. So what then? Strawberries in winter. Winter strawberries. What is this? It's cold now, but there are strawberries at the market. "Two baskets, 7,000 won!" he shouts. Berries used to come from the Suwon patches where young lovers went each May to gaze at each other and touch for the first time. But this isn't what I wanted to say. These stories about sweet-nothings, about winter strawberries, so many empty words. Hearing that a visitor was coming, I washed the curtains and windows, swept and buffed the floor, and bought winter strawberries at the market. I bought them because he kept shouting, "7,000 won!" The short-lived December sun sank and the visitor came. We were noisy with high laughter and the winter night passed as strawberries were plucked from the plate. I put the leftover berries in the refrigerator where they shrivelled. But this is not really what I wanted to say, this talk of eating strawberries,
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loveless and vacant; these threats and withered phrases served with the reality that winter strawberries must rot. That's still not it. Now there are winter strawberries unwrapped in my fridge. Winter strawberries have come and winter too. It's so cold. I'm so cold. I put them in my grocery bag and in my refrigerator. But what's this? What? It's winter, and the strawberries are red, beautiful, adorable. They are charming, Irresistible. No, in the end, it's not this either.
Copyright 2008 Literature Translation Institute of Korea
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