Korean Short Stories
SHIN YONG-MOK Bamboo's Departure from Home 대나무의 출가 Translated by An Seonjae
Information This work was previously published in New Writing from Korea . Please contact the LTI Korea Library. library@klti.or.kr
About SHIN YONG-MOK Shin was influenced by older-generation activist poets, so-called "poets of the masses" (minjung shiin), such as Kim Nam-ju and Shin Kyeong-nim, and genuinely anguished over the problem of the path literature should take in society and history. The quintessential "new poet", Shin's poems avoid overt ideology. Shin's clearly spells out messages of love for the community in soft, easy lyricism, and this is based in his own firm belief in the value of "co-existence with one's fellow man" over "self-happiness.". Even amid the wave of neoliberalism in which competition among writers is considered a necessary evil, Shin sees meaning in even the smallest of hopes, in order to protect the dignity and liberty of the human being. As in the lines "Every hour given me / I take my flashlight and go check the reins / to see if there is any damage" (selected passage from "Jeong of the Guard"), he places himself in the position of a "guard" responsible for "positivity". Shin's work argues that the value and importance of the spirit will never fade, even in the materialism of capitalist society.
LTI Korea eLibrary: http://library.klti.or.kr/node/204
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Bamboo's Departure from Home In the backyard of the house that cut into the foot of the hill stood a bamboo grove the height of the stone wall. At times, startled by a bamboo root amidst the entanglement, I fled gasping. One year a clump collapsed from too much rain and everywhere the tangled roots could be seen sitting there like a snake pit. Bamboo roots entangled so they could be perpendicular! My older brother used a saw, saying he wanted a bamboo pipe just like Grandfather's, then spent four days lying on the floor made with stones grandfather had reportedly dug out from the bamboo grove hill. Saying he was temporarily entangled so he could stand erect, Mother gathered water from the roof of the outhouse and made my brother bite down on a sword, and I saw my brother's neck supported on the doorsill knotted like bamboo. Bamboo extends one branch then puts out another on the opposite side. Waving a light bag in his hands like bamboo leaves, my brother went out through the brushwood gate. The bamboo had no autumn leaves around its neck. A few years later, while the bamboo grove received snow then shook it off, I also had frequent sweat-filled nights. I touched all its tangled roots while digging in the dark ground. The bamboo that ate the saw blade lost its color the following year; crows do not sit on dead trees, but bamboo, even dead, stays standing for ten more years.
Copyright 2009 Literature Translation Institute of Korea
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