Yoon Suha

Poetess Ms. Yoon Suha, born in Seoul, currently resides in Jeonju, where she teaches courses on contemporary Korean literature at Jeonbuk National University. Her poems have been introduced in Japanese literary magazines, Zhou, and Sumthing31. She published her first poetry collection Gap in 2014, and another poetry collection The Sound of a ‘Heart without Lips’ in 2018. Her other books include Lee Sang’s Poetry, Playing with Art Media and co-author Love Poetry, meet in travel.

Inside and Outside

One day,

Flower seeds rode the wind,

Spinning like propellers,

And eventually landed beneath an old tree.

As the seasons changed, maple buds sprouted,

Causing the old tree to turn and welcome the sunlight, water, and wind.

The maple tree grew vigorously,

Its aging body contorted,

As it covered itself with luxuriant, blood-red leaves.

Old trees admired the maple tree’s ability to dye its leaves redder than the sunset,

Showcasing its artistic talent.

The maples, devoid of emotions and words, simply represented new growth.

Yet, old trees remained twisted, unable to untangle itself.

With each passing typhoon, large branches would break off one by one,

But the old tree had learned to live wisely.

In this world, life is not solely about reproduction.

So, I believe that creating things I don’t have is better.

***

안과 밖

어느 날 바람을 타고

날아온 꽃씨가

프로펠러처럼 빙빙 돌아

오래된 나무 아래 떨어졌다.

계절이 바뀌고

단풍나무 싹이 돋았는데

오래된 나무는 그곳을 돌아서

몸을 틀기 시작했다.

햇빛과 물과 바람을 양보했다.

단풍나무는 속절없이 자라 무성해졌다.

온몸이 꼬인 채 늙어가는

나무의 앞을 가리고

피처럼 붉은 잎을 펼쳤다.

오래된 나무는

노을보다 붉게 물들이는 재주에 감탄했다.

단풍나무는 감정도 없고

말도 없었다.

그저 새로운 단풍나무였다.

몸이 꼬여 풀지 못하고

태풍이 몰아칠 때마다

큰 가지가 하나씩 부러지는

오래된 나무는

역시 사는 방식을 알았다.

세상은 한 번이고

사는 것은 재생이 없다.

그래서 내게 없는 것은

만드는 게 나은 것이다.

***

Get stained

I went to the station to look for something I had lost. There, I noticed a girl holding an umbrella that was carelessly folded. Despite the sunny weather, she trembled, and a single drop of blood trickled down her white arm, resembling a leaden stain on her short-sleeved blouse. The man standing beside her also appeared fearful and blue, but I couldn’t determine what to do. Fear seemed to be the only emotion present on her face, detached from the world around her.

When I mustered the courage to ask if everything was alright, my voice was rejected and returned, as if only fear resided on her countenance. Suddenly, a ladybug landed on my face. As the bug took flight, the girl followed its tiny red glimmer.

At birth, humans are unable to perceive colors. The ability to see colors is acquired through learning. If one examines a color chart closely, they will realize that the colors they perceive may differ from the color others see. This implies that blood and the sky, for example, fall within separate ranges of colors.

Even when people share the same dream, the colors they perceive within that dream can vary. It is only when instinct awakens that colors find their rightful place. The understanding of the color spectrum is acquired. In a similar manner, things that lost their color after your departure return in search of color.

***

물들다

잃어버린 것을 찾으러 역 앞에 갔어. 맑은 날씨에 아무렇게나 접은 우산을 든 소녀가 파르르 떨고 있었어. 반팔 블라우스 납처럼 하얀 팔에 핏방울 한 줄기가 흘러내렸어. 옆에 섰던 남자도 파랗게 질려있었는데 나는 어떻게 해야 할지 몰라 그 얼굴을 가만히 들여다보았어. 세상과 연을 끊은 얼굴에는 공포만이 살고 있어서 괜찮냐는 내 목소리는 수신 거부되어 되돌아오는 거야. 그때 무당벌레 한 마리가 얼굴에 붙었지. 벌레가 날아오르자 소녀는 작고 빨갛게 반짝거리는 신호를 따라갔지.

 

태어날 때 사람은 색을 볼 수 없어. 색을 보려면 학습이 필요해. 색상표를 놓고 엄밀히 따져보면 네가 보는 색과 내가 보는 색이 다른 거야. 같은 범위에서 피와 하늘이 구분된다는 거지. 같은 꿈을 꾸어도 보는 색이 다르듯. 본능이 살아날 때 비로소 색은 제자리를 찾아가. 스펙트럼이 학습되는 거야. 네가 가버린 후 색을 잃었던 것들이 색을 찾아 돌아오듯.

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