To be red
Is not to be wounded,
But to have somewhere you long, at last, to reach.
Dr. Lim Hayoung
Poet Dr. Lim Hayoung was born in Janghang, Chungcheongnam-do, and holds a Ph.D. in engineering, embodying a unique career that bridges both academia and literature. He previously served as a professor at Woosong College and is currently active as the head of Munye Village and the vice president of Culture & People, contributing to the advancement of literature and culture.
He has achieved remarkable recognition in the field of poetry, receiving numerous prestigious awards, including the New Writer’s Award in the poetry category from the Daejeon Writers’ Association, the Contemporary Siseon Sidam Literary Grand Prize, the 2nd Poet and Culture Award, the 6th Nammyeong Poetry & Painting Exhibition Personality Award, the Sinjeong Literary Award, the UN NGO Literary Award, the Yun Dong-ju Star Literary Award, the Hall of Poetry Literary Work Award, the Kkeullim Literary Award, and the Korea Education Contribution Grand Prize, among many others. These honors demonstrate that his work has been highly regarded for both its literary excellence and social value.
In addition, he has consistently engaged in creative writing, publishing poetry collections such as The One I Long for Within Me, Stars Held in My Heart, and Winter Story, as well as a Sijo collection titled Spring Story. His works are characterized by their delicate portrayal of inner human emotions, longing, and reflections on life, establishing a broad literary world that harmonizes modern poetry with traditional Sijo.
Toward the Red
Dawn
Came first to the wall
And hung there a single red lip.
Though no one called it all night,
The flower curled into itself
And gazed for a long while into the heart of darkness.
Whenever a drop of dew
Trembles at the tip of a petal,
The names of those who have passed
Seem still to be wet.
Standing before it,
I push toward the morning
The words I have never once been able to give.
The morning glory,
Aware of its fading from the very instant it blooms,
Still raises its slender neck to the sky.
To be red
Is not to be wounded,
But to have somewhere you long, at last, to reach.
While sunlight crosses over the wall,
A small flower
Calls forth the time called today
With its whole body.
붉은 쪽으로
새벽은
담장에 먼저 와서
붉은 입술 하나를 걸어 놓았다
밤새 아무도 부르지 않았는데
꽃은 제 몸을 말아
어둠의 안쪽을 오래 들여다본다
이슬 한 방울
꽃잎 끝에서 흔들릴 때마다
지나간 이름들이
아직 젖어 있는 것처럼
나는 그 앞에 서서
한 번도 건네지 못한 말을
아침 쪽으로 밀어 보낸다
나팔꽃은
피는 순간부터 지는 쪽을 알고도
하늘을 향해 제 목을 길게 뽑는다
붉다는 것은
상처가 아니라
끝내 닿고 싶은 곳이 있다는 것
햇살이 담장을 넘는 동안
작은 꽃 하나
오늘이라는 시간을
온몸으로 불러 세운다.
***
Hands That Became Flowers
In a corner of the yard,
Moss roses bloomed
Resembling my mother’s hands.
Pink ushered in the evening,
Yellow wiped the sunlight clean,
And white folded away a silent day.
Even after my mother was gone,
The flowers did not surrender their colors.
When the wind came,
They leaned on one another’s shoulders
And called for my mother in quiet voices.
Since that day,
Whenever I look at flowers,
I know their tiny petals are the first to reach out
And take my hand.
꽃이 된 손
마당 한켠 채송화가
어머니 손을 닮아 피었다.
분홍은 저녁을 들이고
노랑은 볕을 닦고
하양은 말없는 하루를 개었다.
어머니가 떠난 뒤에도
꽃들은 제 빛을 놓지 않았다.
바람이 불면
서로의 어깨를 기대어
낮은 목소리로 어머니를 불렀다.
그날 이후
나는 꽃을 볼 때마다
작은 꽃잎들이
내 손을 먼저 잡는 것을 안다.
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