(translated from the Korean by geul)
(image source: Soojung Cho Art Gallery)
One day I found myself without a wife, and
without the house where my wife and I lived,
far from the bosom of my parents and siblings,
wandering the end of some lonely and windy road.
As it was getting dark soon,
and the wind blowing harder, the cold coming on,
I rented a frigid room, whose floor was covered in old reed mats,
in a carpenter’s home.
And so, alone I thought of many things day and night
in this cold and damp room that smelled of mold,
and when a bit of burning straw was brought in a clay dish,
I held it, warming my hands, writing some letters in the ashes meaninglessly,
not leaving the room, lying down,
with my hands linked behind my head, lolling about,
I kept chewing the cud of my sadness and foolishness.
When my heart was too full,
and something hot welled up in my eyes,
and my face grew hot and red with shame,
I felt I must die from the weight of my sadness and foolishness.
But after a while I lifted my head,
and gazed at the whitish window and door, or the high ceiling,
then I thought about how hard it is to push myself forward by my own strength or will,
and I thought that there was something higher and bigger that was rolling me along,
In this way a number of days passed,
during which, in my turbulent heart sadness, sighs and things that would settle gradually turned to sediment and settled,
and when only lonely thoughts came to me,
and at evening when the windblown sleet would pelt the window and door,
on such evenings I would move even closer to the brazier, get on my knees,
I would think of that solid and untainted buckhorn tree that’s said to be so uncommon,
standing by its lonesome far off on some mountainside next to a rock,
snowed on as the dark comes on, rustling of the wind
on the dry leaves as the snow falls on them.
* The title is written in a way a person renting a room in another’s home might have addressed an envelope.