Ah, the day is waning, in the western sky, over the
lonely river, the even pinkish glow is fading.. ah, when
the sun sets, when the sun sets, night will return without
fail. I weep alone beneath the apricot tree, but today is the
eight of april and the sound of a crowd flooding the
boulevard betokens festivities to come, so why am I the
only one unable to stifle the tears welling up in my hear?
Ah, it’s dancing, it’s dancing, the blood red flame, it’s
dancing. Peering down from the hushed castle gate, the
odor of water, the odor of sand, when the torc, biting
the night, biting the sky, as if still hungering, bites and
tears at its own flesh, a solitary youth weighted with a
darkened heart hurls his blue dream of yesterday into the
river, yet will the heartless waves suspend its shadow in
the flow? Ah, there never was a flower that does not wilt
once cut, yet the thought of my love departed kills the life
in my heart. Ah, well what’s to be done, shall I burn this
heart, shall I slay this sorrow with that flame? Yesterday,
again, dragging my aching feet, I went to her grave to
find the flowers wasted by winter had given way to
unforeseen blooms. Will love’s spring eve return, I won-
der? Ah, with my heart freely bared, this night, into this
water… might someone take pity on me… just then:
“T’ung!” “T’ang!” Roman candles burst, spewing fiery
blossoms, startled me back to my senses, the hubbub of
the spectators seems to mock me, to scold me. Ah, with
ever deeper passion I want to live, even submerged in
smoke like yon flames, even in the agony of suffocating
flames, I want to lead a fiery life, and the sudden throb of
the heart is none but my own…
When the warm April wind rushes across the river,
high on the hill of Chōngnyu Tower by Moran Peak, a
dusky crowd of people sways, with each burst of wind the
flame-dyed waves burn with mad laughter, spooked fish
take cover in the sand, waves slap the ships broadside,
figures pace to and fro with a drowsy rhythm—flickering
shadows, rising peals of laughter beneath lanterns hang-
ing overhead, a child Gisaeng warbles at the top of her
voice, the fireworks igniting sudden lust now are tire-
some, one glass, another glass, yet another, the endless
wine no longer welcome, lying listless in the filthy bot-
tom of a boat, idle tears redden my eyes, weary of the
incessant drumming, men with leering eyes leap from the
boat, unable to endure their rekindled desire, as the
dying candles left behind the doze on the hems of rumpled
skirts, the squeaking of the oars, as if the sound signified
something, presses still harder on my heart…
Ah, the river waters are laughing, laughing, a
grotesque laugh it is, the laugh and icy river laughs looking
up at a pitch dark sky. Ah, the boat is gaining, the boat is
gaining, sadly, sadly squeaking at every gush of wind, the
boat is gaining…
Row the boat, all the way to Nungna Island asleep
there in the distance, slice through the Taedong’s swift
currents. Turn your boat straight toward the hill where
your beloved stands barefoot waiting. What of the cold
wind rising in the waves’ wake? What of the noise of that
grotesque laughter? What- for you- of the darkened
heart of a youth bereft of love, though without shadows
there can be no light. Oh, only do not forgo this your
day of certainty. Oh, oh, burn, burn! This vey night!
Your red torch, your red lips, your eyes and your red
tears…
lonely river, the even pinkish glow is fading.. ah, when
the sun sets, when the sun sets, night will return without
fail. I weep alone beneath the apricot tree, but today is the
eight of april and the sound of a crowd flooding the
boulevard betokens festivities to come, so why am I the
only one unable to stifle the tears welling up in my hear?
Ah, it’s dancing, it’s dancing, the blood red flame, it’s
dancing. Peering down from the hushed castle gate, the
odor of water, the odor of sand, when the torc, biting
the night, biting the sky, as if still hungering, bites and
tears at its own flesh, a solitary youth weighted with a
darkened heart hurls his blue dream of yesterday into the
river, yet will the heartless waves suspend its shadow in
the flow? Ah, there never was a flower that does not wilt
once cut, yet the thought of my love departed kills the life
in my heart. Ah, well what’s to be done, shall I burn this
heart, shall I slay this sorrow with that flame? Yesterday,
again, dragging my aching feet, I went to her grave to
find the flowers wasted by winter had given way to
unforeseen blooms. Will love’s spring eve return, I won-
der? Ah, with my heart freely bared, this night, into this
water… might someone take pity on me… just then:
“T’ung!” “T’ang!” Roman candles burst, spewing fiery
blossoms, startled me back to my senses, the hubbub of
the spectators seems to mock me, to scold me. Ah, with
ever deeper passion I want to live, even submerged in
smoke like yon flames, even in the agony of suffocating
flames, I want to lead a fiery life, and the sudden throb of
the heart is none but my own…
When the warm April wind rushes across the river,
high on the hill of Chōngnyu Tower by Moran Peak, a
dusky crowd of people sways, with each burst of wind the
flame-dyed waves burn with mad laughter, spooked fish
take cover in the sand, waves slap the ships broadside,
figures pace to and fro with a drowsy rhythm—flickering
shadows, rising peals of laughter beneath lanterns hang-
ing overhead, a child Gisaeng warbles at the top of her
voice, the fireworks igniting sudden lust now are tire-
some, one glass, another glass, yet another, the endless
wine no longer welcome, lying listless in the filthy bot-
tom of a boat, idle tears redden my eyes, weary of the
incessant drumming, men with leering eyes leap from the
boat, unable to endure their rekindled desire, as the
dying candles left behind the doze on the hems of rumpled
skirts, the squeaking of the oars, as if the sound signified
something, presses still harder on my heart…
Ah, the river waters are laughing, laughing, a
grotesque laugh it is, the laugh and icy river laughs looking
up at a pitch dark sky. Ah, the boat is gaining, the boat is
gaining, sadly, sadly squeaking at every gush of wind, the
boat is gaining…
Row the boat, all the way to Nungna Island asleep
there in the distance, slice through the Taedong’s swift
currents. Turn your boat straight toward the hill where
your beloved stands barefoot waiting. What of the cold
wind rising in the waves’ wake? What of the noise of that
grotesque laughter? What- for you- of the darkened
heart of a youth bereft of love, though without shadows
there can be no light. Oh, only do not forgo this your
day of certainty. Oh, oh, burn, burn! This vey night!
Your red torch, your red lips, your eyes and your red
tears…
by: Chu Yo-Han
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