{"id":1359,"date":"2019-06-27T10:17:09","date_gmt":"2019-06-27T10:17:09","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/?p=1359"},"modified":"2023-12-21T13:17:47","modified_gmt":"2023-12-21T13:17:47","slug":"dong-ho-choi-south-korea","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/dong-ho-choi-south-korea\/","title":{"rendered":"Dong Ho Choi, South Korea"},"content":{"rendered":"

Dong Ho Choi, South Korea<\/strong><\/p>\n

Dong Ho Choi. Poet, Literary Critic, Distinguished Professor (Kyungnam Univ. Korea), Professor Emeritus(Korea Univ. Korea)<\/p>\n

He earned Ph.D(Korean Literature) from Korea Univ. Korea.<\/p>\n

He was Dean of Graduate School, Korea Univ. and Visiting Scholar at UCLA, Waseda Univ. and Iowa Univ.<\/p>\n

He has earned several major prizes and distinctions, including Modern Buddhist Literary Award, Daesan Literary Award, Park Dujin Literary Award, Gosan Yun Sundo Literary Award, Yusim Literary Award and Manhae Grand Prize for Literature and Art.<\/p>\n

He was the founding president of the Poetry Loving Society and the President of the Society of Korean Poets.<\/p>\n

He is the Councilor of the Society of Korean Poets the Editor of Lyric Poetry and Poetics <\/em>(Quarterly), Chair of Changwon KC International Literary Prize and member of Managing Committee of Hoam Award.<\/p>\n

As a poet, he produced a considerable body of literary works including Wind of Yellow Sand<\/em>, A Morning Desk, Where is the Woodpecker Hidden<\/em>, Dharma Plays Ball<\/em> and Korean Jewel Beetle in Blaze, A Face of Ice <\/em>and A Monarch Butterfly.<\/em><\/p>\n

As an international poet, his poetry books including Trees Wet with Rain <\/em>(English)\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Korean Buddhist Poems <\/em>(English) and \u041c\u041e\u0420\u0415 \u0412 \u0411\u0423\u0422\u042c<\/em>\u2160<\/em>\u039b\u041a\u0415<\/em> (Russian) have been translated into as many languages as in Chinese, Japanese, Mongolian and French.<\/p>\n

As a scholar of Korean literature, he produced a lot of books of theory of poetry including The History of the Spirit in Modern Poetry, Digital Culture and Ecological Poetics<\/em>, Poetic Incantation of Mud Paradise <\/em>and Chung Ji Yong\u2019s Poetry and Archeology of Criticism.<\/em><\/p>\n

An Excellent Sword<\/strong><\/p>\n

–A Word of an Old Master in Seorak Mountain<\/em><\/p>\n

Once drawn from the sheath, it is not a sword, but a knife.
\nNo sword is more excellent than to keep its worn-out sheath.
\nWhen brandishing its sharp blade toward the world, the spirit of the sword becomes rusty, eventually nothing more than a piece of iron with black blood.<\/p>\n

A sword does not exist to kill life. It exists to stop killing and disorder of the world. When brandished rashly, its sharpness does an injury to people.<\/p>\n

The sword, when still kept in its worn-out sheath, has the power enough to move the heart of man and the world, and finally to have the greatest mountain shed tears. Only he who realizes it truly knows how to use it without waving it. He does not need it. It is because he lives a life with it not to brandish it rashly.<\/p>\n

This is what the old teacher wants to say to whoever seeks a sharp sword:
\nGo toward the way of an excellent sword, not the way of the world.
\nThe sword, still kept within its worn-out sheath has the power enough to move the heart of man and the world, and even to have the greatest mountain shed tears.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Kafka, Sakayamuni, and Changzu<\/strong><\/p>\n

Kafka
\nwho was lost in the fog and never got into the castle to the end
\none day in the morning
\nsaw
\nthe ugly sight of him who turned into a worm.<\/p>\n

Changzu
\nwho knew what heaven is doing,
\nbecame a butterfly in a day
\nbeating its wings. He never knew whether the butterfly
\nin his dream was he or the dreamer was he.<\/p>\n

A worm turns into a butterfly;
\na butterfly a worm:
\nSakayamuni
\nrealized that life coming out of the void
\nis a long, long illusion not bearing the true self.<\/p>\n

I take a glance at old mother.
\nWhere the clean, fair face is:
\nonce the soft footstep
\nis now hard to move.<\/p>\n

Was I in my infancy
\na butterfly in mother\u2032s dream,
\nor mother who was once young with flying feet
\nis now a butterfly in my dream?<\/p>\n

Bangudae Catchalot\u2019s Love Song<\/strong><\/p>\n

It\u2019s a sad thing, living
\nwith a love they can\u2019t cope with loaded on their heads.
\nA rich smell
\nof shrimp oil stored in their heads
\ndrifts far out to sea borne on the wind
\nand being unable to avoid the greed of men with harpoons
\nis their ultimate fate.
\nRock carvings where prehistoric catchalots still live–
\nthere\u2019s no knowing with what kind of heart ancient folk,
\nwho used to offer sacrifices fervently with dancing shamans,
\ncarved them on the black, hard rock,
\nbut clearly they too must have known
\nthe sorrowful legends those tribes possessed
\nthat slept with one eye open, heads filled with perfumed oil.<\/p>\n

The prehistoric folk who as they offered sacrifices to their gods
\nplayed flutes made from the long teeth of catchalots
\nthat transmitted faint signals from the distant north
\nborne on the waves,
\ntheir lives like catchalots meeting their death
\nafter seeking their far-off loves
\non hearing a whistling sound<\/p>\n

Loving as they vanquish the world\u2019s waves, and though wounded
\nstill obliged to live on for the sake of their kids
\nin order to celebrate this world\u2019s banquets
\nthey carved the shape of whales carrying their babies in rock
\nthen mourning those deaths
\nthey surely sang the grief they offered to god.<\/p>\n

The sorrow of humans experiencing an age without love,
\nlike catchalots threatened with extinction
\nthough hard to achieve love\u2019s longing
\nfill the heart,
\nthough harpoons of injustice come flying, pierce their skin,
\nthey plow on through the waves,
\nand in order to bravely welcome their fate
\nthey are obliged to live fleeting moments like eternity.<\/p>\n

Raindrops 1<\/strong><\/p>\n

The sound of a monk\u2019s wooden gong
\nblown along on a daybreak breeze.<\/p>\n

People erasing
\nmountains\u2019 ink-black shadows.<\/p>\n

Raindrops striking the yard like a drum
\nand breaking their necks.<\/p>\n

A prematurely dead poet
\nwho fixed a lightning rod on a lightning rod\u2019s tip.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/strong>Namchang Primary School in Suwon<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Once school\u2019s over, my book-bag.<\/p>\n

From inside the lunch-box the spoon\u2019s clatter keeping me company.<\/p>\n

The tortuous path along rice-field embankments the puppy\u2019s tail raced along,<\/p>\n

The earth\u2019s smell, spring water flooding in, echoing the breathing of the banks.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Dong Ho Choi, South Korea Dong Ho Choi. Poet, Literary Critic, Distinguished Professor (Kyungnam Univ. Korea), Professor Emeritus(Korea Univ. Korea) He earned Ph.D(Korean Literature) from Korea Univ. Korea. He was Dean of Graduate School, Korea Univ. and Visiting Scholar at UCLA, Waseda Univ. and Iowa Univ. He has earned several major prizes and distinctions, including […]<\/p>","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":3688,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[171,162],"tags":[],"book_author":[],"book_publisher":[],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1359"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1359"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1359\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3687,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1359\/revisions\/3687"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3688"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1359"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1359"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1359"},{"taxonomy":"book_author","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/book_author?post=1359"},{"taxonomy":"book_publisher","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/book_publisher?post=1359"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}