Lighthouse
At the threshold of the endless sea,
wearing a mother’s anxious gaze,
the lighthouse keeps vigil over the dark waters.
When waves and typhoons,
raging beyond the forecast,
threaten to wreck a life,
it embraces them all
with the broad, forgiving heart of a mother,
its body scarred by the wounds of the sea.
A beacon that brightly reveals
the way for boats departing into the darkness,
the skyway opening to the flight of birds,
and even the direction
through a world gone bewilderingly astray.
With the quiet patience of a mother waiting at home,
it soothes the heart with the sound of seabirds’ wings
and the endless whispering of waves.
Night after night, even amid wind and rain,
the lighthouse remains, the sea’s unblinking eye, watching over life.
The Heartbeat of the First Sun
Rising with a fiercely beating heart,
behold that magnificent, perfect sun, round and radiant.
It cuts through waves and the horizon,
rising pure and clear into the morning sky.
Can you hear the fervent message
it cries out from its beating heart?
May you shine like the perfect light of the sun,
spreading warmth and love without favor.
May you never lose the hope that glimmers even upon the ice.
May you remain steadfast amid the turmoil of the times,
rise from the mire, and keep the light of peace alive.
On this New Year’s morning,
as we boldly open the door
to a new world,
may we gather our earnest hearts
and make the coming year
a peaceful one,
overflowing with truth and love.
Hometown
At Dongdaegu Station, I leave my hometown behind and board the train.
Time, too, rushes swiftly by.
Khaki coats and boots,
blue military uniforms and heavy jackets—
so many people have passed through here,
yet not a familiar face among them, only strangers, one after another.
I board the train alone and let it carry me away.
As I watch the mountains and fields filled to the brim with autumn rush past,
I erase, one by one,
the names of friends I used to meet every month—
Haeng, Il, Won, Geol, the names of my friends.
From now on, we may meet only once or twice a year, or once in a few years.
And there will be more and more whom I will never see again.
It has been six months since my mother left this world forever.
And now, as I leave my hometown, where even my friends have faded from my life,
the wind in the station waiting room feels especially cold.
Even the train I am waiting for, as if it knows what is in my heart,
arrives ten minutes late.
I leave, forgetting.
After all, I, too, am someone you will eventually forget.
Everything, once it passes, fades away—
like the wind crossing the sky, like clouds drifting overhead.
My hometown, my friends, and I.
Poet Park Chul Un is also an essayist and lawyer. He holds an Honorary Doctorate of Law (1991) from Dickinson University in Pennsylvania, USA, and is a graduate of Seoul National University School of Law. He has served as Chairman of the Korean Peninsula Welfare and Unification Foundation, Minister of Political Affairs, Minister of Sports and Youth, a three-term member of the National Assembly, Presidential Policy Advisor, and Chief Prosecutor.
He has received numerous honors, including the Yun Dong-ju Literature Prize, and has published ten poetry collections, including Embracing the Wind.
