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  The Place

  Gwangjang Market: Where History Breathes

  There are three famous gwangjang (squares) in South Korea: Choi In-hoon’s monumental novel, The Square; the Seoul Gwangjang in front of City Hall, the place of candlelight protests; and the Gwangjang traditional market that boasts a hundred year history. Originally, Gwangjang Market was a name exclusive to a 3,000 pyeong shopping establishment that was privately owned by the Gwangjang Corporation, and located in the center of the market. It now refers to some 60 commercial buildings that are clustered around the Gwangjang Shopping Center. The market has a 300-year history if one looks at it from a historical perspective, and at least a 108-year history if one considers its establishment from 1905 when the Gwangjang Corporation was founded. In the latter part of the Joseon era, there were three large open markets in Seoul: The I-hyeon Market, open from early dawn to morning located near Dongdaemun; the Chil-pae Market, around what is now Namdaemun; and the Jongno Market, which opened in the evening. Among the three, I-hyeon Market was more renowned for its morning Baeogae Market. Baeogae was a hill that connected the areas of Jongmyo, Dongdaemun, and Cheonggyecheon. There are many stories regarding the genealogy of its name: that there were many pear trees (bae means pear); that it was the last point where a large boat crossing the Han River could reach through to Cheonggye Stream (bae also means boat); and that because of the frequent appearance of tigers, a hundred people had to gather together in order to go up the hill. Baeogae was a morning market that developed around this region. In 1910, the Joseon empire was annexed by Japan. But even before that, Korea had been hopelessly subject to all kinds of invasions by Japan. The circumstances of the markets were also bleak. The merchants, who had a strong sense of nationalism, united and established the Gwangjang Corporation on July 5, 1905. Despite much interference, Dongdaemun Market, Korea’s first privately owned market, came about at last. Before the annexation, the Japanese merchants who had developed the Jingogae (Myeongdong) area into a busy commercial center, opened five department stores after 1920. The Hwashin Department Store was built in Jongno. A very small number of people were able to go to Japan and engage in a luxurious shopping spree or shop at the Hwashin Department Store in Jongno. The market for the majority of the people during the Joseon era was Dongdaemun Market. Just as life would have been impossible for most Joseon people if the five-day market had not been maintained, everyday living would not have been possible had there not been a traditional market such as Dongdaemun during the Japanese colonial period. That is the reason why Dongdaemun Market could neither be expanded nor demolished. Dongdaemun Market was like a fortress. When the sun rose, the four gates on the east, west, south, and north opened and all kinds of items from the entire country started to pour in. Dried fish from the East Coast, coal from mines throughout the peninsula, as well as an assortment of paraphernalia from Japan and the West arrived. But it was agricultural products that were sold in the largest quantity. Fresh vegetables, seasonal fruit, and five grains were transported by horses and cows. Dongdaemun Market was known to have the largest number of agro-fishery products in all of Korea. The shops were categorized into three tiers. Tier one shops were located in tile roof houses and were wealthy enough to be able to place advertisements in newspapers. Tier two shops were all under tin roofs, and offered mostly agro-fishery products. The tier three shops were vendors who sold things on a mat under a somewhat shabby plank roof; they sold mostly miscellaneous household objects. Around 200 merchants owned the tier one and two shops, and the tier three sellers changed constantly. On average, around 2,000 customers visited daily.   Dongdaemun Market was completely destroyed during the Korean War. Only the site of the building remained, but after the war the market became more vibrant. Survivors had to continue to live and the market was a necessity in order for people to go on living. The people who arrived in Seoul in great numbers from all parts of the country settled in the Cheonggyecheon area and as a result, the market region became completely packed with people. After the recovery of Seoul, there was a presidential order from Rhee Syngman to reconstruct Dongdaemun Market. President Rhee ordered three international-sized markets to be built in Seoul. The construction of the Gwangjang Shopping Center took place swiftly. From 1957 to 1959 a massive construction project commenced and finally in 1959, it was completed as the building it is today. In other words, the three-story concrete Gwangjang Shopping Center was newly constructed and maintained for 50 years until now in its present form. At that time, most of the buildings around the Cheonggyecheon area were traditional Korean style houses and as these buildings were mostly destroyed during the Korean War, the newly built Gwangjang Shopping Center was the most modern structure between Jongno and Dongdaemun. The Gwangjang Shopping Center was the tallest building around at the time, and the watchtower mounted on the roof must have made people feel as if they were looking down from a mountaintop. Seoul was the most popular overnight school trip destination for students from the provinces. Gwangjang Market was always included on the itinerary. Students climbed to the top of the watchtower of the Gwangjang Shopping Center building and looked out at the Dongdaemun area. They took pride in the fact that there was such a big market in Korea, and bought gifts to bring back for their parents from the Gwangjang Shopping Center. In January 2011 the novelist Park Wansuh passed away. She was an integral part of the history of Gwangjang Market. Her novel His House, published in 2004, records in detail the sights of the Gwangjang Market during the 1950s. It delineates the period from after the Korean War when there were hardly any buildings intact up to the post-War construction of the department store era.One cannot find a more detailed depiction of Dongdaemun Market than in His House. Park’s novel provides a very thorough description of the market as it was then, and the commerce that revolved around it. What is astounding is that things remain pretty much the same to this day. “It was called a department store or a dry-goods store but in actuality, it was simply a long pathway like an alley; and on both sides the merchants were allotted a single pyeong where they put up a stall without a partition or divider. In the back they hung loose fabric and piled up folded or rolls of fabric by the pathway, and the owner did the business, standing on top of the stall. It looked like an enormous dry-goods store when one just walked into the department store but it was a fierce arena of competition for many one-pyeong business proprietors.” Of course, the present day Gwangjang Shopping Center is no longer a “fierce arena of competition.” The stores are at least four to five pyeong in size. There are some that are over 10 pyeong. But the absence of partitions or boundaries remains the same, and fabric still hangs loose on the rear wall with the rolled up fabric piled up in a display case by the pathway. On November 13, 1971 a 22-year-old young man by the name of Chun Tae-il set himself ablaze in the Peace Market across from the Gwangjang Market, shouting “Obey the Labor Law!” “Let my death not be in vain!” The Gwangjang Market has a deep relationship with Chun Tae-il. The prodigious personal records he left behind was compiled by Cho Young-rae, and published into a book, A Single Spark: The Biography of Chun Tae-il. The following is a passage from the book:“The young Tae-il, who had to take on the responsibility of taking care of his family of six, took his younger brother, Tae-sam to the Dongdaemun Market to sell kitchen objects. They got things like trivets, brushes, strainers, brooms, and grills from a consignment store, paid back the price of the items, and then kept the profit. The trivet was relatively easy to make and therefore the two brothers bought the material from Dongdaemun and made them themselves on the rice paddy of Yongdudong where they lived.” Tae-il was only 13-years old then. It wasn’t just Tae-il and his family who were destitute, because in those days there were many children who had to work to support their families.The Biography of Chun Tae-il is filled with heartrending stories of his youth and the young girl factory workers he met in the Peace Market. Chun Tae-il was born in 1948, the year the Republic of Korea was founded. Most of the people from that generation underwent as much hardship as Chun Tae-il. The older merchants of the Gwangjang Shopping Center experienced as difficult a childhood and youth as Chun. What they remember the most are those difficult years—horrific childhoods because of poverty and war, when they were inhumanely treated while working in factories and marketplaces. A Single Spark: The Biography of Chun Tae-il is not only a story of one person but about the entire generation that lived during a very difficult period. “Lament” is a short story by Choi Il-nam that was published in the monthly magazine, Hyundae Munhak, in 1976. The protagonists, a married couple who sell fish in the market, have a dream. “When the couple somehow managed to survive while running a small shop in a market that was on the outskirts of the city, the wife talked about moving to Dongdaemun Market after several years of hard work. The husband yelled at his wife for being a piker, instead of dreaming big and closing down their small store for a much bigger and more reputable business. Then his wife replied that it was her wish to make a fortune in the grandest market with the same business that they began.” Hence, the Dongdaemun Market before 1976 was grand enough to be the subject of one woman’s life’s dream. The elder merchants remember the 1970s as the heyday of Dongdaemun Market. “There were so many customers that we didn’t have enough time to count our money. In those days, we could provide for our children until after college from our one to two-pyeong store. There was such a stream of customers from dawn to late night that our doorsteps got worn out. We were so busy that we sometimes forgot to eat.” The comedian, Kang Ho-dong, came to Gwangjang Market only once, but it gained the place new renown. The Mayor of Seoul, National Assemblymen, Cabinet Ministers, and the presidents of banks and companies have all paid visits to Gwangjang Market as well. Yet even if the president came wearing a hanbok along with the first lady at the bequest of merchants on festive occasions, these visits didn’t have nearly the effect of Kang’s visit. When Kang Ho-dong carried out his assignment of “Eat 10 Different Kinds of Food and Show 10 Different Reactions” for a TV program, Gwangjang Market instantly became known as the mecca of food. The attitude of the media’s coverage of the Gwangjang Market has changed according to the times. During the Japanese colonial period, it was known as the “greatest agro-fishery market in Joseon.” From 1960 to 1980, it became the largest fabric market in Korea, and then during the 1990s, silk, satin, linen, and cotton were popular items. Since the Asian financial crisis in 1998 to the early 2000s, secondhand stores and custom-tailored clothes were common. Recently, it has become known as a place to stop off for inexpensive food after taking a walk around nearby Cheonggye Stream. The majority of the stores in the Gwangjang Market still do business in fabrics and dry goods. However, fabric sales have plummeted in the poor economy and the silk and satin stores that now specialize mostly in hanbok are not doing very well. Even though the hanbok shops are empty most of the time, the secondhand stores are always crowded. There have always been many stalls and eateries in the small alleys that surround the market, but after the restoration of Cheonggye Stream, the dining business in the surrounding area suddenly revived. This is a rather unwelcome phenomenon from the perspective of Gwangjang Market. In the first half of the 1960s when the construction of the Gwangjang Shopping Center was completed, it was the most modern market in Korea. But now, it has become the biggest and the most famous traditional market. Embracing the most energetic and passion-filled years of millions of humble people, the place has aged along with the people. While everyone is caught up in the most cutting-edge, massive-scale, and luxurious styles available, renovating their shops to make them bigger, trendier, and more distinctive, Gwangjang Market is a place that tries to change with the times even as it is known as an embodiment of the past. 1. His HousePark Wansuh, Segyesa Publishing Co., Ltd.2012, 308p, ISBN 9788933801956 2. A Single Spark: The Biography of Chun Tae-ilCho Young-rae, Chun Tae-il Memorial Foundation2009, 340p, ISBN 9788996187424

  by Kim Chong-khwang

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  The Place

  Forest of Wisdom

  Just a few kilometers from the demilitarized zone that separates North and South Korea, Paju is a somewhat surprising location for what has become the center of publishing and book culture in Korea.      Paju Book City is a city dedicated to books—their printing, publication, and promotion. It aims to become the “book-hub of Asia.” In this book city nestled among publishing offices, online bookstore warehouses, and printing presses sits the “Forest of Wisdom,” a huge concrete building with three massive sections. Forest of Wisdom is currently home to over 200,000 books and before too long it will accommodate another 100,000. The books are mostly donations from publishing companies and some of them gave copies of every book they had ever published. Organizations and notable individuals have contributed as well. Traditionally, buildings that house such a large number of books have either been libraries or bookshops, but Forest of Wisdom is neither. The books there are not for sale, they cannot be loaned out, and they are not catalogued. Forest of Wisdom is something else entirely.            In the last few years there has been a book café craze throughout Korea, where the walls of a coffee shop are filled with bookshelves laden with interesting books. Some book cafés are operated by well-known publishing companies like Munhakdongne or Changbi Publishers, Inc., who use them as a space to display and sell their books. Others are simply decorated with books that create an atmosphere where customers can sit with their coffee, relax, and spend some time with a book that catches their eye. With a coffee shop in its central hall, on first impression Forest of Wisdom seems like it must be the biggest book café in Korea, perhaps even the world—but in fact it is more akin to a vast interactive artwork.      Explaining the rationale behind this forest of books, Kim Eounho, the chairman of Bookcity Culture Foundation, begins by talking about the beauty of books as artifacts, and how that beauty has a cumulative power, so that when books are displayed together they create the harmony of a choir, and an indescribable fragrance that transforms a space. Thus when lectures are held in these halls the content sounds more inspiring, and when musicians perform among the books the melodies are more beautiful. Over 100 events have already been held in Forest of Wisdom this year alone, including a performance by the Russian Philharmonic Orchestra as well as evening classes and programs as part of the Book City’s Open University. The Paju Book Sori Festival, a meeting point for publishers, editors, and authors from all over Asia, is also held among the books in the Forest of Wisdom, creating the perfect hub for learning and exchange.      Kim Eounho says that rather than being a mere library, Forest of Wisdom is a book utopia, creating a new way of approaching and enjoying books. We go to libraries to track down specific books, looking them up in a database and hunting them down in the stacks, ignoring all the books around them. In Forest of Wisdom you cannot help but explore, browse the spines of books from shelf to shelf—reading titles, experiencing colors and textures, and taking out and opening up the ones that pull at your imagination. In this book utopia all books are equal before the reader, and on every shelf a myriad of worlds sit ready to inspire, just waiting to be opened.      In all three halls books line the walls from floor to lofty ceiling. Even on a weekday there are plenty of people around, some browsing books, some studying or working at one of the many desks while others chat with friends over a cup of tea. On weekends the place is filled with families, as children and their parents line the stairs to the second floor, reading books and sharing new stories.      The first hall is filled with books donated by different scholars. The idea is that visitors can find out more about these great minds by browsing through their book collections, thus they are kept together and each section is labeled with the name of the person who donated them along with their area of study. Looking through these personal collections, amassed over the course of the donor’s career, it is easy to see that successful scholars do not stick to just one kind of book. Among the volumes donated by a professor of English literature you can find books on philosophy, geography, music, and translation. As Kim Eounho says, children who read books are our hope for the future. This does not mean children who just “study hard” as the Korean saying goes, but for children who read widely and enthusiastically; because while school textbooks teach us that everything relating to a subject can be found in one place, the book collections of talented scholars demonstrate that those who have a wide understanding and interest in many fields are the ones who create new wisdom and advance the knowledge of humanity.      Books, things themselves that have been created, are the start of other forms of creation. They are the greatest inheritance left to humankind. In Forest of Wisdom they have been brought together to be read, to be enjoyed, and to make their presence felt in a space which creates a new way of interacting with books and is sure to inspire generations of readers, writers, and thinkers.                        Kim Eounho: Kim founded Hangilsa Publishing in 1976 and Hangil Art Publishing in 1998. He is also head organizer of Paju Booksori, director of Hangil Book Museum, and chairman of Bookcity Culture Foundation.

  by Kim Eounho

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  The Place

  Jangheung - Where Writers Bloom

  One of six designated “Slow Cities” in Korea, Jangheung rests near the southernmost part of the peninsula. Filled with more cows than people, this literary breeding ground is hometown to more than 70 contemporary writers.  Jangheung’s Place in Your Heart Jangheung could be just another place among the southern provinces in Korea with blue seas, charming mountains, and warm breezes. In fact, describing Jeollanam-do’s (province) Jangheung county in such terms is not incorrect. If one has no special connection to Jangheung, it’s just another place in the south with plenty of sunlight—places like Gangjin’s White Lotus Temple (Baekryun-sa) with its narrow paths or Jangheung’s Hwaejin inlet. If you are somewhat more familiar with Jangheung, you might know that if an imaginary line was drawn straight down from Gwanghwamun in Seoul, it would bisect Korea into East and West, with its southernmost point passing through Jangheung. While Jangheung is symmetrically south of Seoul, it’s a poor geographical cousin to Gangneung, which is straight east of the capital. It’s not necessary to elevate Jangheung’s status just because of its linear symmetry with Gwanghwamun, however. Those who have traveled widely would probably refer first to the stirring sight of Eulalia grass fields on Mt. Cheon-gwan, while those of more refined tastes would point out that there are more cows than people in Jangheung county. Successively listing the features of this area brings more information to mind: razor clams, gaebul (edible marine spoon worms), and other marine products from Jangheung are considered to be the most delicious, and the Shiitake mushrooms grown in the region can only be purchased by paying a premium. But there’s more. Jangheung is one of only six “Cittaslow” (Slow Cities) in Korea. All the descriptions so far are points to keep in mind when planning a trip to this area, but they don’t do justice to Jangheung and cannot convey a full understanding of the region. When people dream of Jangheung, when the heart feels stifled and a sudden desire to run off to Jangheung moves us, we must instead turn to Korean literature to learn about this place. On a map draw a line between Gangjin and Boseong and then stretch this line wide—Jangheung county will be contained within the contours of this shape. But we shouldn’t stop here, because truly finding Jangheung requires us to draw out our emotions as if from a well. These emotions are normally buried under the busy schedules of our lives. Feelings of sadness, longing, and warmth are manifested here in Jangheung through the medium of literature. Have You Ever Heard of a Literary Tourism Zone? Jangheung can only be reached through literature. This statement is neither baseless propaganda nor an attempt to stir people up; it has a clear, legal basis. Although many people still don’t know this fact, Jangheung is Korea’s first Literary Tourism Zone. In 2008, the Ministry of Knowledge Economy designated three areas within Jangheung County as special zones, and nationwide, Jangheung is the only special tourism zone for literature. In effect, the Korean government has acknowledged that only Jangheung has the ability to draw tourists through literature alone. Jangheung has a long history as a literary center, with a startling 500-year literary tradition. The first example of gasa, an old form of Korean verse, was created in Jangheung by the poet “Gi-bong” Baek Gwang-hong (1522-1556), in his Gwanseo-Byul-gok (a book of gasa verse). Jangheung’s literary tradition continued to be passed down to subsequent generations even after Baek Gwang-hong was gone. He was followed by what came to be known as the “ Jangheung Troupe”: Wie Sae-jik, Roh Myeong-seon, Lee Sang-gye, Lee Joong-jeon, Wie Baek-gyu, and others who formed the base of Jeolla province’s literary tradition. Giyang-sa, built in honor of the poet Baek Gwang-hong still stands in Jangheung’s Anyang-myeon, Gisan-ri neighborhood. Part of Gisan-ri has also been designated as a special literary tourism zone. The soul of literary Jangheung county, however, is not to be found in long-lost ancient poetry. Jangheung’s literary magnificence stems from its stature as the blossom of contemporary Korean literature. According to data from the Jangheung County Office, more than 70 contemporary literati hail from this area. The novelists Song Kisook, Yi `Chong-Jun, Han Sung-won, and Lee Seung-U, the sijo (Korean verse) poets Kim Je-hyeon and Lee Han-seong, and the contemporary poets Wie Seon-hwan, Kim Young-nam, Moon Jeong-young, Lee Dae-heum, and others all hail from Jangheung. There are so many it’s difficult to list them all. Their literary achievements still resonate in Jangheung. Song Kisook’s The Mung Bean General, Yi Chong-Jun’s Snowy Road, Han Sung-won’s Port, Lee Seung-U’s “Saem Island” (Saemseom), and other famous works are so numerous that it is likewise hard to count them all. We could describe all of Jangheung as a living museum of Korean literature. In fact, even Jangheung County’s Chief, Lee Myeong-heum, is a poet who has published in various literary journals. Jangheung’s literary fiction heritage has been particularly dazzling, and there is ample reason why the region is called the home of Korean prose. Song Kisook’s (b. 1935) works are filled with historically-conscious narratives. Yi Chong-Jun (1939-2008) is a representative writer of the 4.19 generation (those that experienced the demonstrations in April 1960 that toppled the Syngman Rhee government) whose works are characterized by sentiments associated with the southern provinces. Han Sung-won’s (b. 1939) works are written from a uniquely religious worldview. In short, each of these major authors represents different genres of modern Korean literature. It is quite surprising that they were all born in the same region yet their works are all so different. If even one of these literary giants had been born in another village, that village would have constructed a literature center, established eponymous literature prizes, and effectively called attention to itself. By contrast, in Jangheung there are so many luminaries worthy of recognition that authorities have already given up on the task of selecting whom to honor. Instead, the entire county has been designated as a Special Tourism Zone for literature. This designation, however, creates another conundrum. Where should one go to experience literary Jangheung? First of all, Literature Park is located just below Mt. Cheon-gwan. Several hundred literary stone monuments dot the park. However, it can hardly be considered the only worthy pilgrimage site for Jangheung. Likewise, at the other Literary Tourism Zone in Gwansan-eup, Shindong-ri, there is little that has anything to do with Jangheung’s gems of Korean literature. It’s just another southern port village with fine views of the ocean. After much thought, I have therefore decided to introduce readers to several literary sites in Jangheung. One of these is still occupied by its owner, while the others are now empty, yet highly recommended.     1. Magnolia ParkLee Seung-U, Munidang1998, 326p, ISBN 89745608872. PortHan Sung-wonMunhakdongne Publishing Group1997, 344p, ISBN 97889828109163. This Paradise of YoursYi Chong-JunMoonji Publishing Co., Ltd.2003, 460p, ISBN 9788932008424  4. Snowy RoadYi Chong-JunMoonji Publishing Co., Ltd.1997, 244p, ISBN 97889320092785. The Mung Bean General, Vols. 1-12Song Kisook, Window of Times2008, 395p, ISBN 97889594011236. SopyonjeYi Chong-JunYolimwon Publishing Group1998, 224p, ISBN 8970631607   Han Sung-won’s Ocean & Mountain Den Han Sung-won’s house is located on the far western edge of Jangheung. At one end of Anyang-myeon, Yulsan Village overlooking Deukryang Bay, warm breezes blow throughout the four seasons accompanied by gentle rays of sunlight. It is here that Han Sung-won built his house, which he named Ocean & Mountain Den (Haesan-togul). Actually, however, this place isn’t Han’s original neighborhood. His original neighborhood was Hwaejin-myeon, just like that of author Yi Chong-Jun. After living far away from home, Han Sung-won came back to his hometown of Jangheung and settled here. Several years ago I visited the author at Ocean & Mountain Den and drank a cup of tea made from leaves which he had roasted himself. When I asked him why he didn’t return to the neighborhood of his birth, he replied, “For all intents and purposes, my current neighborhood is my birthplace.” He then chuckled. Ocean & Mountain Den could actually be described as being shabby. Although there is a pond in the yard, a bamboo forest planted out back, and a roof with red tiles, the grounds do not appear to be neatly maintained. The yard is thick with weeds and the pond water is muddy. But for some reason, this is much more charming—it is a completely natural scene, without any artifice or decoration. The deep blue of Deukryang Bay below Han Sung-won’s house is still fresh in my mind even today. As Han and I exited his house and walked along the coast lined with poetry steles inscribed with his work, I asked him what the source of Jangheung’s literary abundance was. His answer was as follows: “Among the mountains in Jangheung, there is one called Hundred Million Buddhas Mountain. (Ukbulsan) The Chinese character ‘Uk’ means ‘hundred million’ or ‘the people.’ You can find this in any Chinese dictionary. Therefore Ukbulsan is the people’s Buddha Mountain, or Maitreya (the future Buddha) mountain. In fact, halfway up Mt. Ukbul, there is a boulder called Daughter-in-law Rock which is said to bear the likeness of the Maitreya. Who is the Maitreya? Maitreya is a Buddha dedicated to enlightening mankind and leading them to enlightenment. In the present day, conveying the principles of life is the duty of literature.”   1. Birthplace of Yi Chong-Jun    2. Bolim Temple    3. Yi Chong-Jun Literature Memorial   Yi Chong-Jun and Jangheung Despite what anyone might say, Jangheung is author Yi Chong-Jun’s home. Although Jangheung is also home to countless literary giants, no other author has incorporated it as extensively into their works as Yi. Wherever one travels in Jangheung, traces of Yi Chong-Jun remain. The Daeduk-eup bus stop was where he caught the bus to Gwangju to attend Seo Middle School. One hour away from Jinmok village, where he grew up, is Bolim Temple, where he used to enjoy drinking “Grain Tea” (a Buddhist euphemism for alcohol) with the abbot there. Bolim Temple appeared in Yi’s novel, White Clothes. Two of his novels, The Lost Temple and An Account of Humanist Mu Sojak’s Life, describe Mt. Cheon-gwan, which is famous for its fields of Eulalia grass (pampas grass) in the autumn. The set for the movie “Festival” was located at the easternmost edge of Jangheung, at the Nampo-ri village chief’s house. According to the records left by Yi more than 30 of his works have been derived from places and events in Jangheung. The movie set for “Beyond The Years” was located near Yi’s childhood home. The set is just 10 minutes away by car from the house in Jinmok village where Yi was born. Behind the movie set overlooking Deukryang Bay is a long mountain range beyond which Jinmok village is located. The highest peak among them, Avalokitesvara (Buddhist Goddess of Mercy) peak, was described by Yi as “closely resembling a seated Buddhist monk wearing robes.” Today the fields below Avalokitesvara peak have been drained for land reclamation, so rice paddies can no longer be found there. When Yi was a child, however, seawater sometimes flooded the fields. In those days, Avalokitesvara peak cast a shadow like a lone crane flying over the rice fields soiled by seawater. That image became indelibly imprinted in Yi’s mind, and he added it to his book Stranger of Sunhak-dong. The image of a crane’s shadow cast on the ground below was also featured in director Im Kwon-taek’s 100th feature film, “Beyond The Years.” Author Yi Chong-Jun’s birthplace was Jinmok village in Hwaejin-myeon, Jangheung County. He passed away on July 31, 2008, and was buried three days later on August 2, 2008 in his native village. In 2010, a stone monument called the Yi Chong-Jun Literature Memorial was erected near his grave. A foundation stone seven by seven meters forms the foundation upon which a large flat stone was erected. Author Yi Chong-Jun wasn’t tall, and he always shied away from attention, which is the reason his monument stone was intentionally kept diminutive. Yi Chong-Jun's Snowy Road Jinmok village, Yi Chong-Jun’s birthplace, is located on a hilltop where about 40 low-roofed houses faced the sea. In his novel Snowy Road, the narrator describes a “five-room house surrounded front and back with fields.” This was the very house in which he was born. Today, every room in the house contains Yi’s personal effects arranged together with his books, while his photographs hang on the walls. If you sit on the wooden floor there you’ll notice a clear view of the ocean. If you look out over the sea to the left, you can almost make out Sorok Island in the distance, which appeared in Yi’s bestseller, This Paradise of Yours. If you look to your right and follow the shipping lanes, you will see Cheongsan Island where Director Im Kwon-taek shot his famous Jindo Arirang sequence for the movie adaptation of Yi’s Sopyonje. When Yi Chong-Jun entered middle school, he left home for Gwangju to study. Around that time, family fortunes took a turn for the worse, obliging Yi’s mother to sell their house. One day Yi’s mother received word that her son would suddenly be stopping by. She implored the new owner of their house to allow him to sleep there for just one night. She was able to borrow the house for a day to see her son to bed. The next morning, Yi's mother left the house together with her son early in the morning. Mother and son made the uphill trek of about four to five kilometers through thickly-accumulated snow to get to the intercity bus terminal in Daeduk-eup. There Yi caught the bus going up to Gwangju, while his mother went back the way she came. The snow had piled up high that early morning. As she returns to Jinmok village, she tries to step in her son’s footprints dotted here and there in the snow. “My son, my son, please be healthy and happy.” While walking back home on that snowy road, mother is crying so much that she can hardly see. In the epilogue to his novel, Snowy Road, Yi made the following comment: “The narrative in Snowy Road contains many factual elements in the interaction between a student and his old mother. In fact, the scene in which they walk together in the early morning darkness to the bus stop is taken from my very own life. When I got on the bus to Gwangju, leaving my mother behind, I always wondered how she walked back home on that cold, snowy road. I did not dare ask her for fear of the pain her answer might cause me.” Since that day, author Yi Chong-Jun never again set foot of his own accord in his childhood home. Even when he led his fans on literary tours to his hometown, he only came to the edge of his old neighborhood before turning back. It was only in 2005, when the County Government bought and restored his childhood home, that Yi entered the house where he had been born. That snowy, inclined road still exists above the hill upon which Jinmok village is located. Now that a new highway hugging the coast to Jinmok has been built, the previous path, which used to be the village’s only link to the outside world, is long forgotten. The brush has now grown higher than one’s head, but we have to walk on that road. We need to walk on the thickly accumulated snow covering the road, stepping in the footprints dotted here and there just as Yi Chong-Jun’s mother did.  

  by Lee Seung-U

• 

  The Place

  The Secret of Suncheon Bay

  It’s 5 a.m. in the morning. I pedal my bike hard. My hair is damp and my face is covered with drops of water although I’ve only been riding briefly. The fog shrouds all things from me, and thereby allows me to be completely alone; the fog turns all existing things into an island. Penetrating this fog, I am headed toward Suncheon Bay. The sound of the wind whizzing by my ears indicates the speed of my ride. I left the city behind me and it is quiet, still deep in slumber. The east stream, which runs through the heart of the city, merges from the darkness like a snake. Alongside the bike lane, there is a forest of reeds. It seems that the reeds have not awakened from their sleep either. They have not shaken off the darkness and remain damp in the fog. The reeds persevere in silence, one that was brought about by a tranquility that is not disturbed even by the breeze. When I reach Suncheon Bay after racing along the east stream, I shall be far away from this chaotic world. But I hope I can experience the freedom that isolation provides. What I like about the freedom I feel in the opaque fog is the absence of the smell of violence. I like this freedom that comes from profound solitude and tranquility. Instead of the ravishingly beautiful Suncheon Bay during the day, I prefer the mist-filled Suncheon Bay of the dawn without a soul around. Suncheon Bay is made up of a tidal flat that is surrounded by ria-(like) shoreline of about 39.8 kilometers. And on this tidal flat, one can find a 30,000 pyeong reed forest. The sea starts where the forest ends. But a vast tidal flat surfaces when it is low tide. On this tidal flat, there is a water pathway that remains hidden in seawater. That which is revealed by what was hiding is more astonishing than it is beautiful. Just like the river that harmonizes with the surrounding mountains as it curves, the pathway of the sea too runs naturally in accordance with the lows and highs of the tidal flat. The tidal flat is a moving river. It is the river beneath the sea. This water passage demonstrates the beauty of the invisible one who is devoted to its work. The life energy of the tidal flat lies in this water passage. Suaeda japonica Makino, a type of saltwater plant, blooms in the tidal flat of Suncheon Bay. Starting out as a young bud in the spring, then transforming itself into a red and burgundy hue when summer passes and autumn arrives, this plant changes its color a total of seven times. Forming a colony in the vast tidal flat, the Suaeda japonica offers a different palette of wardrobe for each season. And toward the sunset when the day comes to a close, it shines even more luminously in red with the color of dusk, thus amplifying the beauty of Suncheon Bay. The reed forest, which forms yet another colony on the tidal flat, looks like it is almost touching the horizon. Gazing at the vast forest of reeds, it appears as though the whole world has come together here. It looks like they are standing shoulder to shoulder, endlessly swaying in the wind, yet standing upright, communing with silence. The reeds blow where the wind blows, never defying anything, surrendering to providence; they become part of the oneness in order to give birth to a greater beauty, not once resisting anything in its humbleness—the subservience of the reed to the laws of nature is what makes the reed truly beautiful. No, to put it more precisely, it is not about beauty but adhering to the truth when one yields to the cosmic way. Only men refuse to follow the truth and instead, want to rule over nature. I think I now know a little about what the subservience of the reed signifies. That is why I am ashamed when I behold the reed. I am shameful of the time I spent in defiance of the love that was given to me, and having written poetry without years of surrender. At one time, I viewed surrendering as submission. I sang of how I wanted to die, imperiously, rather than live on my knees. However, I now believe that encountering death is not a shameful act, and surrender, too, must be a part of the truth somewhere in its depths. The name Suncheon means obeying the way of heaven. That is why the name of the city itself strongly signifies a place where people adhere to the order of nature. The beauty of surrender and humility, as they are manifested by the vast reed forest of Suncheon Bay, thus complete the meaning of its name. Like its name, Suncheon is a beautiful ecological city that has co-existed in harmony with nature, and Suncheon Bay clearly proves it. At last, I have arrived at the dock, the central part of Suncheon Bay. The fog is even thicker than usual. I park my bike and begin taking a stroll through the reed forest. It feels like the mist is permeating through the pores of my face and my body. It is refreshing. In the midst of layers of fog, all that is within 100 meters of my view belonged to me. Like a lost child, I walked along only on the path that was visible to me. This reality, which has severed everything from me, has become my world. I am content with this hour, with this reality of mine. Kim Seungok Museum As I walked through the fog, A Trip to Mujin, a novel by Kim Seungok, a writer from Suncheon, came to mind: “No human power could disperse it before the sun rose and the wind from the sea changed its direction. You could not grab it but it was clearly there. It engulfed you and separated you from all distant things. The fog, the Mujin fog, that its people meet every morning, that makes them ache for the sun and the wind.” Mujin, which means “fog dock,” is the setting of the novel A Trip to Mujin. The author seems to have transposed the very landscape of the Daedae Port in the reed forest of Suncheon Bay into his story. He seems to have wanted to state that in order to overcome one’s uncertain grasp of reality, as though one is trapped in the fog and the paradoxes of life, one can only thoroughly live out these uncertainties and contradictions. Going upstream toward the city, one will come across the Kim Seungok Museum and adjacent to it, shrouded in the mist, is the Jeong Chae-bong Museum, which is dedicated to the famous children’s writer. I crossed the Mujin Bridge that leads to the tidal flat. Underneath the bridge, the water divides the tidal flat and makes a path. It is the water from the east stream that passed through the heart of the city early in the morning. While going over the Mujin Bridge in the fog, I felt like I was leaving behind the mundane world. There, at the end of the reed forest, dense with fog, is the Yongsan Observatory. But because of the thick fog, I decided to imagine it instead of climbing to the top. One can enjoy a panoramic view of Suncheon Bay from the observatory. The reed forest in the distance is formed like a body of round islands. Like small floating islands against the wave, the reed forest sways to and fro. It is an indescribable kind of yearning that the fluid round shape of the reed forest elicits. It is derived from the softness in the curvature of the reed forest and the simplified, flattened landscape as seen from high up—sort of like your gentle and kind-hearted older sister who lives in the country. It is a yearning for all that is humble and sincere—a yearning for what we are being consistently deprived of because of the fast pace, competitiveness, and materialism brought about by capitalist urbanization. It is a fundamental yearning for humble things. Suncheon Bay itself is about this yearning. I paint a ship sailing away from Suncheon Bay as well as the birds that soar high above; I’m startled by the sound of this ship in my mind. It is quite enjoyable to use the inner screen of my imagination. To instantly visualize images, which are solely for myself to screen, is equal to the joy of writing. Drawing in my mind the scenes of Suncheon Bay that one might view from the observatory, I walked further along in the fog. Here and there in the forest I could hear the birds that had risen early; shaking off the dampness from their feathers, they are probably remembering their dreams from the night before. They are maybe thinking of another long journey that they have to take. Many birds from Suncheon Bay migrate to Siberia or Australia depending on the season. Suncheon Bay is a mid-point stopover for these migratory birds to rest their weary bodies. It is a resting place for them to replenish their bodies that have lost half of their weight from flying across the ocean. Suncheon Bay provides the best possible layover and food for these fatigued birds. With abundant prey that the enormous tidal flat proffers, and the comfortable sleep that they can get amongst dense reeds, Suncheon Bay has become a most luxurious hotel for the birds. In short, it is a veritable oasis for them. Approximately 160 different kinds of migratory birds are found in Suncheon Bay. Among them, there are 17 that are registered in the international treaty CITES (Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora), including the Saunder’s gull, the stork, the blackfaced spoonbill, the Swinhoe’s egret, and the hooded crane; and also birds such as the Saunder’s gull, the tadorne, the gray-tailed tattler and 15 others, which are officially listed in the Ramsar Convention (the 1971 Convention on Wetlands of International Importance Especially as a Waterfowl Habitat). The hooded cranes, of which there are only about 10,000 left in the world, also prepare for their winter in Suncheon Bay. There is plenty of prey to feed on in the low and high hills around the tidal flat and the quiet surrounding farming villages and agricultural lands. Moreover, the area remains uncontaminated thanks to the profuse inflow of seawater from the islands in the outer sea. Surely, Suncheon Bay is a paradise for the birds that migrate from Australia all the way to Siberia. For them it must be the best place in nature. Birds have to fly from when they are born until they die. Flying is what their life is about. They exist not for destinations like Australia or Siberia but because they must fly. That is because life is not about a purpose but the process. What could be the destiny of birds that must flutter their wings until the day they die? Do they know themselves? If it isn’t the purpose of people to get old and meet death, then what actions are we too destined for? Do we live our lives, aware of what that is? These are the questions I always ask myself when I see soaring birds at Suncheon Bay. But the answer I always get is one I do not understand. Chirp, chirp. What flies must fly. Chirp, chirp. That which walks is what walks. Chirp, chirp. I stop walking and look around to see that the fog has been somewhat lifted. Before long, the tidal flat will show itself and one will be able to see the Suaeda japonica on the surface, like a carpet of red. The flock of birds will ascend to the sky from the red rug along the water passage. And a blazing fire will gradually rise from the sea at the edge of the tidal flat. The reeds will brush against each other, and the sound of people will carry across the tidal flat, the reeds, and the flock of birds. The fog will disappear and another day at Suncheon Bay will begin. I push the pedals of my bike hard and ride toward the city, leaving Suncheon Bay behind me.

  by Kim Seungok

• 

  The Place

  Where Writers Call Home, Tongyeong City

  Tongyeong, a city in Gyeongsangnam-do (province), is renowned as a center of arts and culture. Its most famous scion is “Cheongma” Yu Chi-hwan, followed by Kim Chun-soo, Park Kyongni, Jeon Hyuck-lim, and other greats who have embroidered 20th century Korea’s world of literature and art. Living within the natural environment of Tongyeong must have been conducive to the poetic imagination. Paradoxically, I planned to begin a memorial ceremony for Tongyeong because of poets’ laxness in ignoring the city. Early 20th century poet Jeong Ji-yong (1902-1950) was quoted as saying, “I do not possess the ability to describe how the natural scenic beauty of Tongyeong and Hansan island gives birth to literary art.” This was the verse I saw in February 2010 when visiting Tongyeong’s Mt. Mireuk for the unveiling of a poetry-inscribed plaque in honor of Jeong Ji-yong. What an absurd statement—Imagine, a poet unable to express something in words! Once you come here and experience the subtle fragrance and beauty first-hand, however, you will understand why Jeong made this seemingly inane statement. From the top of Mt. Mireuk, the view of the Tongyeong coast spreading out below is breathtaking, perhaps accounting for the praise of Tongyeong by Jeong Ji-yong. My recent visit to Tongyeong is still fresh. Motes of light mix with the azure sky, floating lazily along while particles of cobalt blue swimming in the indigo sea of the Hallyeo waterway (which connects Tongyeong with Yeosu). While the scenery alone is enough to take one’s breath away, the actual focus of this article is on the artists of Tongyeong, a miracle in Korea’s artistic and literary history from the early 20th century. Playwright “Dong-rang” Yoo Chijin, the poets Yu Chi-hwan and Kim Chun-soo, painter Jeon Hyuck-lim, sijo (Korean verse) poet Kim Sang-ok, and author Park Kyongni are all natives of Tongyeong! How was it possible for so many outstanding artists to emerge at the same time from a small port city on the southern sea? Daring to slightly alter poet Jeong Ji-yong's quote above, I could say, “I do not possess the ability to describe in writing why Tongyeong and Hansan island have produced so many artists.” As a travel reporter, I have visited many foreign cities, yet it is quite rare to encounter one place where so many artists of the highest caliber were born within the same generation. Just counting the number of famous artists born in Tongyeong around the same time yields a surprisingly high number. Depending on one's interests there are several ways to discover Tongyeong, but I recommend that visitors first stop by the martyrs’ shrine, not to pay respect to Admiral Yi Sun-shin, hero during the Japanese Imjin invasion of Korea and a main character in Kim Hoon’s historical novel Song of the Sword, but to visit the roundabout located in front of the martyrs’ shrine in the Myeong-jong neighborhood which houses a poetry-inscribed stone slab erected in memory of Japanese colonial period poetry wunderkind Baik Suk (1912-1995). The title of the poem inscribed there is Tongyeong 2, an excerpt of which appears below:  “Nan lives in Myeong-jeong (bright well) Valley / home of Myeong-jeong village where the deep-green, sweet nectar-like water bubbles up from Myeong-jeong spring / among the newly-married women drawing water from the noisy spring, the one I fancy seems likely to appear / but come the season when the camellia's green branches bloom red flowers, my love will likely go to another village to get married...I sit down heavily on the old stone steps of the shrine for old generals and feel like I will cry this night, become a ferryman on the sea of Hansan Island / I think only of the low-roofed and low-fenced house with the elevated yard where my love spent 14 months threshing grain with a foot mortar.” 1. Chungnyeolsa   / 2. Birthplace of Cheongma Yu Chi-hwan While touching the verses carved into the smooth headstone, I think of the poet's distress over a love that could not be. Perhaps the low social status of Baik Suk's mother, a gisaeng (female courtesan performing Korean classical music and dance), made the union impossible. The two wells referred to in the poem stand next to the inscribed stone slab. One well denotes the day (日), while the other denotes the month (月). When these two Chinese characters are combined, they form the character myeong (日+月 = 明, brightness), which is how the wells got their name. Now let’s head south from the shrine (of Admiral Yi Sun-shin) to the Seoho market. Tongyeong is famous for its seafood market offering delicious fare, but today we are calling here for a different reason. The one kilometer radius around the seafood market is the area in which most of Tongyeong’s poets and writers once lived. First, the house where "Chojeong" Kim Sang-ok was born is right in front of the market. His excellent and visually-evocative piece, “Garden Balsam,” appears on the poetry-inscribed monument, conveying how much he missed his older sister:  “As the rain falls, only one side of the garden balsam stretches its branches over the big jars of (fermenting) soy sauce / will the yearly blossoms leave me bereft / I send a detailed letter of my circumstances to Sister / already I wonder if she will laugh or cry when reading / you miss the childhood home which is still so vivid to me / remember you stained my fingernails with dye from balsam petals / we sat facing each other in the sunlight while you wound string round and round / my finger, making each fingernail of my white hand light crimson / as if in a dream I see my veins standing out.” After quietly looking at the light crimson of my fingernails I purposely ball my hands into a fist until the veins stand out in my hand before heading to Jungang-dong in front of the Munhwa Post Office. A story of unattainable love similar to that of poet Baik Suk's awaits us here. This love story concerns "Cheongma" Yu Chi-hwan and sijo poet Lee Youngdo. Today we can convey our emotions at the speed of light through the world of the ‘handheld Internet,’ making it hard for me to understand the sentiments of Yu Chi-hwan, who sent about 5,000 letters to people here and there. The phrase 'authenticity of the moment’ sounds initially pleasing, but it's also a nuanced reproach of those who change their hearts from moment to moment. Yu Chi-hwan's first wife was alive and well and her eyes were open to the fact that her husband was sending love letters to other women. How could Tongyeong, the city of “courtesy and decorum,” cheer such a native son? In his poem, “Happiness,” he opens with the optimistically romantic line, “I can see the broad emerald sky from the front of the post office window as I write this letter to you,” but in his poem, “Fragrance,” the verses are filled with exclamations of anger and feelings of betrayal. “People in my hometown mock my dreams / I despise you and cast you away like a pair of worn-out sandals!” Although the poet claims he discarded his hometown like a pair of old shoes, perhaps it was the fiercely proud city of Tongyeong which discarded the poet. The 18th century British critic Samuel Johnson once said that all novels were originally love stories. Were the conservative people of Tongyeong aware of this quote? The love stories of the adulterous Yu Chi-hwan have become yet another facet of his charm that attracts today’s readers. 1. Seoho Market  / 2. Park Kyongni  / 3. Park Kyongni Memorial Hall Not so long ago, I received a call from a younger colleague and novelist who had just moved into the Toji Culture Center. While there are a considerable number of studios for writers to pursue their craft, my friend mentioned that he had never seen an environment as perfect for writing as Land. Until she passed away two years ago, it is said that the famous Park Kyongni (1926-2008), author of the novel Land, fed, gave lodging to, and gathered writers under her wing, earning the nickname “mom.” After leaving Seoho market and crossing the Tongyeong Bridge, I arrive at Mireuk (Maitreya) island. Pak’s memorial and burial place are both located here. While she also had deep connections with Wonju City (in Gangwon-do) and Hadong (in Gyeongsangnam-do), Tongyeong was her hometown. Her last wish was to be buried in a sunny spot in her hometown, a wish which was granted after her passing in May 2008. “When I look back at my youth with my failing eyes I can see how brief yet beautiful it was. Why couldn’t I realize this fact back then?” I recite the lines of her poem, “About Living,” which is carved into the memorial stone. Next, I head to the Jeon Hyuck-lim Museum of Art (JMA) located in Bongpyeong-dong of the same island. Self-taught “cobalt blue” painter Jeon Hyuck-lim (1915-2010) successfully supported his family through painting and is reputed to have said, “Tongyeong-style is global-style.” He never left Tongyeong until the day he died because he became mesmerized by the cobalt color of the sea bordering his home, and spent his life exploring the source of his favorite color till the very end. Regrettably, one week after I visited the JMA, Jeon Hyuck-lim passed away at the age of 95, and I felt guilty that I hadn’t been there at the end to say farewell. Jeon's oldest son and master artist Jeon Young-geun (54-years-old) now runs the JMA, the site of a happy confluence of literature and art. Mt. Mireuk, with a height of 461 meters, was originally named by the Venerable Wonhyo, the famous monk from the Silla dynasty. He named the mountain as such because he believed that the future coming of the Maitreya Buddha would occur here. Would it be too outlandish to say that the energy from Mt. Mireuk was responsible for the amazing preponderance of literati, painters, and artists born here in the early 20th century? I think the conjecture becomes less biased if we consider the interpretation that culture is the manifestation of Buddha for all mankind. If we look at today’s culture and the shabby circumstances of creative talents, we realize that culture is not a gift for redeeming mankind but rather a means of maintaining the thread of existence. It’s a rather romantic view, isn’t it? The Jeon Hyuk-lim Museum of Art I recall a poem I saw on the 2nd floor of the JMA which was dedicated to Jeon Hyuck-lim by the poet Kim Chun-soo. It was written shortly after the poet arrived at the painter’s 80th birthday feast in 1995: “To painter Jeon Hyuck-lim–Hey Jeon, you only have one upper tooth left in your mouth and (the walls of) your wife’s stomach grow(s) thinner by the day, but the most exquisite thing in the world is the abundant cobalt blue sky of summer which is still hovering over the roof.” Today, the fall sky here in Gwanghwamun (a neighborhood in Seoul close to Gyeongbok-gung (palace) reminds me of the ocean’s color in Tongyeong. I feel the impulse to fly down the highway and see the cobalt blue sea once more.

  by Yu Chi-hwan

• 

  The Place

  Incheon, Gateway to Korea

  1. Black FlowerKim Young-ha, Munhakdongne Publishing Corp.2004, 356p, ISBN 89-8281-714-X 2. The Diary of Kim GuKim Gu, Dolbegae Publishers1997, 472p, ISBN 978-89-7199-255-5 The city of Incheon occupies a strategic point of entry into Korea on the Yellow Sea, 40 kilometers west of Seoul. Currently known for Incheon International Airport, Korea’s most well-known airport, the city was also the site of the Battle of Incheon, a decisive move led by General MacArthur in the Korean War.As of 2009, the population of Incheon stood at 2,750,000, making it the third largest city in Korea behind Seoul and Busan. But as recently as 1883, when the port of Incheon was forcibly opened by Japan and the West, it was just a small fishing village with just over 2,000 residents. The population increased by over 1,000 in just 120 years after the port opened, and the small fishing village was completely transformed into a modern city. As a result, Incheon accompanied the glory and shame of Korea’s modern history more than any other city. It was both a foreign concession under Japanese, Chinese, and western powers, and the port from which many Koreans left as migrant workers. Kim Young-ha’s novel Black Flower depicts the lives of those people who left as migrant workers from Incheon. People left their hometowns and flooded to Incheon in the hopes of finding work building the harbor and railroad. Even prison convicts were mobilized to help build the harbor. Special facilities were needed to enable commercial ships to enter the port, where tide levels vary dramatically. Kim Gu, who played a leading role in the founding of the Republic of Korea and who was also known by his pen name Baekbeom, also labored in Incheon before escaping prison. In his biography, The Diary of Kim Gu, he captures the appearance of Incheon in the early days of the opening of the port. Since modernity entered Korea through Incheon with the opening of the port, traces of western modernity were left behind. The first modern park, church, school, and other buildings can still be found in the heart of the city, including the houses where western, Chinese, and Japanese residents lived. Though much was destroyed in the Korean War, the city contains relatively more relics of this era than any other city in Korea. With the end of World War II, Japan conceded defeat and retreated, and Korea was divided into North and South. With national division and the Cold War, Incheon Port could no longer fulfill its role as the center of the western coast of the peninsula. Then, in 1950, the city was leveled during the Battle of Incheon. The UN forces’ amphibious landing changed the tide of the Korean War, but destroyed the city in the process. Oh Jung-Hee’s Chinatown depicts the poverty that took hold in Incheon after the war. Through the coming-of-age story of a girl who moves with her family to Incheon, Chinatown takes a critical look at the backdrop of the Chinese concession that was formed during the opening of the port, and astutely captures from a female point of view the destitute lives of the Chinese who were pushed out of their own country and the Koreans who flowed to the city in search of work. Starting in the 1960s, then President Park Chung-hee, who aggressively pursued industrialization, focused on Seoul and Incheon as key sites for the realization of his goals. He created the so-called Seoul-Incheon Manufacturing Zone, built an expressway, and concentrated the factory district on reclaimed land from Incheon’s coast and salt flats. The population grew as young people left farms to move to the city in search of factory work. Living conditions in the city could not keep pace with this highspeed development and the rapid pace of industrialization. The city was congested and lacked housing, roads, schools, and parks. Problems associated with industrialization began to arise. The air became polluted, and workers began to demand respect for their rights. Eungang-si, the city depicted in Cho Se-hui’s A Dwarf Launches a Little Ball, was based on Incheon. The “dwarf ’s” children fight with capitalists while working in factories in Eungangsi. This gray city looks like a hopeless place, but as the author points out, it is fundamentally a city of love. The story is a clear allegory for how hope can never be abandoned so long as people have love for each other. In addition, the bestselling young adult novel Children of Gwaengiburimal is also set in Incheon. Gwaengiburi is the unusual name of a coastal village in Incheon. The story is both a realistic and heart warming portrayal of the happy lives of the children who live in this poor neighborhood. In this novel as well, Incheon is depicted as a city of minorities living in the shadow of Seoul. ChinatownOh Jung-Hee, Hollym Publishers, 2007, 151pISBN 1-56591-206-3 A Dwarf Launches a Little BallCho Se-hui, Iseonggwa Him, 2008, 351pISBN 978-89-951512-0-4 Currently, Incheon is preparing to take a new leap. New infrastructure is being built to clear away the shadow of industrialization. The entire city is being revitalized. The new city of Songdo that is being built is aimed at becoming an international city, and the city is taking on an ultramodern appearance. In addition, the old heart of the city that was formed during the period of the opening of the port is being culturally revitalized, as represented by the Incheon Art Platform. The port warehouse district is being transformed into art studios, which are set to open in October. Also, the Asian Games will be held in Incheon in 2014, and the Global Fair & Festival will be held this year. These large-scale events plan to demonstrate Incheon’s new direction as a city of the future. Incheon is a dynamic city, indeed. Even now, some talented writers somewhere could be using their imagination and exquisite prose to capture this city on paper. Children of GwaengiburimalKim Joong-mi, Changbi Publishers, Inc.2001, 274p, ISBN 89-364-3344-x

  by Oh Junghee

• 

  The Place

  The Seas of Korea

  Korea is an island nation!  A brief glance at a map immediately reveals that Korea is not an island nation, but rather a peninsula sitting to the right of China and the Asian continent. Peninsular Korea is located between China and Japan, which is an actual island nation, yet I still insist that Korea is an isle, for reasons that can be found in its historical and political background. Yes, I'm referring to the division of Korea—in the 60 years since the outbreak of the Korean War in 1950 and national division into the North and South in 1953, South Korea has been an island nation. Let's look at the map again. Korea is a peninsula that extends from south to north, but South Korea's only link to the continent is blocked to the north by the DPRK, leaving the sea as the South's single available outside link. Therefore the sea is the only physical connection to the world for South Koreans. The seas around Korea, which occupy a corner of Northeast Asia, surround the “island nation” from the east, south, and west. Korea has named these the East Sea, South Sea, and West Sea (Yellow Sea), respectively. Korea is a very small country, yet surprisingly the three seas surrounding it have completely different traits. These three seas are so distinct from one another that the people who make a living from them are equally distinct. What these seas all have in common, however, is a desire to interact with the world. All the world's oceans have been mediums of communication and interaction, yet this is more so for Korea, as the South’s only terrestrial link to the continent has been severed.Sunrise Coast of the East SeaTo Korea's east is the East Sea, across from which is Japan. This is also the body of water which Korea calls the East Sea and which Japan refers to as the Sea of Japan. The East Sea is located at the westernmost end of the Pacific Ocean, so fish ranging about the Pacific also stop here as well. Salmon are one good example because they are a species ranging across the North Pacific. Salmon laying eggs in Alaska also do so near the East Sea coast. Whales, those great mammals that make their homes in the vastness of the Pacific, appear frequently in the East Sea, particularly in the waters off Ulsan. There was a poet who liked to endlessly recite poetry whenever they appeared:  If you suddenly long for the sea / You were probably a whale in your previous life / For me, 'whale' is a synonym for love / Both love and whales swimming in the sea are mammals / Whenever their hearts are filled with longing / Suddenly, urgently, they push their heads above the horizon. "For My Whale," from the collection On Waiting by Chung Il-keun(Moonji Publishing Co., Ltd., 2009) The East Sea is similar to the ocean proper. The continental shelf near the coast is narrow with a steep slope, leading to nautical depths of over 3,000 meters. The East Sea coastline is uncluttered, possessing just a few islands. As a result, the waves are high because they form in the deep sea, unhindered by any obstacles until they reach the coast. To Koreans, the sun rises in the East Sea, so this body of water has always symbolized their hopes and dreams. That is why on New Year's Day many Koreans visit famous vantage points to take in the East Sea sunrise. The sun, which blazes forth from the depths of the East Sea, infuses Koreans with life:  Deep-sea fishermen straddling the clouds / They’re reeling in a big fish / Madly thrashing its tail / The fish splashes water everywhere / Hooked between its gills, a little blood is visible / It's said that not even a sliver of light can penetrate the depths of the sea / So how was the fish caught with its luminous coiled body / Swimming a thousand leagues under the sea / Tranquilly to and fro. "Deep Sea Fish," from the collection Ripple by Kim Myungin(Moonji Publishing Co., Ltd., 2005) 1. FlowerheadKim Myung-in, Moonji Publishing Co., Ltd.2009, 121p, ISBN 97889320200132. RippleKim Myung-in, Moonji Publishing Co., Ltd.2005, 116p, ISBN 97889320161463. On WaitingChung Il-keun, Moonji Publishing Co., Ltd.2009, 127p, ISBN 9788932019413 The sunrise on the East Sea inspired Kim Myungin, born in a small seaside village at the southern tip of this body of water, to write the poem above—such is the solemnity and magnificence of the East Sea sunrise. The poet describes the sunrise and the fish living in the cloud-covered sea in terms of raising something up. "Hooked between its gills, blood" is visible, while "The fish splashes water" as the sun pierces the sea and rises out of the water. Mankind bows its head before the grandeur of nature. To Koreans, the East Sea is the subject of worship and respect: Going out to set fish traps / Whenever the waves rise and fall, a small fishing boat / Raises its bow high before plunging into the waves / … / When seen from land, the horizon looks like a long line / But beyond these tens of thousands of overlapping furrows, land surely exists / After riding the billows, like a grandmother, like the red sunset / In this place where birds on their maiden flight sometimes plunge into the sea to their doom. "Furrow" from the collection Flowerhead by Kim Myungin(Moonji Publishing Co., Ltd., 2009) People Live in the South SeaThe South Sea has so many islands that it is sometimes referred to as the “Sea of Many Islands.” Thanks to this jumbled southern coastal scenery, there are two marine national parks in this region. The South Sea coastline is as complicated as that of the west coast. Large and small bays of various shapes undulate inland and back out again to create the coastline. Among countless bays, countless harbors are located. The South Sea is Korea's most famous fishery because the high salinity and water temperature in this area provide ideal conditions for fish to lay eggs and raise their young. That is why aquaculture has existed in the South Sea since antiquity. From laver to abalone, soft-shell clams, and flounder, and nowadays even tuna, can be raised in these waters. The South Sea is abundantly full with things to eat.  While the sea is abundant, those making a living from it don't live in affluence. Novelist Han Changhoon is better than anyone at conveying the true voice of those living such exhausting lives. He lives alone on Geomun-do (island), which is two-and-a-half hours away from the port of Yeosu by boat. Born in Geomun-do, after finishing school he wandered about aimlessly on the mainland for around 20 years before returning home in 2006. Since his return, he has spent his days fishing, drinking, writing, and living in solitude. Perhaps this is why his tales are not related even in the slightest to island stories filled with romantic vistas. In fact, island dweller Han Changhoon might be the only one on Earth capable of crafting the following lines:  Islands are not easy places for falling in love or for getting married in. Although island life is tolerable for men, there is a great shortage of women. If one were to select the world's most beautiful island, the first condition would be a place where women want to live. On the other hand, mainlanders come to islands dreaming of love. Men and women who have fallen in love come out here, while others come here and fall in love... Once love has blossomed, fights soon follow. Marriage relations are marked by the process in which the man yells first, followed by the woman. So when island men feel an argument is getting out of hand, they hop on a boat and head out to sea, and their wives let them. For fishermen, the sea is a place where they can earn something. from When Exhausted, Go to the Sea by Han changhoon(Munhakdongne Publishing Corp., 2010), p. 337 Like a poor fisherman's diary, Han Changhoon's stories of the sea are sincere, concerned with life and the desperate struggle for survival. The South Sea is a sea of mankind: Here the road begins and ends with the sea. Wild winds crash against the cliffs and dissipate. The rocks cry... In fact, the fishing boats that departed are now coming in one after the other. People here depart for a horizontal world at dawn, and return to vertical houses at dusk. An island rising out of the middle of the ocean—life is maintained at the intersection between the two, like a cormorant flying level before suddenly diving. from Han Changhoon's Feast by Han changhoon(Joongang Books, 2009), p. 98 Tidal Flats of the Yellow SeaKoreans refer to the West Sea as the Yellow Sea because its water is turbid rather than blue. It is a shallow sea lying between China and Korea, which is why the sand on the ocean floor gets stirred up by the high and low tides, clouding the water. Korea's West Sea is one of the world's important natural resources as one of the five largest tidal flats in the world is located sited, in the West Sea. In South Korea alone, there are about 2,489 sq. km of tidal flats, and about 5,400 sq. km when North Korea is taken into account. No other place in the world has such widespread tidal flats. Although Korea's land mass is small, its tidal flats are large. Strictly speaking, tidal flats are part of the ocean, legally defined as "Public Water Surfaces." When the tide comes in, the flats become part of the sea, but when the tide goes out, they become land again. Thus tidal flats have an ambiguous identity: The legal ownership of tidal flats belongs to nations, therefore the term “public” in Public Water Surface actually means that the state has sole ownership, rather than the shared ownership implied in the word “public.” Therefore coastal residents making a living from aquaculture or fishing around tidal flats have no right to make a profit because those seas are owned exclusively by the state. from Bicycle Trip 2 by Kim Hoon(Thinking Tree Publishing Co., 2007), p. 85  Just as author Kim Hoon mentioned, West Sea fishermen who depend on the tidal flats for their livelihoods have no rights to use national property. Among them, however, is one poet. This poet originally came from deep within the interior of South Korea, but since 1996 he has been living in Ganghwa-do (island), where the tidal flats are still mostly intact. This poet is Harm Min-bok. In Korean literary circles, he is called "the last holdout against capitalism." To drive a stake into tidal mud, / whether it's a stake for a fixed shore net or a laver stake, / a short stake for a shrimp net, or a curved spade stake for stabilizing a big stake, / grab the stake with your hands or feet / and shake it from left-to-right or front-to-back / rather than driving it down forcefully / shaking the stake will soften the tidal mud as water flows in / keep doing this until the tidal mud embraces it and holds it fast / you must shake it from left-to-right or front-to-back. from "How to Drive a Stake into Tidal Mud," Soft Power by Harm Min-bok(Munhak Segyesa Publishing Co., 2005) 1. When Exhausted, Go to the SeaHan Changhoon, Munhakdongne Publishing Corp.2010, 367p, ISBN 97889546127082. Han Changhoon’s FeastHan Changhoon, Joongang Books2009, 256p, ISBN 97889618894693. Soft PowerHarm Min-bok, Munhak Segye Sa2005, 132p, ISBN 9788970753317 Such is the life of this poet—he drives stakes into the tidal mud, sticking his arm inside the resulting holes to catch octopus, just to barely scrape by. When he runs out of rice at home, from off the clothesline he takes a few poems which he has hung out to dry, and sends them to the publisher to earn a bit of money. With this he buys a few kilos of rice, while the remainder is spent on drink. Many people who care about him are concerned about his welfare because of his utter lack of planning for his life. This unpredictable poet, however, will be getting married this spring, late in his life. Now he sells ginseng together with his fiancée on Ganghwa-do. We should probably thank the tidal flats for this occurrence, for embracing all living things, and sucking them in. The soft, sluggish, and powerful tidal flats seem to have extinguished the poet's wanderlust.

  by Chung Il-keun

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  The Place

  The Village that Formed the Backdrop of Twelve Novels: The Literary Village of Kim Yujung

  When lakes, fog, dakgalbi (a spicy chicken dish), mime festivals, the pop song “Soyang River Girl,” and the TV mini-series Winter Sonata are mentioned, the city of Chuncheon is the first place that comes to most Koreans’ minds. Chuncheon is also the birthplace of the writer Kim Yujung (1908-1937), who died prematurely of tuberculosis, leaving behind such classic folk works as Spring ∙ Spring and Dongbaekggot (Yellow Ginger Blossom)1 . His essay collection, A Mountain Valley in May, published one year before his death, was a dedication to his hometown. left: The Academy Geumbyeong-uisuk where Kim Yujung taught students.   right: Kim Yujung Kim once wrote, “My hometown is in the mountains of Gangwon-do (province). If you go twenty li (eight kilometers) from the town of Chuncheon-eup and follow a winding path through the mountains, you’ll come upon a tiny village. The village is nestled cozily in the middle of steep mountains that surround it on all sides. Buried in the mountains like that, the village looks just like a siru (high-sided rice cake steamer), so it’s called Sille. The homes are mostly old straw-thatched houses on the verge of collapse, and even so, there are less than 50 of them. You could say it’s a very poor hamlet.” (From Chogwang, May 1936) Kim was the youngest son of a wealthy family in Sille, but having grown up in Seoul, he didn’t get a proper look at Sille until his late twenties. After his love affair with the famous singer Park Rokju ended, Kim withdrew from school and returned to his poor hamlet in despair. His older brother had nearly squandered the family fortune with his prodigal ways. Kim established the private educational institute Geumbyeong-uisuk where he taught the children of Sille, a village that had become impoverished under colonialism, and explored the village’s treasure trove of stories about farm life. He carefully documented the mountains and fields of Sille, people’s speech and mannerisms, and the events that stirred up the town: the 19-year-old wandering prostitute, who ran away from a fake marriage to an old Chongro Intersection bachelor and returned to the village after hiding her ailing husband in a water mill (The Wanderer in the Valleys); Chunho, who made his wife sell her body in order to finance his gambling (The Summer Shower); the farmhand who worked himself to the bone in the hopes of getting married, then got into a big fight with his father-in-law because of his pent-up rage (Spring ∙ Spring); 17-year-old Jeomsun who tempted the tenant farmer’s son into having sex with her on the mountainside where yellow ginger flowers were blooming (Dongbaekggot); Yeongsik who ruined a perfectly good field of beans because he was fooled into thinking there was gold hidden underneath (Picking Gold in a Beanfield); and Mungtae, the biggest bum in the village. left: Gimyujeong Station named after the writer   right: View of The Literary Village of Kim Yujung Kim Yujung, who based his works on these tales whenever he could, returned to Seoul in 1933 and began writing in earnest with the publication of The Wanderer in the Valleys. He also incorporated his stories of scraping by on the outskirts of Seoul, and those of the people around him, onto the page. Of the 30 works that he published until the end of his life, 12 were set in Sille. He devoted himself to preserving a folk style based on the Chuncheon dialect in order to place it on equal footing with the modernity that was the prevailing trend at the time. He told stories of poor farm life, but in the process of writing in order to entertain his readers, Kim Yujung’s unique literary style was created. Of the 30 works that Kim published until the end of his life, 12 were set in Sille. He devoted himself to preserving a folk style based on the Chuncheon dialect in order to place it on equal footing with the prevailing trends. Kim Yujung made Sille of Chuncheon into one of the foremost farming villages of the 1930s rather than just a small mountain village in Gangwon-do. In the late 1990s, the city of Chuncheon purchased the site, which had passed into others’ hands, to restore the house where Kim was born and build a memorial to show their appreciation of him. The name of the hamlet was then changed to the Literary Village of Kim Yujung, as the entire village served as the backdrop for 12 of his short stories. The memorial was officially opened on August 6, 2002, and has since become the first stop of choice for tens of thousands of readers taking cultural field trips. In 2004, the train station nearest the entrance of Sille was renamed Gimyujeong Station after the writer. It was the first station in Korea to be named after a person. Now anyone taking the train from Seoul and getting off at Gimyujeong Station can see Sille of the new millennium where the descendants of Mungtae, Chunho, Yeongsik, and Jeomsun farm and live their lives, just as in Kim’s stories.   1 Complete Works of Kim Yujung, Vol. 1 & 2Kim Yujung, Garam Planning, Co., 2003, 322pp.ISBN 89-8435-159-8 (set)2 DongbaekggotKim Yujung, Moonji Publishing Co., Ltd., 2008, 464pp.ISBN 89-320-1552-X3 DongbaekggotKim Yujung, Seoul Wangmunsa, 1952, 409pp.4 TtarajiKim Yujung, Mungongsa, 1982, 250pp,5 The Summer Shower and Other StoriesKim Yujung, Samseong Publishing Co., Ltd., 1981, 449pp.     1 Dongbaekggot was first published as The Camellias, however, the Literary Village of Kim Yujung has since pointed out that this was a mistranslation. Camellias refer to the red blossoms of the dongbaekggot plant; however, the flower Kim Yujung was referring to in his novel was the yellow blossom of the ginger plant, which is also called dongbaekggot in Gangweon-do.

  by Kim Yujung

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  The Place

  Finding Seo Jeong-ju in Gochang

  Finding Seo Jeong-ju in Gochang

  by Seo Jeong-ju

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  The Place

  Following the Vestiges of Illusion and Reality

  Why did she not have a name?      She did not have a name. The protagonist of the story we read for our trip to Busan and Tongyeong did not have a name and neither did the other characters of the story. The only one who had a name was the protagonist’s older brother, Ha-rin. She did not even know him; she did not know where he was or if she could find him, but he had a name. She and her companion left to find him in the far south lands of the Korean peninsula in a place called Tongyeong. They did not know if they could find him there but they departed, open to the unknown. They believed what they heard from others and without fear ran towards the adventure.      Somehow we, the members of this year’s residence program of LTI Korea, were like this woman in Ham Jeung Im’s “Gokdu,” the title piece of her short story collection, and one of three connected stories. We left Seoul towards the south to meet and talk with the writer, open to discover the mysteries that her story had for each one of us. We met Ham after arriving in Busan and she welcomed us with a big smile, ready to walk together along the footsteps of the protagonist of “Gokdu.” As Professor Nguyen Thi Hien from Vietnam told us during her presentation introducing Ham’s life and work, the writer can be considered “the writer on the road,” a writer who walks together with her characters through the journey of life, a journey of self-discovery, looking to the past, present, and future. It is a path of life where the real and the imagined always walk hand in hand. Our lives are all stories of moving, stopping, and once again going forward.      Let us for a moment grasp the hands of Ham Jeung Im and the protagonist of “Gokdu” and together search for her lost brother.      She called him more than four times by phone but he did not show up at their appointed place. They had never been together, never lived together; he was only a name that she heard. He was just a fantasy without a face. But he had a name. Unable to find him, unable to meet him, unable to see him, but we could feel connected to his path of life. He had to pay back the debts of his father, a house builder. He went bankrupt and lost everything. He had three stepmothers. He was in Tongyeong. He was in a village for artists and now his sister, the narrator, heard he was at Dasolsa Temple. He ate migi soup, learned finger painting… His life was shown completed upside down unexpectedly. We cannot see him, we cannot hear him, but we can know what he did and where he was, thanks to the guidance of our escorts.

  by Antonio J. Domenech

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  The Place

  The Life and Works of Kim Yu-Jeong

  Kim Yu-jeong wrote many stories set in 1930s rural Korea. He was born here in Sille, Chuncheon, which provides the setting for 12 of his stories and is now the site of the Kim Yu-jeong House of Literature.

  by Kim Yu-Jeong

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  The Place

  Hwang Sun-won’s Sonagi Village

  Hwang Sun-won is one of Korea's foremost writers. Born in Daedong, Pyeongnam Province in 1915, he was a prolific writer until his death in 2000 in Seoul.

  by Hwang Sun-Won