Song of Longing for My Love (Translation)
Aug. 1st, 2012 01:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ljwritesSong of Longing for My Love (思美人曲)
by Jeong Cheol*
I was born to follow him
Our lifelong bond was known to Heaven
I was young and sole belovéd
This heart, this love had no compare.
My only wish to be for life
By his side; yet in old age
I am alone, and miss him sore
Last night, it seems, I was with him
Upon the Palace of the Moon
Wherefore returned to mortal lands?
This hair, once combed, a three-year tangle
I've rouge and powder, but for whom?
My heart is piled on high with cares
My breaths are sighs; my sight is tears
Life has limit; sorrow, none.
Uncaring years, you flow like water
Passing, coming, like the seasons
I look, I listen; thoughts overwhelm.
Sudden spring breeze blows the snow
Apricots outside my window
Faithful flow'rs on frosty boughs,
A subtle scent on spring's awakening!
Moon chases sunset on my pillow
A sob or greeting. Is't you, my love?
If I sent those blossomed branches
Flowering in this pale cold,
Will he then know my steadfast heart?
Will he return me to his side?
Flowers fall and leaves do sprout
Shades are cool 'neath summer trees
Silk hangings droop in solitude
Broidered tents stand empty, silent
Roses have I drawn aside
And peacocks strut on painted screens
How long the day amidst my woes!
Upon the silk that I have cut
Are swans in their domestic bliss
Rainbow threads do I unwind
To sew a robe for my beloved
The measurements on golden rule
Skill and courtesy in the making
On frame of coral do I set
The box of jade that holds his robe
I look to send it where he be
A frightening way through cloud and mount
A thousand miles, ten thousand miles
Would he greet my gift as he would me?
Wild geese honk in frosty night
In tower high past crystal blinds
I spy the moon and Northern Star;
Is it he? The tears well up
Fain would I take that radiance clear
And send it winging to his palace
May he lift it high above
Light valleys deep as bright as day!
Earth and sky lie white and still
No sign of man or even bird
With cold so deep in southern lands
What of his palace in the north?
Springtime sun I'd conjure up
To shine upon him where he is
A warmth upon my humble home
Would I gift his courtly dwelling
In skirt of red, blue sleeves half rolled
The day is gone; my thoughts are many
Through the winding winter night
With inlaid harp next to my light
I lean, and hope to dream of him
Cold my marriage bed--is't day?
Through hours of day and days in a moon
I try to spare myself the pain
By stopping up my thoughts of him
'Tis in my heart, though, to the bone
Doctors ten from legend all
Could not cure me of this longing
Ah, this sickness, all his doing
A butterfly I'd rather be
Flit from flowering branch to branch
And alight on him 'pon scented wing
He may not know me, yet will I follow.
* Jeong Cheol (1536-1593): Politician, academic, author, and poet in the Joseon era of Korea. He wrote Song of Longing while exiled from court due to partisan strife. Keep in mind this doesn't make him a good guy; he was one of the most enthusiastic and cruelest partisans out there, and Song of Longing is arguably one of the most famous examples of literary sycophancy in Korean history.
Source text here. It's too long to copy, and it's in pictures anyway since these old characters are not reproducible in digital character sets. Obviously I relied mostly on the modernized text in blue.
So this is the second example of bromance in Korean literature. (Well I guess The Silence of My Beloved isn't strictly bromantic, since it was for Korea itself and not a king. Still, it is I think the premier example of patriotic fervor in the language of romantic love.) Unlike Han Yong-Un, whom I genuinely admire, Jeong Cheol is a chequered figure. Other than his writings his legacies are not positive ones; he was called The Cunning, The Cruel, and The Terrible for the ruthless way he suppressed his enemies, as in accused people of treachery so they were executed and their families sold into slavery. Maybe he was a product of his times and talent is certainly no guarantee of a principled life, but sometimes I wonder how far we can separate literature from life. How powerful can a work be when its creator did not live in dedication to the truth?
Jeong Cheol's partisan hatchet jobs finally caught up to him in 1585 and he was forced to spend four years away from court, during which time he composed the writings that would grant him immortality. Song of Longing for My Beloved (思美人曲) takes the viewpoint of an estranged wife (or maybe concubine, let's not jump to conclusions) who longs to be with her husband again. But like other love songs of this type it was really meant to show undying loyalty to the sovereign. Basically think of it like Machiavelli's The Prince, a job application in the form of admittedly good writing despite the self-serving intentions.
Maybe it's my cynicism about Jeong Cheol's life, but even as I acknowledge the beauty of the cadence and imagery I'm not very sympathetic toward the viewpoint character. I mean, she's surrounded by jade and coral and crystal and painted screens and dresses in red and blue (cloth dyes were expensive back then), even uses a fricking golden ruler to measure out her dick husband's clothes, and all she can do is whine about how he doesn't love her? Get a job, lady. Go feed the poor or something. It seems to me her real malady is boredom, not unrequited love. And I guess I shouldn't be surprised the whole portrayal of this woman is sexist as shit, because obviously ladies don't do a goddamned thing all day except sigh about their menz. (Take deep breaths. Product of the times. Go to your happy place, lalala....)
Song of Longing is a pretty poem and I had fun translating it. I hope the beauty of the original comes through, if only in an echo. In the end, though, I think I have an answer to my earlier dilemma about art and life: Jeong Cheol could write, but I don't think Song of Longing has any greater power than the general beauty of language arranged with skill. It deserves to be known and read as a stellar example of verse in its time, but it speaks to no deeper truth, does not reach for the infinite, not like The Silence of My Beloved with its understanding of the human condition, dedication to truth, and love for the mortal and the divine.
Silence is truly a love song, not just for a person or a country or a religion but for life itself in all its strife and strength. Song of Longing is a poem about loving and wanting power and ostentation, and so will never have the ringing authority and moral clarity of Silence. If any measure of that difference comes through in my translations, the time I have spent will have been worth it.
I should note the crapload of cultural references that I smoothed away in translation. Hey, I didn't want the footnotes to be longer than the poem, okay? The "Palace of the Moon" in Stanza 2, Line 3 is Gwang-Han-Jeon in the original. Gwang-Han-Jeon (廣寒殿, "vast cold palace") is the mystical palace in the moon where the moon goddess lives. Since we have our misogynist quota to fulfill, you should know the moon goddess is a traitorous bitch who became a goddess by betraying her husband, an archer-hero who shot down the false suns that were burning up the world. In some versions she became an ugly toad for this treachery. Yay.
I added three lines to Stanza 4, the "spring" stanza, to unpack the cultural reference to apricot blossoms. The meaning of a woman's sending a branch of apricot blossoms to a man is instantly recognizable to Koreans because these flowers, which bloom before all others in the cold of early spring, are a traditional symbol of faith in the face of adversity. To be blunt, it means she still loves him and isn't sleeping around. Apricot blossoms similarly mean loyalty and principle for men in public life, though they can sleep around as much as they like. I used these flowers in my headcanon name for Mai: Mai Ying (梅英) for "apricot blossom." Yeah, I guess her parents had certain expectations of her.
In Stanza 5, Line 9 (originally Line 5; I added some lines to keep the cadence though not new content), the "swans in their domestic bliss" is not in the original. Jeong Cheol just said the silk had a pattern of weon-ang (Mandarin ducks) and left it at that, because weon-ang are known to form happy monogamous couples (though the reality is somewhat different) and is a traditional symbol of wedded bliss. A pair of weon-ang wood carvings are a staple of the traditional Korean wedding ceremony. Since none of this means anything to Western readers, I swapped in swans for the whole mate for life thing, and added a reference to domestic bliss to make the symbolism clear. Similarly, Stanza 7, Line 14 used "marriage bed" instead of the original reference to a bedspread with a pattern of weon-ang.
In Stanza 5, Line 10 (originally Line 5; again, to keep the cadence, and I added words in Line 9), the "rainbow threads" bit was originally "threads of five colors." The five colors (red, white, blue, yellow, black) symbolize the five directions, five elements, and five spirit-beasts, and so are supposed to bring luck, longevity and all the rest. I originally put down "five-colored threads" which achieves almost the same rhythm, but realized the five colors wouldn't mean anything to Westerners and went with "rainbow," which also has many colors and symbolizes luck and stuff.
In Stanza 6, Line 6 (originally Line 5), "his palace" was originally "Tower of the Phoenix." I was tempted to keep the phoenix, but I didn't want to have to resort to footnotes. The Asian phoenix, the golden bonghwang (鳳凰, fenghuang in Chinese), was a symbol of the Korean kings and is now a symbol of the Korean presidency. It's actually sort of embarrassing because it's a legacy of our traditional subservience to China. The dragon, the most exalted symbol, was reserved for the Chinese emperors and the Korean kings in deference took up the phoenix instead. Nevertheless, we still used plenty of dragon symbolism in referring to our kings. "Dragon face" was the way to refer to a king's face, for instance. Example: "Your Majesty, the face of the dragon is clouded this day (= dude, you don't look so good). What troubles my sovereign?"
In Stanza 8, Line 5 (originally Line 4), the original said "What could ten Pyeonjaks do for my illness?" Pyeonjak (扁鵲, Bianque in Chinese) was a legendary doctor from the Warring States period of China, but the reference is arcane these days even for Koreans. I just said ten legendary doctors, so sue me.
Minor stuff: The northern star (6:3) symbolizes the king, since it's the center of the heavens at night. A butterfly (8:8) often symbolizes a dead person's spirit, so it means the poet wants to be by the beloved's side as a spirit after death. Hey, Koreans are descended from the shamanic folk of Northern Asia. We love to imagine everything with wings is a spirit of some sort.
So that's it for the literary bromance, for now. Feel free to give me any questions or comments. I have found it unexpectedly fun to translate Korean verse, and it's certainly rewarding to introduce my cultural heritage to a broader audience. I may do more of this in the future, maybe with other poets and themes.
by Jeong Cheol*
I was born to follow him
Our lifelong bond was known to Heaven
I was young and sole belovéd
This heart, this love had no compare.
My only wish to be for life
By his side; yet in old age
I am alone, and miss him sore
Last night, it seems, I was with him
Upon the Palace of the Moon
Wherefore returned to mortal lands?
This hair, once combed, a three-year tangle
I've rouge and powder, but for whom?
My heart is piled on high with cares
My breaths are sighs; my sight is tears
Life has limit; sorrow, none.
Uncaring years, you flow like water
Passing, coming, like the seasons
I look, I listen; thoughts overwhelm.
Sudden spring breeze blows the snow
Apricots outside my window
Faithful flow'rs on frosty boughs,
A subtle scent on spring's awakening!
Moon chases sunset on my pillow
A sob or greeting. Is't you, my love?
If I sent those blossomed branches
Flowering in this pale cold,
Will he then know my steadfast heart?
Will he return me to his side?
Flowers fall and leaves do sprout
Shades are cool 'neath summer trees
Silk hangings droop in solitude
Broidered tents stand empty, silent
Roses have I drawn aside
And peacocks strut on painted screens
How long the day amidst my woes!
Upon the silk that I have cut
Are swans in their domestic bliss
Rainbow threads do I unwind
To sew a robe for my beloved
The measurements on golden rule
Skill and courtesy in the making
On frame of coral do I set
The box of jade that holds his robe
I look to send it where he be
A frightening way through cloud and mount
A thousand miles, ten thousand miles
Would he greet my gift as he would me?
Wild geese honk in frosty night
In tower high past crystal blinds
I spy the moon and Northern Star;
Is it he? The tears well up
Fain would I take that radiance clear
And send it winging to his palace
May he lift it high above
Light valleys deep as bright as day!
Earth and sky lie white and still
No sign of man or even bird
With cold so deep in southern lands
What of his palace in the north?
Springtime sun I'd conjure up
To shine upon him where he is
A warmth upon my humble home
Would I gift his courtly dwelling
In skirt of red, blue sleeves half rolled
The day is gone; my thoughts are many
Through the winding winter night
With inlaid harp next to my light
I lean, and hope to dream of him
Cold my marriage bed--is't day?
Through hours of day and days in a moon
I try to spare myself the pain
By stopping up my thoughts of him
'Tis in my heart, though, to the bone
Doctors ten from legend all
Could not cure me of this longing
Ah, this sickness, all his doing
A butterfly I'd rather be
Flit from flowering branch to branch
And alight on him 'pon scented wing
He may not know me, yet will I follow.
* Jeong Cheol (1536-1593): Politician, academic, author, and poet in the Joseon era of Korea. He wrote Song of Longing while exiled from court due to partisan strife. Keep in mind this doesn't make him a good guy; he was one of the most enthusiastic and cruelest partisans out there, and Song of Longing is arguably one of the most famous examples of literary sycophancy in Korean history.
Source text here. It's too long to copy, and it's in pictures anyway since these old characters are not reproducible in digital character sets. Obviously I relied mostly on the modernized text in blue.
So this is the second example of bromance in Korean literature. (Well I guess The Silence of My Beloved isn't strictly bromantic, since it was for Korea itself and not a king. Still, it is I think the premier example of patriotic fervor in the language of romantic love.) Unlike Han Yong-Un, whom I genuinely admire, Jeong Cheol is a chequered figure. Other than his writings his legacies are not positive ones; he was called The Cunning, The Cruel, and The Terrible for the ruthless way he suppressed his enemies, as in accused people of treachery so they were executed and their families sold into slavery. Maybe he was a product of his times and talent is certainly no guarantee of a principled life, but sometimes I wonder how far we can separate literature from life. How powerful can a work be when its creator did not live in dedication to the truth?
Jeong Cheol's partisan hatchet jobs finally caught up to him in 1585 and he was forced to spend four years away from court, during which time he composed the writings that would grant him immortality. Song of Longing for My Beloved (思美人曲) takes the viewpoint of an estranged wife (or maybe concubine, let's not jump to conclusions) who longs to be with her husband again. But like other love songs of this type it was really meant to show undying loyalty to the sovereign. Basically think of it like Machiavelli's The Prince, a job application in the form of admittedly good writing despite the self-serving intentions.
Maybe it's my cynicism about Jeong Cheol's life, but even as I acknowledge the beauty of the cadence and imagery I'm not very sympathetic toward the viewpoint character. I mean, she's surrounded by jade and coral and crystal and painted screens and dresses in red and blue (cloth dyes were expensive back then), even uses a fricking golden ruler to measure out her dick husband's clothes, and all she can do is whine about how he doesn't love her? Get a job, lady. Go feed the poor or something. It seems to me her real malady is boredom, not unrequited love. And I guess I shouldn't be surprised the whole portrayal of this woman is sexist as shit, because obviously ladies don't do a goddamned thing all day except sigh about their menz. (Take deep breaths. Product of the times. Go to your happy place, lalala....)
Song of Longing is a pretty poem and I had fun translating it. I hope the beauty of the original comes through, if only in an echo. In the end, though, I think I have an answer to my earlier dilemma about art and life: Jeong Cheol could write, but I don't think Song of Longing has any greater power than the general beauty of language arranged with skill. It deserves to be known and read as a stellar example of verse in its time, but it speaks to no deeper truth, does not reach for the infinite, not like The Silence of My Beloved with its understanding of the human condition, dedication to truth, and love for the mortal and the divine.
Silence is truly a love song, not just for a person or a country or a religion but for life itself in all its strife and strength. Song of Longing is a poem about loving and wanting power and ostentation, and so will never have the ringing authority and moral clarity of Silence. If any measure of that difference comes through in my translations, the time I have spent will have been worth it.
I should note the crapload of cultural references that I smoothed away in translation. Hey, I didn't want the footnotes to be longer than the poem, okay? The "Palace of the Moon" in Stanza 2, Line 3 is Gwang-Han-Jeon in the original. Gwang-Han-Jeon (廣寒殿, "vast cold palace") is the mystical palace in the moon where the moon goddess lives. Since we have our misogynist quota to fulfill, you should know the moon goddess is a traitorous bitch who became a goddess by betraying her husband, an archer-hero who shot down the false suns that were burning up the world. In some versions she became an ugly toad for this treachery. Yay.
I added three lines to Stanza 4, the "spring" stanza, to unpack the cultural reference to apricot blossoms. The meaning of a woman's sending a branch of apricot blossoms to a man is instantly recognizable to Koreans because these flowers, which bloom before all others in the cold of early spring, are a traditional symbol of faith in the face of adversity. To be blunt, it means she still loves him and isn't sleeping around. Apricot blossoms similarly mean loyalty and principle for men in public life, though they can sleep around as much as they like. I used these flowers in my headcanon name for Mai: Mai Ying (梅英) for "apricot blossom." Yeah, I guess her parents had certain expectations of her.
In Stanza 5, Line 9 (originally Line 5; I added some lines to keep the cadence though not new content), the "swans in their domestic bliss" is not in the original. Jeong Cheol just said the silk had a pattern of weon-ang (Mandarin ducks) and left it at that, because weon-ang are known to form happy monogamous couples (though the reality is somewhat different) and is a traditional symbol of wedded bliss. A pair of weon-ang wood carvings are a staple of the traditional Korean wedding ceremony. Since none of this means anything to Western readers, I swapped in swans for the whole mate for life thing, and added a reference to domestic bliss to make the symbolism clear. Similarly, Stanza 7, Line 14 used "marriage bed" instead of the original reference to a bedspread with a pattern of weon-ang.
In Stanza 5, Line 10 (originally Line 5; again, to keep the cadence, and I added words in Line 9), the "rainbow threads" bit was originally "threads of five colors." The five colors (red, white, blue, yellow, black) symbolize the five directions, five elements, and five spirit-beasts, and so are supposed to bring luck, longevity and all the rest. I originally put down "five-colored threads" which achieves almost the same rhythm, but realized the five colors wouldn't mean anything to Westerners and went with "rainbow," which also has many colors and symbolizes luck and stuff.
In Stanza 6, Line 6 (originally Line 5), "his palace" was originally "Tower of the Phoenix." I was tempted to keep the phoenix, but I didn't want to have to resort to footnotes. The Asian phoenix, the golden bonghwang (鳳凰, fenghuang in Chinese), was a symbol of the Korean kings and is now a symbol of the Korean presidency. It's actually sort of embarrassing because it's a legacy of our traditional subservience to China. The dragon, the most exalted symbol, was reserved for the Chinese emperors and the Korean kings in deference took up the phoenix instead. Nevertheless, we still used plenty of dragon symbolism in referring to our kings. "Dragon face" was the way to refer to a king's face, for instance. Example: "Your Majesty, the face of the dragon is clouded this day (= dude, you don't look so good). What troubles my sovereign?"
In Stanza 8, Line 5 (originally Line 4), the original said "What could ten Pyeonjaks do for my illness?" Pyeonjak (扁鵲, Bianque in Chinese) was a legendary doctor from the Warring States period of China, but the reference is arcane these days even for Koreans. I just said ten legendary doctors, so sue me.
Minor stuff: The northern star (6:3) symbolizes the king, since it's the center of the heavens at night. A butterfly (8:8) often symbolizes a dead person's spirit, so it means the poet wants to be by the beloved's side as a spirit after death. Hey, Koreans are descended from the shamanic folk of Northern Asia. We love to imagine everything with wings is a spirit of some sort.
So that's it for the literary bromance, for now. Feel free to give me any questions or comments. I have found it unexpectedly fun to translate Korean verse, and it's certainly rewarding to introduce my cultural heritage to a broader audience. I may do more of this in the future, maybe with other poets and themes.
