Sunday, June 2, 2013
Sunday, March 10, 2013
가톨릭 제사
http://theologia.kr/zeroboard/zboard.php?id=koreatheo&page=1&sn1=&divpage=1&category=62&sn=off&ss=on&sc=on&select_arrange=headnum&desc=asc&no=1126&PHPSESSID=ef76532f692c1a000c2314dd4a1d4762
Saturday, March 9, 2013
전례 토착화 자료
1987년에 주교회의 한국사목연구소에서 전례의 토착화 연구발표회를 총 3회에 걸쳐 진행한 것을 묶어 단행본을 냈는데,
연구소에 그 책이 있는줄 알았는데 없네요.
그 책 이름은 한국사목연구소 편찬, <전례, 영성의 토착화>, 한국천주교중앙협의회, 1992. 입니다.
어쨌든 그 책에 담긴 내용은 이전에 <사목> 잡지에도 실렸던지라,
그 원문사이트를 링크해 드리니 이거라도 참고로 보세요.
그리고 2000년 11월 17-18일에 한국천주교중앙협의회 한국사목연구소에서 <아시아 교회의 토착화 과정과 전망>이라는 주제로 국제 심포지엄을 열었는데, 이 중 한국 그리스도교의 토착화와 관련한 부분을 스캔해 보내드립니다.
영문으로도 함께 있어서 용어 등을 보시는데 도움이 될 거 같아요.
토착화와 관련한 논의가 교회 안에서 제대로 이뤄지지 않고 있는 상황이라 더 참고할만한 자료로 떠오르는건 없네요.
혹시 보내드린 글 보시다가 더 필요한 자료가 있으면 말씀하세요.
연구소에 있는 책이면 스캔해서 보내드릴께요.
좋은 글 쓰시기 바라고, 다 쓰시면 연구소에도 공유해주시길... ^^
고생하세요~
Monday, March 4, 2013
Ki Hyung Do's poems
Gi Hyeongdo
오래된 書籍 (Old Book)
29
June 2011
내가 살아온 것은 거의
기적적이었다
오랫동안 나는 곰팡이 피어
나는 어둡고 축축한 세계에서
아무도 들여다보지 않는 질서
기적적이었다
오랫동안 나는 곰팡이 피어
나는 어둡고 축축한 세계에서
아무도 들여다보지 않는 질서
속에서, 텅 빈 희망 속에서
어찌 스스로의 일생을 예언할 수 있겠는가
다른 사람들은 분주히
몇몇 안 되는 내용을 가지고 서로의 기능을
넘겨보며 書標를 꽂기도 한다
또 어떤 이는 너무 쉽게 살았다고
말한다, 좀 더 두꺼운 추억이 필요하다는
어찌 스스로의 일생을 예언할 수 있겠는가
다른 사람들은 분주히
몇몇 안 되는 내용을 가지고 서로의 기능을
넘겨보며 書標를 꽂기도 한다
또 어떤 이는 너무 쉽게 살았다고
말한다, 좀 더 두꺼운 추억이 필요하다는
사실, 완전을 위해서라면 두께가
문제겠는가? 나는 여러 번 장소를 옮기며 살았지만
죽음은 생각도 못했다, 나의 경력은
출생뿐이었으므로, 왜냐하면
두려움이 나의 속성이며
미래가 나의 과거이므로
나는 존재하는 것, 그러므로
용기란 얼마나 무책임한 것인가, 보라
문제겠는가? 나는 여러 번 장소를 옮기며 살았지만
죽음은 생각도 못했다, 나의 경력은
출생뿐이었으므로, 왜냐하면
두려움이 나의 속성이며
미래가 나의 과거이므로
나는 존재하는 것, 그러므로
용기란 얼마나 무책임한 것인가, 보라
나를
한 번이라도 본 사람은 모두
나를 떠나갔다, 나의 영혼은
검은 페이지가 대부분이다, 그러니 누가 나를
펼쳐볼 것인가, 하지만 그 경우
그들은 거짓을 논할 자격이 없다
거짓과 참됨은 모두 하나의 목적을
꿈꾸어야 한다, 단
한 줄일 수도 있다
한 번이라도 본 사람은 모두
나를 떠나갔다, 나의 영혼은
검은 페이지가 대부분이다, 그러니 누가 나를
펼쳐볼 것인가, 하지만 그 경우
그들은 거짓을 논할 자격이 없다
거짓과 참됨은 모두 하나의 목적을
꿈꾸어야 한다, 단
한 줄일 수도 있다
나는 기적을 믿지 않는다
It’s close to a miracle
that I’ve lived
I was moldy for what seemed an eternity
How can I predict my own life
in a damp dark world
that I’ve lived
I was moldy for what seemed an eternity
How can I predict my own life
in a damp dark world
in an order where no one bothers to
look at me,
in empty hope?
Other people hurriedly take a few contents
and coveting one another’s functions
insert their bookmarks into me
Others say my life has been too easy
that I need thicker memories
in empty hope?
Other people hurriedly take a few contents
and coveting one another’s functions
insert their bookmarks into me
Others say my life has been too easy
that I need thicker memories
Is thickness truly a problem when
perfection is your goal?
I’ve moved several times, lived in different places,
but never paid a thought to death. My career
lies only in my birth. Why?
Because fear is a part of me
and because the future is my past
The fact that I exist, so
see there, what an irresponsible thing courage
I’ve moved several times, lived in different places,
but never paid a thought to death. My career
lies only in my birth. Why?
Because fear is a part of me
and because the future is my past
The fact that I exist, so
see there, what an irresponsible thing courage
Every person who ever looked at me
once
left me, my soul
is mostly dark pages, who will ever open me?
But in that case they have no right to discourse on lies
Lies and truth must dream the same objective
and they can be found in the exact same line
left me, my soul
is mostly dark pages, who will ever open me?
But in that case they have no right to discourse on lies
Lies and truth must dream the same objective
and they can be found in the exact same line
I don’t believe in
miracles
Gi
Hyeongdo
10월 (October)
29
June 2011
1
Gi
Hyeongdo
29 June 2011
흩어진 그림자들, 모두
한 곳으로 모으는
그 어두운 정오의 숲 속으로
이따금 나는 한 개 짧은 그림자 되어
천천히 걸어 들어간다
쉽게 조용해지는 나의 빈 손바닥 위에 가을은
둥글고 단단한 공기를 쥐어줄 뿐
그리고 나는 잠깐 동안 그것을 만져볼 뿐이다
나무들은 언제나 마지막이라 생각하며
작은 이파리들은 떨구지만
나의 희망은 이미 그런 종류의 것이 아니었다
한 곳으로 모으는
그 어두운 정오의 숲 속으로
이따금 나는 한 개 짧은 그림자 되어
천천히 걸어 들어간다
쉽게 조용해지는 나의 빈 손바닥 위에 가을은
둥글고 단단한 공기를 쥐어줄 뿐
그리고 나는 잠깐 동안 그것을 만져볼 뿐이다
나무들은 언제나 마지막이라 생각하며
작은 이파리들은 떨구지만
나의 희망은 이미 그런 종류의 것이 아니었다
너무 어두워지면 모든 추억들은
갑자기 거칠어진다
내 뒤에 있는 캄캄하고 필연적인 힘들에 쫓기며
나는 내 침묵의 심지를 조금 낮춘다
공중의 나뭇잎 수효만큼 검은
옷을 입은 햇빛들 속에서 나는
곰곰이 내 어두움을 생각한다, 어디선가 길다란 연기들이 날아와
희미한 언덕을 만든다, 빠짐없이 되살아나는
내 젊은 날의 저녁들 때문이다
갑자기 거칠어진다
내 뒤에 있는 캄캄하고 필연적인 힘들에 쫓기며
나는 내 침묵의 심지를 조금 낮춘다
공중의 나뭇잎 수효만큼 검은
옷을 입은 햇빛들 속에서 나는
곰곰이 내 어두움을 생각한다, 어디선가 길다란 연기들이 날아와
희미한 언덕을 만든다, 빠짐없이 되살아나는
내 젊은 날의 저녁들 때문이다
한때 절망이 내 삶의 전부였던 적이 있었다
그 절망의 내용조차 잊어버린 지금
나는 내 삶의 일부분도 알지 못한다
이미 대지의 맛에 익숙해진 나뭇잎들은
내 초라한 위기의 발목 근처로 어지럽게 떨어진다
오오, 그리운 생각들이란 얼마나 죽음의 편에 서 있는가
그러나 내 사랑하는 시월의 숲은
아무런 잘못도 없다
그 절망의 내용조차 잊어버린 지금
나는 내 삶의 일부분도 알지 못한다
이미 대지의 맛에 익숙해진 나뭇잎들은
내 초라한 위기의 발목 근처로 어지럽게 떨어진다
오오, 그리운 생각들이란 얼마나 죽음의 편에 서 있는가
그러나 내 사랑하는 시월의 숲은
아무런 잘못도 없다
2
자고 일어나면 머리맡의 촛불은 이미 없어지고
하얗고 딱딱한 옷을 입은 빈 병만 우두커니 나를 쳐다본다
하얗고 딱딱한 옷을 입은 빈 병만 우두커니 나를 쳐다본다
1
Sometimes I become a short
shadow
and slowly walk into
a forest at dark noon
where scattered shadows
gather in one place
In my empty hand autumn, easily quieted,
just grabs the round hard air
and for a moment feels it
The trees always think it’s the last time
and drop their small leaves
but my hopes are no longer of that sort
and slowly walk into
a forest at dark noon
where scattered shadows
gather in one place
In my empty hand autumn, easily quieted,
just grabs the round hard air
and for a moment feels it
The trees always think it’s the last time
and drop their small leaves
but my hopes are no longer of that sort
When it grows too dark all
memories
suddenly turn furious
Chased by dark inevitable powers behind me
I lower the wick of my silence a little
and in sunbeams garbed
black as the number of leaves in the air
I think in detail of my darkness, from somewhere straggling smoke wisps appear
and make a vague hillet, because of the evenings of my youth
which revive without exception
suddenly turn furious
Chased by dark inevitable powers behind me
I lower the wick of my silence a little
and in sunbeams garbed
black as the number of leaves in the air
I think in detail of my darkness, from somewhere straggling smoke wisps appear
and make a vague hillet, because of the evenings of my youth
which revive without exception
Once my life was just despair
Now even the despair’s contents are lost to me
I don’t know even one part of my life
The leaves already knowing the taste of the earth
fall dizzyingly near my shoddy ankles of danger
O, how memories of love always take the side of death
But the October forest that I love
has not erred
Now even the despair’s contents are lost to me
I don’t know even one part of my life
The leaves already knowing the taste of the earth
fall dizzyingly near my shoddy ankles of danger
O, how memories of love always take the side of death
But the October forest that I love
has not erred
2
When I awaken from sleep the
candlelight near my pillow has already vanished
Only an empty bottle wearing hard white clothes stares at me blankly
Only an empty bottle wearing hard white clothes stares at me blankly
Gi
Hyeongdo
그 날 (That Day)
29 June 2011
여름날 아침 낡은 창문 틈새로 빗방울이 들이 친다.
어두
운 방 한복판에서 金은 짐을 싸고 있다. 그의 트렁크가 가장 먼저 접수
한 것은 김의 넋이다. 창문 밖에는 엿보는 자 없다. 마침내 전날 김은
직장과 헤어졌다. 잠시 동안 김은 무표정하게 침대를 바라본다. 모든
것을 알고 있는 침대는 말이 없다. 비로서 나는 풀려나간다, 김은 자신
에게 속삭인다. 마침내 세상의 중심이 되었다.
운 방 한복판에서 金은 짐을 싸고 있다. 그의 트렁크가 가장 먼저 접수
한 것은 김의 넋이다. 창문 밖에는 엿보는 자 없다. 마침내 전날 김은
직장과 헤어졌다. 잠시 동안 김은 무표정하게 침대를 바라본다. 모든
것을 알고 있는 침대는 말이 없다. 비로서 나는 풀려나간다, 김은 자신
에게 속삭인다. 마침내 세상의 중심이 되었다.
나를 끌고 다녔던 몇 개의 길을 나는 영원히 추방한다. 내
생의 주도
권은 이제 마음에서 육체로 넘어갔으니 지금부터 나는 길고도 오랜 여
행을 떠날 것이다. 내가 지나치는 거리마다 낯선 기쁨과 전율은 가득
차리니 어떠한 권태도 더 이상 내 혀를 지배하면 안 된다.
권은 이제 마음에서 육체로 넘어갔으니 지금부터 나는 길고도 오랜 여
행을 떠날 것이다. 내가 지나치는 거리마다 낯선 기쁨과 전율은 가득
차리니 어떠한 권태도 더 이상 내 혀를 지배하면 안 된다.
모든 의심을 짐을 꾸리면서 김은 거둔다. 어둑어둑한 여름날
아침
창문 밖으로 보이는 젖은 길은 침대처럼 고요하다. 마침내 낭하가 텅
텅 울리면서 문이 열린다. 잠시 동안 김은 무표정하게 거리를 바라본
다. 김은 천천히 손잡이를 놓는다. 마침내 희망과 걸음이 동시에 떨어
진다. 그 순간, 쇠뭉치 같은 트렁크가 김을 쓰러뜨린다. 그곳에서 계집
아이 같은 가늘은 울음소리가 터진다. 주위에는 아무도 없다. 빗방울
은 은퇴한 노인의 백발위로 들이친다.
창문 밖으로 보이는 젖은 길은 침대처럼 고요하다. 마침내 낭하가 텅
텅 울리면서 문이 열린다. 잠시 동안 김은 무표정하게 거리를 바라본
다. 김은 천천히 손잡이를 놓는다. 마침내 희망과 걸음이 동시에 떨어
진다. 그 순간, 쇠뭉치 같은 트렁크가 김을 쓰러뜨린다. 그곳에서 계집
아이 같은 가늘은 울음소리가 터진다. 주위에는 아무도 없다. 빗방울
은 은퇴한 노인의 백발위로 들이친다.
The raindrops beat their way into
the cracks of the old window in the dusky summer morning. In the middle of the
dark room, Gim is packing up. The first thing the trunk received was Gim’s soul.
No one is peeping in at the window. The day before, Gim finally left his job.
His face expressionless, Gim looks at the bed for a moment. The bed, which knows
everything, is silent. At last I’ll be free, Gim whispers to himself, and
finally he became the center of the world.
I’ll forever banish those roads
that dragged me around with them. The leadership of my life has now passed from
my heart to my body, and I will embark now on a long, distant journey. With each
road I pass, I will be filled with strange happinesses and horrors, and
henceforth, no lassitude must ever govern my tongue again.
Packing up all his suspicions, Gim
gets everything together. The wet road visible outside the dusky summer morning
window lies as quiet as the bed. Finally, the door opens, sounding a hollow cry
in the corridor. For a moment, Gim looks at the road, his face expressionless.
Gim slowly puts down the handle. In the end, his hopes and his steps both fall.
That instant, the trunk knocks Gim down like a pig-iron. From the spot bursts a
cry as thin as a girl. There is no one around. The raindrops thunder down on the
gray head of an old hermit.
포도밭 묘지 1 (Vineyard Cemetery 1)
29 June 2011
주인은 떠나 없고 여름이 가기도 전에 황폐해버린 그 해
가을, 포도
밭 등성이로 저녁마다 한 사내의 그림자가 거대한 조명 속에서 잠깐씩
떠오르다 사라지는 풍경 속에서 내 弱視의 산책은 비롯되었네. 친구
여, 그 해 가을 내내 나는 적막과 함께 살았다. 그때 내가 데리고 있던
헛된 믿음들과 그 뒤에서 부르던 작은 충격들을 지금도 나는 기억하고
있네. 나는 그때 왜 그것을 몰랐을까. 희망도 아니었고 죽음도 아니었
어야 할 그 어둡고 가벼웠던 종교들을 나는 왜 그토록 무서워했을까.
목마른 내 발자국마다 검은 포도알들은 목적도 없이 떨어지고 그때마
다 고개를 들면 어느 틈엔가 낯선 풀잎의 자손들이 날아와 벌판 가득
흰 연기를 피워 올리는 것을 나는 한참이나 바라보곤 했네. 어둠은 언
제든지 살아 있는 것들의 그림자만 골라 디디며 포도밭 목책으로 걸어
왔고 나는 내 정신의 모두를 폐허로 만들면서 주인을 기다렸다. 그러
나 기다림이란 마치 용서와도 같아 언제나 육체를 지치게 하는 법. 하
는 수 없이 내 지친 밭을 타일러 몇 개의 움직임을 만들다 보면 버릇처
럼 이상한 무질서도 만나곤 했지만 친구여, 그때 이미 나에게는 흘릴
눈물이 남아있지 않았다. 그리하여 내 정든 포도밭에서 어느 하루 한
알 새파란 소스라침으로 떨어져 촛농처럼 누운 밤이면 어둠도, 숨죽인
희망도 내게는 너무나 거추장스러웠네. 기억한다. 그 해 가을 주인은
떠나 없고 그리움이 몇 개 그릇처럼 아무렇게나 사용될 때 나는 떨리
는 손으로 짧은 촛불들을 태우곤 했다. 그렇게 가을도 가고 몇 잎 남은
추억들마저 천천히 힘을 잃어갈 때 친구여, 나는 그때 수천의 마른 포
도 이파리가 떠내려가는 놀라운 空中을 만났다. 때가 되면 태양도 스
스로의 빛을 아껴두듯이 나 또한 내 지친 정신을 가을 속에서 동그랗
게 보호하기 시작했으니 나와 죽음은 서로를 지배하는 각자의 꿈이 되
었네. 그러나 나는 끝끝내 포도밭을 떠나지 못했다. 움직이는 것은 아
무것도 없었지만 나는 모든 것을 바꾸었다. 그리하여 어느 날 기척 없
이 새끼줄을 들치고 들어선 한 사내의 두려운 눈빛을 바라보면서 그가
나를 주인이라 부를 때마다 아, 나는 황망히 고개 돌려 캄캄한 눈을 감
았네. 여름이 가기도 전에 모든 이파리 땅으로 돌아간 포도밭, 참담했
던 그 해 가을, 그 빈 기쁨들을 지금 쓴다 친구여.
밭 등성이로 저녁마다 한 사내의 그림자가 거대한 조명 속에서 잠깐씩
떠오르다 사라지는 풍경 속에서 내 弱視의 산책은 비롯되었네. 친구
여, 그 해 가을 내내 나는 적막과 함께 살았다. 그때 내가 데리고 있던
헛된 믿음들과 그 뒤에서 부르던 작은 충격들을 지금도 나는 기억하고
있네. 나는 그때 왜 그것을 몰랐을까. 희망도 아니었고 죽음도 아니었
어야 할 그 어둡고 가벼웠던 종교들을 나는 왜 그토록 무서워했을까.
목마른 내 발자국마다 검은 포도알들은 목적도 없이 떨어지고 그때마
다 고개를 들면 어느 틈엔가 낯선 풀잎의 자손들이 날아와 벌판 가득
흰 연기를 피워 올리는 것을 나는 한참이나 바라보곤 했네. 어둠은 언
제든지 살아 있는 것들의 그림자만 골라 디디며 포도밭 목책으로 걸어
왔고 나는 내 정신의 모두를 폐허로 만들면서 주인을 기다렸다. 그러
나 기다림이란 마치 용서와도 같아 언제나 육체를 지치게 하는 법. 하
는 수 없이 내 지친 밭을 타일러 몇 개의 움직임을 만들다 보면 버릇처
럼 이상한 무질서도 만나곤 했지만 친구여, 그때 이미 나에게는 흘릴
눈물이 남아있지 않았다. 그리하여 내 정든 포도밭에서 어느 하루 한
알 새파란 소스라침으로 떨어져 촛농처럼 누운 밤이면 어둠도, 숨죽인
희망도 내게는 너무나 거추장스러웠네. 기억한다. 그 해 가을 주인은
떠나 없고 그리움이 몇 개 그릇처럼 아무렇게나 사용될 때 나는 떨리
는 손으로 짧은 촛불들을 태우곤 했다. 그렇게 가을도 가고 몇 잎 남은
추억들마저 천천히 힘을 잃어갈 때 친구여, 나는 그때 수천의 마른 포
도 이파리가 떠내려가는 놀라운 空中을 만났다. 때가 되면 태양도 스
스로의 빛을 아껴두듯이 나 또한 내 지친 정신을 가을 속에서 동그랗
게 보호하기 시작했으니 나와 죽음은 서로를 지배하는 각자의 꿈이 되
었네. 그러나 나는 끝끝내 포도밭을 떠나지 못했다. 움직이는 것은 아
무것도 없었지만 나는 모든 것을 바꾸었다. 그리하여 어느 날 기척 없
이 새끼줄을 들치고 들어선 한 사내의 두려운 눈빛을 바라보면서 그가
나를 주인이라 부를 때마다 아, 나는 황망히 고개 돌려 캄캄한 눈을 감
았네. 여름이 가기도 전에 모든 이파리 땅으로 돌아간 포도밭, 참담했
던 그 해 가을, 그 빈 기쁨들을 지금 쓴다 친구여.
In autumn of that year, a year
ruined even before the owner departed and summer ended, my poor-sighted walks to
the back of the vineyard began amid landscapes where each evening, in the vast
light, a man’s shadow flittered in and out of sight. My friend, I lived with
silence the entire autumn that year. I still remember now the empty beliefs I
carried with me and the small shocks that called out behind them. Why did I not
know it then? Why did I fear those dark, trivial religions that were not hope
and certainly not death? With each of my thirsty footprints black grape orbs
dropped purposelessly, and each time I lifted my gaze I stared for a time at the
progenies of strange grasses that came flying, stirring up the white smoke
blanketing the fields. Darkness always singles out the shadows of living things
so it can tread on them, and so it came walking to the vineyard’s wooden rail
fence, where I turned my entire spirit to ruin and awaited the owner. But
waiting is like forgiveness and always tires the flesh. I had no choice but to
instruct my weary feet and make a few movements, and when I did I encountered
various kinds of disorder, but my tears were no longer flowing. Then one day in
my beloved vineyard, I fell from a bright blue orb of fright, and the evening
lying like guttered wax, the darkness, the stifled hopes, all became too much
for me. I remember. That autumn after the owner departed and when longing was
used carelessly like so many dishes, I lit short candle flames with trembling
hands. And so autumn passed, and when even memories with their few remaining
leaves slowly lost their power, my friend, I came to a surprising space where
thousands of grape leaves came showering down. When the time came, I too, like
the sun conserving its light, began to roundly protect my weary spirit in the
midst of autumn, and so death and I became our own dreams, each ruling the
other. But I could never leave the vineyard. Nothing moved, but I changed
everything. One day as I stared into the terrified eyes of a man who had stepped
in from nowhere holding up the end of a straw rope, each time he called me the
owner, ah, I turned my face away in agitation and closed my dark eyes. O friend,
I write now of all the vineyards that return to leafy earth before summer
passes, of the wretched autumn that year, of those empty happinesses.
White Night
The snow stops.
The lights are out at the wintry windows of Incheon houses
and the sky hangs like hard planks
between the low-hanging roofs.
In dimensions defying imagination
the winds easily encase the dirty walls
as snow pellets shriek and ricochet through the air.
Among the scarified black and white screen titles,
a man is walking slowly.
With fingers bent like farm tools,
he parts with his last cigarette
in front of a shuttered store, recalling warm memories
of bottles he'd drunk somewhere, then forgot.
The empty alleyway lies forlorn, like an outspread blanket
A few of the man's long, shaky coughs echo
above the low-watt light and sleet. Passing under a shadowy frozen signboard
he staggers off, to where?
On this night when black and white are twin,
on this frightful evening shining like bright ice,
he makes a snowy path that grows harder with every step,
carrying his whimpering young son on his back, beneath his army coat. [End Page 83]
The Black Leaf in My Mouth
The taxi driver pokes his head out the dark window
bellowing now and then at the top of his lungs, chasing the birds off
I've never passed this field or this sunset before
My thoughts go to him, a man I never metThe day it happened, I was far away in the countryside
in a dusty room, my nose in a book
When I looked outside, fog had rolled over the fields
The ground was dragging off the books and black leaves that summer
White smoke sprang from clothes when you unfolded them
"Silence is for servants," he'd written
I'd seen his face once
in the paper, his head bowed slightly
Then it happened, and after that he died.The whole funeral glistened in lashing rain and fierce wind
The car with his dead body moved slowly, unbearably so
The people clung stubbornly to the funeral procession
The black leaves fluttered as they crowded against the white hearse
I slowly lost all voice to speak, his young son
could not bear the blizzard of leaves and burst out cryingThe names of the missing piled up that year
Then, before the silence of the shocked, they began turning up one by one
The tongues of the dead spilled over onto the road
The taxi driver keeps looking back at me now
I don't trust him, seized with terror
I stammer, That man is dead
How many funerals kept under wraps because of him? [End Page 84]
Who is he? Where am I going?
I'm not waiting around for answers anymore. No one knows
where an incident will take place, it can happen anywhere
I have to get away to someplace, nearby, in the countryI've never passed by this field or this sunset before
I fear the stubborn black leaf stuck in my mouth [End Page 85]
Sleet
Just in time, the sleet whirls and scatters
My hands stiff in my coat pockets
Soon the snow will soon be tramping over streets I don't know
and roaming among men and buildings I've never seen before
A square business envelope falls onto the snowy path, I start to lean down
Then I stop and think, how graduating from college
I'd been so ready to take on the world
Now the sleet, it's falling, no surprise really, you legs, you never stay on course
I read about such a route home in a novel once
Memories relished so often, now crushed under my shoe soles
On a dark alley road, an empty truck is stopped with its lights turned off
Some men fall down drunk, I recall days of sleet sprinkling down
My boyhood when I used to ride the bus all day long
People flocked by an old white wall are brushing off the snow
The sleet's pouring harder now, suddenly tears fall, I am unhappy
It wasn't supposed to be this way, I've experienced enough for one life, sleet [End Page 86]
Sounds 1
I thought I heard a noise though it was barely audible. When I pulled back the curtain, I saw a window open in the three-story building across from me. A pale wrist popped out and flung several bunches of withered flowers onto the street. The petals of the flowers fluttered for a while as though they might stay afloat in mid-air, but then they dropped downward toward the ground, slowly, each at a different speed. I returned to the table and glanced through an old newspaper. In the spot where he stood until a moment ago, a touch of faint, indistinct color had collected and settled. I was going to turn off the light when I looked at my wristwatch and saw that the hands were no longer moving. In a futile gesture, I turned the hands back to the day before. When I'd asked him, "Where are you going?" in a tone that said no answer was necessary, he'd roared with laughter and said, "Just out to the street"—Then the sound of something falling on the stairs near the entryway. On the table, I saw that a name-card holder, fountain pen, ashtray, each object with a shape, had its own faint shadow close by. Without thinking, I turned my head to look behind the chair. Once again I heard the sound, barely audible. When I went to the window a second time, it was the same cold, damp wind I'd felt a hundred times before. It filled every empty crevice on the street as it rolled past. "Where are things without cracks in them supposed to go?"—Then I saw a long, dirty pink curtain streaming out from a second-story window of a building next to the one opposite. It was moving softly and sadly, as though no one cared what happened to it. "Just let it go," he'd said. "Isn't the most beautiful part of anything the beginning?" As though he'd suddenly remembered, he took his gloves from the locker and added, "No, it's the moving around, I mean." A piece of hard, half-eaten bread looked at me silently with a solemn expression as though to say there was no getting around the fact. I'd always looked at the darkness and at roads. I slowly stood[End Page 87] up and said quietly to the ceiling, "I'm stuck like a thumbtack." In the spot where he had stood until a moment ago, a touch of faint, indistinct color had collected and settled. "When no one is around, footsteps always seem louder." I heard a sound as I turned off the light. In some unknowable place in my heart, there was a thud, like something breaking. That sound that I knew so well, ringing clear as a bell. [End Page 88]Blue Paper Covered with Dust
I own an old musical instrument. All of the guitar's six strings are broken, so I haven't played it for a long time (it once put my sadness and passions to music paper, turning them into soft notes). The strangest thing happens. Every now and then, when I am alone in the dark empty room, beautiful sounds flow from the guitar. It stuns me. But my senses carry powerful memories. When the music stops, I fumble around for a candle. Yes, I have an old musical instrument. Yes. Every now and then I walk into a dark, empty hope. I listen to the strange performance and sometimes my whole body vibrates lightly in the darkness.
Blue paper covered with dust is still blue.
No dust can change its color. [End Page 89]
No dust can change its color. [End Page 89]
Grass
I have an appendix but
I don't like eating grass
I am
a poor excuse for an animalI live as a spirit pitched to and fro
roaming clouds streaming with sleep
baring the veins on my wrists
a long sorrowWhen I take my body, empty, and stand before you
your waving gestures
are signals so green it makes me sad
Ah,
but the love you retched up while guarding the night!
Was that your beautiful soul
that sustained the darkness, erected the blades?Now I shall take root!
Better to be grass, having to cry smiles
Let's suffer life's afflictions
Let's bind our feet together and sobWhen the winds blow on clear days
and lightly caress my bruised sides
my song, which delves into my heart, springs up, and becomes you,
will form groups, crisp and fresh,
and float in the air. [End Page 90]
Flower
On days
when my soul bursts into flame
I will stand as a flower
in the garden of your sick heart,
and become the blood you hotly spit up throughout the nightI don't care if I'm snipped in my middle
if it's by your handWith my deep breaths
I will stitch up your chestIf I can place my head where the winds blow
I won't care, even if I fall asleep standing up. [End Page 91]
The Wind Leads Me in Your Direction
I can no longer hide in the dark and shake the tree branches. Readying my one and only soul and hushing the sound of my footsteps, I move nearer to your window. Light from the cattle's gentle gazes gives me a dim path, while above, nervous leaves just parted from their branches seek out empty places in the air. I am lonely. My friend, when the soft sound of my cough slips into the sketches of your sleep, light a small lamp and place it at the windowsill. The distance of my desire is too great, and silence always has me in its grip. You must open the window only when it is very late. The flame's light is too faint and will not reach the field. You, with your head tilted to one side—how I have longed to enter into your sighs! Ah, soon you will extinguish the leaf of flame with a stream of your breath. I break the smallest branch without making a sound. I will hide my body behind the branches and quietly gaze at the remote area of existence where I can never go—until that dim hour when you rub the globe of your weary lamp, until some movements stop in the misty darkness, and the wind, wearied, finishes its brief repose. [End Page 92]Put Badly
A few shadows hung around in the dark
Some stayed by the pitch-black wall
Sensing trouble, vehicles killed their lights
In an instant, each building bolted its door
and waited in fear. An explosion of kerosene fumes
a thin, slinky sound of dragging metal
black leaves leered as they tumbled by
hands and feet moved quickly
the flicker of cigarettes, somebody who walked into the alley
uttered a cry of shockThose guys, why do they gather in the dark every night?
Where do the desires of those young men go?
Why are human pleasures all the same? [End Page 93]
Fog
1
Fog cloaks the inlet each morning and evening.2
Everyone coming to this town for the first time
must pass through the great fog river.
Like lonesome cattle they must stand at the long riverbank
until the party ahead of them slowly clears the way.
Until they suddenly realize with a shock that they are all alone,
trapped in an empty hole in the fog.Some days, the mist battalion will not budge an inch from the inlet
until the hard, yellow sun hangs on the thick paper sheet of sky.
Giggling factory girls pass by, late for work,
and children, released from the long darkness,
seep out slowly from between gruff black trees.Those unaccustomed to the fog employ caution when walking,
but before long they are cutting their way through the fog
and wandering around in it like the others. Habit
really makes it very easy. They soon make kin with the fog
and flow around inside it as though insane
until the transmission tower reveals its faint body in the distance.On fogless days,
those walking on the bank don't recognize each other's faces.
Leery of one another, they pass by hurriedly,
but clear, gloomy mornings are very rare,
because this is the fog's holy precinct.When dusk falls, the fog casts off its speedy clothes above the inlet
one layer at a time. The air instantly swells with a hard, white liquid. [End Page 94]The vegetation and factories are sucked into it
and half of the man walking several paces ahead
is cut off by the whiteness.There were just a few minor incidents.
A factory girl was raped in the dead of night.
It happened near the workers' dorm, but they put a gag on her mouth, and
that was that. Last winter, a drunkard froze to death on the riverbank.
A three-wheel vehicle passed right by him,
thinking he was a pile of garbage.
But those were only individual misfortunes, and not the fog's fault.As the fog retreats and noon approaches,
the factory's black smokestacks aim their barrels in unison at the sky.
A few men were injured and left the sewage habitat,
cursing it roundly, but it was quickly pushed out of everyone's memory
because none of the men ever returned to the town.3
Fog cloaks the inlet each morning and evening.
The fog is now the town's special attraction.
Everyone holds at least some stock in the fog.
The faces of the factory girls are bright and beautiful.
The children grow like weeds and all go to the factory. [End Page 95]
Dead Cloud
Below the dirty window filled with clouds,
a man has collapsed,
his hand upturned on the floor like a toy
He'd waited for this chance, it seems,
for death gaping like the mouth of a plastic bag
those unfeeling foods tormenting his hunger until the very end
Now a dog stares at his dish, having lost its strength, its fur,
I saw the dead man several times while he was alive,
People called him crazy, threw silver coins
at his outspread coat blotched with wine and spit
No one knew his private thoughts,
the sexual desires and sorrows he hid to the last,
his shoulder muscles clearly once had a function
His pitiful, vile bare feet
were gifts for tender-hearted women
but no matter, clouds must be observed with great caution
Now this fool, this dead man, even the raindrops do not fear him
The old dog, becoming bolder, knocks over the dish
and while villainous stains spread like human hands across the floor
two police officers enter and converse idly,
"All towns have one or two of these empty houses
A crazy fool like this—how did he know to come here and die?"
The old dog, having lost interest, seems sad
But no one knows, for the cloud that vanished alone
had no part in the window from the start [End Page 96]
Translated by Gabriel Sylvian, from Korean Literature at Seoul National University
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Theo 6450/6540 teaching resource
bondage of free will summary:
http://www.reformedreader.org/bow.htm
Creation teaching tip
Creation
Creation Stories
John Walton's work on Genesis 1 and 2 is also right up the alley of those who have not made the cognitive leap. Or you could simply point to the fact that a huge percentage of American Christians turned away from the error of reading Genesis as a science textbook in the early 20th century and have never looked back nor been troubled in their faith by all this.
Jim Fowler's Stages of Faith, where stages, as epistemic frames, are developmental, and mythic/literalism is adolescent thinking. Another take on what is likely presented in the book above.
Make them actually read the two creation accounts and show how they are distinct stories. Then have them read Psalms 74 and 89 where God has to defeat the sea monster to create the world.
psalm 90:4. Genesis is about the what. It says little about the how. It says god spoke. What language did he use? I believe it was the language of mathematics. Evolution is the how of creation.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Polkinghorne
show the inconsistency that makes it impossible to follow literally. The order of creation in the first one is plants, then animals and finally Adam. The order in the second is Adam is created first, then plants, and then Eve. If we take both literally, which one do they believe? Pope John Paul II offers an excellent answer to the question on how we should interpret Genesis.:"Cosmogony and cosmology have always aroused great interest among people and religions. The Bible itself speaks to us of the origin of the Universe and its make-up, not in order to provide scientific treatise, but in order to state the correct relationships of man with Goad and with the universe. Sacred Scripture wishes simply to declare that the world was created by Godand in order to teach this truth it expresses itself in the terms of cosmology at the time of the writer.
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