Caveat: 72) 시냇물 소리의 시원함을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다

“I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the brightness of a running brook’s sound.”

This is #72 out of a series of 108 daily Buddhist affirmations that I am attempting to translate with my hands tied behind my back (well not really that, but I’m deliberately not seeking out translations on the internet, using only dictionary and grammar).


70. 새 소리의 맑음을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the serenity of birdsong.”
71. 바람 소리의 평화로움을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.
        “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the peacefulness of the wind.”
72. 시냇물 소리의 시원함을 알게되어 감사한 마음으로 절합니다.

I would read this seventy-second affirmation as: “I bow with a thankful heart and become aware of the brightness of a running brook’s sound.”

시원함 should really be something like “refreshingness,” and the source verb is oftentimes translated as “to be cool,” but I didn’t like either of these. I chose “brightness.” “Cool” seems especially inapt – since hot soup can be 시원하다, too. It’s all in the effect it has on you. The word 시원하다 has a lot of meanings, and is very common, but translating it is difficult. It could also be “to be restful” or “to be relieved” or “to be unburdened.” It can apply to anything: a cool drink, hot soup, a breeze, a view, a forest path, a babbling brook, a loud political speech, a torturous confession.

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Caveat: Ojingeogirl and Gulbiboy

[broken link! FIXME] Gulbi Last Friday evening, in the "TP2" class.  Everyone was in a joking mood.

Brandon said, "Did you know Cindy has a strange body."

"What do you mean?" I asked, imagining something bad.  But then the girl demonstrated strange, double-jointed limbs. 

"She can put her arms behind her back strange too," the girl next to her said.  Cindy tried to demonstrate, but the constraints of her sitting position didn't permit her a full range of motion.  Still, I was impressed.

"Like an octopus,"  somebody said.

[broken link! FIXME] Images "오징어 [ojingeo = squid]," I said.  Somebody laughed.  "She could be a new superhero," I added.  I've been thinking about superheroes, for some reason, and this seemed clever.  "Ojingeogirl," I suggested.  Dried squid are a universal snack food, with the same level of iconicity as hotdogs in American culture, maybe.

Cindy seemed impressed by this idea, and several other students began to riff on it.  Then Luis said, "How about Gulbiboy, too?  Who is Gulbiboy?"

I pointed to Brandon.  I'd been telling the students short stories about my life in Yeonggwang, earlier, and they were charmed by my accounts of "Gulbi-land" – the preponderance of gulbi shops selling the (in)famous Yeonggwang gulbi (a sort of dried croaker fish).

I pretended to have a string of dried gulbi, which I lifted.  All Koreans know what dried gulbi look like, because the strings of fish are given as gifts on holidays.  I mimed extracting one of the 20 cm long fish from the string, and pretended to throw it like a shuriken (Japanese "ninja" throwing star) at Luis.  "Thwack," I emphasized.  The students were all in convulsions of laughter at this point.

"Oh no, Gulbiboy!" complained Luis.

Later on, Brandon tapped me on the shoulder, in the lobby.  "I am Gulbiboy!" he whispered, triumphantly. Brandon is very tall, but his face reminds me a great deal of my nephew's, perhaps if it were aged a few years further into early adolescence.  I feel a certain connection with him for that reason, maybe.

"Go rescue Ojingeogirl, then," I suggested, pointing toward Cindy, standing out by the elevator.  He made a pleased face, before he thought it through, and thought better of this.

 

 

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