계집의 올굴은 눈의 안경
gye.jip.ui ol.gul.eun nun.ui an.gyeong
woman-GEN face-OBJ eye-GEN glasses
[Like] a woman’s face [through] eyeglasses.
This means “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” The word 계집 [gyejip] was unfamiliar to me – it apparently means woman but specifically “woman” as an object of desire. Perhaps it could better be translated by a more slang-like term like “chick” or “babe.” My dictionary had “the fair sex” which actually seems about right, though of course it seems a bit archaic – but then again, I suspect the Korean is a bit archaic, too, given it appears in an aphorism. The phrase has no verb, but it has the clitic topic marker, which rather implies a verb. [daily log: walking, 7km]
I learned this proverb from my book of Korean aphorisms.
십년공부 나무아미타불
sip.nyeon.gong.bu na.mu.a.mi.ta.bul
ten-years-study “namo amitabha buddha”
[After] ten years of study, [one is reduced to saying] “Namo Amitabha Buddha.”
This is an interesting Korean proverb, because although the proverb itself is Korean in origin as far as I can figure out, the phrase “Namo Amitabha Buddha” (rendered as namuamitabul) is Pali (the language of Buddhist scripture), filtered through Chinese.
The phrase “Namo Amitabha Buddha” is an invocation of the Amitabha Buddha, which under the Pure Land tradation (“Amidism”) within Buddhism, frees the invoker of his or her karmic hinderances.
The meaning of the proverb, however, is about the phenomenon of Buddhist monks who become enchanted by secular women, apparently a commonplace in the Korean folk tradition. So the monks would chant “Namo Amitabha Buddha” in an attempt to escape such enchantments, but the point of the proverb is that they are trying to escape the earned consequences of their own behavior. There is a specific story where a monk studied for 10 years and then fell for a dancing girl. So after 10 years of study, all is come to naught. The proverb roughly means “All in vain!
This proverb is exceptionally apropos, as I approach the 10th year anniversary of my sojourn in Korea, and yet, due to my own laziness and poor behavior, I still have failed to really master the Korean language: ¡십년공부 나무아미타불! [daily log: walking, 7km]
I learned this aphorism from my book of aphorisms.
구렁이 담 넘어가듯 한다
gu.reong.i dam neom.eo.ga.deut han.da
snake wall go-over-AS-IF do-PRES
[He/she/it] acts like a snake going over a wall.
I think this must be more or less the same as English’s “Like a snake in the grass”: sneaky behavior, creeping up on on a situation unnoticed.
This makes me think of Bob Dylan’s old song, “Man Gave Names To All The Animals,” which is my favorite song from Dylan’s “Christian period.”
I would like to include a youtube embed of Dylan’s song, but Dylan is one of those performing artists who is VERY aggressive in his takedowns of his work online. I personally consider this reprehensible, and combined with his assholery around his recent Nobel prize, that’s why he’s gone down substantially in my estimation as a human being, if remaining high in my estimation of him as an artist.
What I’m listening to right now.
Townes Van Zandt, covering “Man Gave Names To All The Animals,” by Bob Dylan. It’s perhaps a better rendition than the original, anyway. But regardless, Dylan is an amazing lyricist: the ending of the song is poetically brilliant.
Lyrics.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal that liked to growl
Big furry paws and he liked to howl
Great big furry back and furry hair
“Ah, think I’ll call it a bear”.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal up on a hill
Chewing up so much grass until she was filled
He saw milk coming out but he didn’t know how
“Ah, think I’ll call it a cow”.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal that liked to snort
Horns on his head and they weren’t too short
It looked like there wasn’t nothing that he couldn’t pull
“Ah, I’ll think I’ll call it a bull”.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal leaving a muddy trail
Real dirty face and a curly tail
He wasn’t too small and he wasn’t too big
“Ah, think I’ll call it a pig”.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
Next animal that he did meet
Had wool on his back and hooves on his feet
Eating grass on a mountainside so steep
“Ah, think I’ll call it a sheep”.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal as smooth as glass
Slithering his way through the grass
Saw him disappear by a tree near a lake ….
박겨애, "곡예사의 첫 사랑." Is this song really about a love affair with a clown? It seems to be. What is it with Korean culture and clowns? I haven't quite figured that out. I wonder if this song proves beyond question that the 1970s were weird in Korea, too? The performance is from 1987, but this artist's release of the song was popular in 1978. 박겨애 is not the original composer – I found a reference to 정민섭, and that he wrote this particular song in 1966, and that maybe (depending on my ability to figure out the Korean) it is in fact a reference to a Korean folk tale – which makes more sense than it being about a western-style clown. I think maybe the terms for traditional bard/jester type characters in Korean culture (i.e. 곡예사 or 어릿광대) have been somewhat conflated with the western "clown."
가사.
줄을 타며 행복했지 춤을 추면 신이 났지 손풍금을 울리면서 사랑노래 불렀었지 공굴리며 좋아했지 노래하면 즐거웠지 흰분칠에 빨간코로 사랑 얘기 들려줬지 영원히 사랑하자 맹세했었지 죽어도 변치말자 언약했었지 울어봐도 소용없고 후회해도 소용없는 어릿광대의 서글픈 사랑 줄을 타며 행복했지 춤을 추면 신이 났지 손풍금을 울리면서 사랑노래 불렀었지
영원히 사랑하자 맹세했었지 죽어도 변치말자 언약했었지 울어봐도 소용없고 후회해도 소용없는 어릿광대의 서글픈 사랑 공굴리며 좋아했지 노래하면 즐거웠지 흰분칠에 빨간코로 사랑 얘기 들려줬지
I had a sort of vague mini-epiphany today, as I walked to work.
There aren't that many foreigners working in the Hugok neighborhood, where I work. I have seen the same 5 or 6 foreigners (i.e. Westerners) from time to time, on the street. I even have some idea which of the many hagwon in the neighborhood they each work at.
I have long realized I have strange tendency to avoid interacting with foreigners in Korea. Partly, in my own personal experience, I find many of them to be annoying people. Expat English teachers such as one runs into on the streets in Ilsan tend to either be wannabe hipsters suffering from incipient alcoholism and with a tendency to complain about everything, or else sufficiently "gone native" that they instead arouse feelings of jealousy in me that make it unpleasant for me to be around them. There aren't very many who fall in the gray area I have occupied for so long.
Today as I walked to work I noticed one of these "Hugok foreigners" and found myself actually crossing the street to avoid meeting him on the sidewalk. He is definitely in the wannabe hipster category, and I have interacted with him once or twice – he strikes me as one of those people who refuses to make any concessions whatsoever to being a supposed professional in a foreign and relatively conservative culture: a half-dozen piercings, visible tattoos, a mop of oddly cut hair and ragged clothing. Yet he's clearly accepted at the hagwon where he works – I guess he must be doing something right, as he's been around for a few years. I don't begrudge him his success, but I don't really approve of his style.
Anyway, this is not the first time that I have intentionally avoided meeting a foreigner on the street, but I always just wrote it off to my general anti-social tendencies. Nevertheless, I had a sort of realization today. It's not just that I'm anti-social or that I don't like foreigners, despite being one myself. It's that I actually genuinely like living in a country where there is a large and permanent barrier preventing easy communication. I'm just simply that anti-social.
This thought, in turn, lead me to my mini-epiphany: perhaps I deliberately sabotage my Korean-learning efforts for precisely this same reason. If I became truly competent at speaking Korean, I'd have no excuse not to interact with the vast majority of the people I see each day.
That's a pretty damning insight. Do I need to go live on a mountainside somewhere?
A few days ago, I mentioned the popularity of “dance covers” in Korea. Then yesterday I ran across a very interesting case of cultural diffusion: apparently dance covers of Korean pop music videos are a popular thing in Latin America, especially Mexico. The idea of South Korea exercising cultural “soft power” in Mexico intrigues me, in part due to my longstanding interest in both countries, but also because it’s just so strange, from a broader historical perspective.
Here is a group of Mexican women from the city of Monterrey, doing an almost professional-level dance cover of the Korean group Blackpink’s song “Playing With Fire.” Note that they are even lipsyncing the half Korean half English lyrics. This seems remarkable to me.
Blackpink, “Playing With Fire,” dance cover by Joking Crew.
The original…. What I’m listening to right now.
블랙핑크, “불장난.”
가사.
우리 엄만 매일 내게 말했어
언제나 남자 조심하라고
사랑은 마치 불장난 같아서 다치니까 Eh
엄마 말이 꼭 맞을지도 몰라
널 보면 내 맘이 뜨겁게 달아올라
두려움보단 널 향한 끌림이 더 크니까 Eh
멈출 수 없는 이 떨림은
On and on and on
내 전부를 너란 세상에
다 던지고 싶어
Look at me look at me now
이렇게 넌 날 애태우고 있잖아
끌 수 없어
우리 사랑은 불장난
My love is on fire
Now burn baby burn
불장난
My love is on fire
So don’t play with me boy
불장난
Oh no 난 이미 멀리 와버렸는걸
어느새 이 모든 게 장난이 아닌 걸
사랑이란 빨간 불씨
불어라 바람 더 커져가는 불길
이게 약인지 독인지 우리 엄마도 몰라
내 맘 도둑인데 왜 경찰도 몰라
불 붙은 내 심장에 더 부어라 너란 기름
kiss him will I diss him I
don’t know but I miss him
중독을 넘어선 이 사랑은 crack
내 심장의 색깔은 black
멈출 수 없는 이 떨림은
On and on and on
내 전부를 너란 불길 속으로
던지고 싶어
Look at me look at me now
이렇게 넌 날 애태우고 있잖아
끌 수 없어
우리 사랑은 불장난
My love is on fire
Now burn baby burn
불장난
My love is on fire
So don’t play with me boy
불장난
걷잡을 수가 없는 걸
너무나 빨리 퍼져 가는 이 불길
이런 날 멈추지 마
이 사랑이 오늘 밤을 태워버리게
whooo
달팽이 뚜껑 덮었다
dal.paeng.i ttu.kkeong deop.eot.da
snail lid cover-PAST
The snail keeps covered.
This means that people who keep to themselves are unknowable. Which seems kind of self-evident, but in a culture like Korea’s where a major portion of socialization among peers is “enforced” (obligatory at some level), keeping to oneself is an outlier personality trait. [daily log: walking, 7km]
My friend Seungbae taught me this four-character aphorism over the weekend.
靑出於藍
청출어람
cheong.chul.eo.ram
blue-occur-from-indigo
“the blue from the side is bluer”(?)
This seems to be a reference to some dying or pigmenting process involving the color blue, wherein the blue accumulated on the side (of a container?) is a deeper blue than the blue drawn from the main reservoir. The idiomatic meaning, however, refers to the student exceeding the teacher.
“The circle is now complete. When I left you, I was but the learner. Now, I am the master.” – Darth Vader, to Obi-Wan Kenobi. [daily log: walking, 6.5km]
I learned this phrase at work yesterday. I guess it’s kind of an aphorism, but it’s a slang-based, very modern one.
김정은이 중이 때문에 못 처들어오다
kim.jeong.eun.i jung.i ttae.mun.e mot cheo.deul.eo.o.da
Kim Jeong-eun-SUBJ 8th-grade because-of cannot invade-come-INF
Because of 8th graders, Kim Jeong-eun cannot invade.
Basically, the idea is that “kids these days” are so narcissistic, disrespectful, etc., that the dictator to the north doesn’t dare invade the South. It’s just not worth the hassle of dealing with the kids. The Korean expression 중이 (8th grade / 8th grader) is a kind of shorthand for referring to the the typical disaffected, disrespectful and self-centered nature of early teens, including the slang 중이병, meaning “8th grader disease,” as a kind of stand-in term for the characteristic mental health issues of puberty and adolescence.
Thus all the international panic about the North’s belligerence is overblown. It just can’t happen, see? We’ve got the kids to protect us. [daily log: walking, 5km]
호랑이 보고 창구멍 막기
ho.rang.i bo.go chang.gu.meong mak.gi
tiger see-CONJ window-hole block-GER
[Like] blocking the hole in the window after seeing the tiger.
The “hole in the window” refers to the old-style paper windows, which are translucent but not transparent. People would poke holes in them, to be able to look out. So the tiger is right there – you see him through the hole in the window. To be safe, you block the hole. Good plan.
Basically, this might be the same as the American proverb “A day late, a dollar short.” A moment when it’s too late to solve some problem or prepare for some dangerous contingency. [daily log: walking, 3km]
흰 구름 시냇가에 절을 지으니
서른 해 내리 이 주지로세
웃으며 가리키노니 문앞의 한 줄기 길이
조금 곧 산 아래를 떠나면 천 가닥이 되네
– 최치원 (신라 시인)
English Translation
Presented to the Abbot of Keumcheon Temple
By the White Cloud Stream you built a temple
where for thirty years you’ve been the abbot.
Smiling, you point to the single trail outside the gate.
At the foot of the mountain, it branches out to a thousand paths.
– Choi Chiwon (Silla/Tang poet, 857 – 924?)
– English translation by Christina Han and Wing S. Chu
Note that the Chinese is the original language of composition – all poetry and literature in Silla-Era Korea was written in Classical Chinese (similar to the way poetry and literature in Europe during a parallel era was mostly written in Latin).
I found the poem in the book Solitary Cloud: Poetry of Ch’oe Ch’iwŏn, by Christina Han and Wing S. Chu. The text of the poem is only in the Chinese characters in the book, along with the English translation. I really wanted to include the Chinese text here, but I am incapable of typing Chinese characters unless I know their Korean pronunciation, and I only actually know about 20 such hanja, so… I wasn’t sure how to figure this out.
I tried a little trick, which was successful: I took a photo of the Chinese text with my phone, I went to one of those free OCR (Optical Character Recognition) websites and uploaded my photo, and presto, a somewhat faulty capture of the Chinese text. I took that text, in turn, and googled it, to find the correct text of the poem (verified against the book’s text), where I also found the modern Korean translation – for which there was no attribution. [daily log: walking, 7km]
My students taught me this phrase the other day. I always learn the best Korean from my students.
Actually, they taught me the positive version: 띵가띵가놀은다 [tting.ka.tting.ka.nol.eun.da], which seems to mean, roughly, “goof off”, ” “play around”, or, as I pointed out, “dink around” as in to work completely unproductively. I wonder at the sound symbolism, because of that. Anyway, the term joins my long list of phenomimes and psychomimes. The term is not in the standard online Korean dictionaries, but I noticed that the googletranslate gets it right.
The negative phrase, 띵가띵가놀지마 [tting.ka.tting.ka.nol.ji.ma], I managed to use quite successfully, later in the same class. The kids were duly impressed. Lisa had been playing around with my collection of whiteboard markers, and not really paying attention. She gets easily distracted – a bit of a space cadet. So I said that: “띵가띵가놀지마!” She looked up, surprised.
Annie, who keeps trying to be my Korean coach, raised a thumb in broad approval. “Oh, nice, teacher. Good Korean!” [daily log: walking, 7km]
It's actually much easier and transparent than most of these types of expressions that I've attempted. It's a great phrase to know, too. Especially given the way I sometimes feel like I'm working my way through a dream.
There was a thunderstorm this morning. Nice, the hard rain scrubbing the air.
順伊(순이)가 떠난다는 아침에 말 못할 마음으로 함박눈이 나려, 슬픈 것처럼 窓(창) 밖에 아득히 깔린 地圖(지도) 위에 덮인다.
房방 안을 돌아다보아야 아무도 없다. 壁(벽)과 天井(천정)이 하얗다.
房(방) 안에까지 눈이 나리는 것일까. 정말 너는 잃어버린 歷史(역사)처럼 홀홀이 가는 것이냐, 떠나기 前(전)에 일러둘 말이 있던 것을 편지를 써서도 네가 가는 곳을 몰라 어느 거리, 어느 마을, 어느 지붕 밑, 너는 내 마음 속에만 남아 있는 것이냐.
네 쪼그만 발자욱을 눈이 자꾸 나려 덮여 따라갈 수도 없다.
눈이 녹으면 남은 발자욱 자리마다 꽃이 피리니 꽃 사이로 발자욱을 찾아 나서면 一年(일 년) 열두 달 하냥 내 마음에도 눈이 내리리라.
-윤동주 (한국의 시인, 1917~1945)
The Snowing Map
In the morning that Soon-ee left,
With my heart unable to speak,
Large snowflakes fell
Sadly outside the window
Covering the map
Spread out in the distance.
I return to the room, looking,
But there is nothing there at all.
The wall and the ceiling, white.
Will it snow inside the room?
Will you fly from me like history lost?
Even though you wrote me a letter
With your last words here,
I don’t know where you’re going,
Which street, which village, which house?
Are you to remain only in my heart?
The falling snow covers
Your small footsteps, again and again,
That I can’t even follow.
If the snow melts,
Flowers will bloom in each
Of your footprints, but if
I can find even just one between
The blossoms,
Snow will fall in my heart,
For a year, twelve months,
– Yun Dong-ju (Korean poet, 1917-1945)
(Translation by Yelun Qin)
Yun Dong-ju grew up in Manchuria, in a Korean community, under the Japanese colonial regime. He died in prison in Fukuoka, Japan, having been convicted of advocating Korean independence. [daily log: walking, 7km]
I learned this aphorism from my book of aphorisms.
나무 잘 오르는 놈 떨어지고 헤엄 잘 치는 놈 빠져 죽는다
na.mu jal o.reu.neun nom tteol.eo.ji.go he.eom jal chi.neun nom ppa.jyeo juk.neun.da
tree well climb-PRESPART guy fall-CONJ swimming well swim-PRESPART guy drown-INF die-PRES
The good tree-climber falls and the good swimmer drowns and dies.
I think actually this has the same meaning as that quote I offered by Randall Munroe a few posts back; essentially, even experts can make mistakes.
Perhaps this offers some solace to those of us who make mistakes – we might nevertheless be experts. [daily log: walking, 7km]
청기와 장수
cheong.gi.wa jang.su
blue-tile dealer
“Blue tile merchant”
This is a reference to some old Korean tale, I guess, wherein some guy made excellent blue tiles but refused to share the secret of his technique, so when he died no one knew how to make such great blue tiles. It means someone who keeps a trade secret or has some secret talent. Anyway, blue tile roofs are a very traditional high-quality style in Korea, up to and including the famous blue tile roof on the Presidential Palace, which gives the palace its name, called 청와대 [cheongwadae] – in English “Blue House.” At right is a picture of a temple in Suwon that I took in 2010, showing a blue tile roof.
I think this has more negative connotations than the English phrase, “A person of hidden talent.” In Western culture, I think this phrase is generally meant in a kind of admiration, or anyway saying that the person merits more admiration than we are currently giving. In the Korean, the semantics of the phrase seem to be focused instead on the person’s selfishness in the refusal to share knowledge or ability with the community. [daily log: walking, 7km]
"Nuclear honey jam" means "extremely fun," according to my HS1T cohort.
My students taught me this expression, which follows a trend I've noticed among my middle-schoolers of developing new slang by very literally translating Korean slang terms into English – i.e. just looking up each syllable in the dictionary separately. Thus, this expression derives from the Korean slang phrase "핵꿀잼" [haek.kkul.jaem]. The last syllable I was already familiar with - 잼 [jaem] is a slang abbreviation for 재미있다 [jae.mi.it.da = to be fun, to be interesting], and a pun with the homonymous Korean borrowing from English 잼 [jaem = jam]. The kids use this a lot. They then also use 노잼 [no.jaem = not fun], using the English negative "no." I've heard this for years. However, I'd never learned 꿀잼, where 꿀 [kkul = honey] seems to mean something like English speakers use "sweet" in a slang way to mean "cool" or "nice" or "awesome." So, "sweet fun." Then 핵 [haek = nuclear] is short for 핵무기 [haek.mu.gi = nuclear weapon], which is deployed something like "the bomb" in English, and seems to be an intensifier.
A week or two ago, I learned an interesting expression at work: 야자타임 [yajataim]. This is a slang term that means “A time when normal formalities, especially deferential language, can be temporarily suspended.”
I was excited to learn this term, because it could actually be useful with my students, in the event they are being too formal, which is sometimes an issue with certain socially awkward kids. It isn’t normally a problem if they’re speaking English, since Korean students are taught, erroneously, that English utterly lacks levels of formality. Of course English has lots of levels of formality, it’s just that we don’t use verb-endings and noun substitutions to pull it off, generally speaking. There tends to be a lot of just periphrastic substitution, e.g. “Gimme that” vs “Could you hand that to me, please?”
The etymology isn’t very clear to me on the first part of the term, but the second part -타임 [taim] is transparently the fully nativized borrowing from English, “time,” which is used in for a variety of meanings and contexts, some of which are similar to the English semantics, such as this one, and others where it has acquired new, weirdly different semantics – as in e.g. its broad use as one of the “noun counter particles” for listing the numbers of class periods at schools.
Anyway, the first part I can’t quite figure out, but I’d say the 야 [ya] is probably the vocative particle used for addressing inferiors (“Hey, you!”), which makes sense in context. As a guess, the 자 [ja] might be the verb propositive ending, i.e. “Let’s….” It all fits together neatly, in semantic terms: “Let’s [have] ‘hey you’ time,” but the grammar seems like an unholy mess. [daily log: walking, 7km]
As is typical, I sit and watch Korean TV, and it’s mostly whatever is on, as I channelsurf my basic cable.
One show that is in saturation mode at the moment is 보이스, a show that shares some characteristics with the popular American “police procedural” genre. I don’t always understand what exactly is going on, but there are a lot of psychos and serial killers. I think far more than there really are, in Korea. At least… I hope so. I don’t actually have a particular liking for the show. My point here is only that it part of my daily milieu, at the moment.
These shows always have sound-track tie-ins, and the sound track videos get played during breaks in the programming schedule, so you get repeated doses of the series’ theme songs at times other than just when the show is playing. Hence…
What I’m listening to right now.
김윤아, 목소리 (보이스 OST).
가사.
시든 꽃도 숨 쉰다
깊은 새벽은 푸르다
노랫소린 더 작아질 뿐
사라지지 않는다
So if you know the right way
멈추지마 또 걸어가
고요해진 마음에
들려오는 멜로디
많은 사람 스친다
매일 눈빛이 다르다
계절의 끝 그 길 위에
고단함을 벗는다
So if you know the right way
돌아서서 또 바라봐
Without any words spoken
전해지는 목소리
멜로디
기억 속 짧은 시간을
부르는 목소리
조용히
나직이
성인도 시속을 따른다
seong.in.do si.sok.eul tta.reun.da
saint-TOO local-mores-OBJ follow-PRES
Even a saint follows the local mores.
I think this means “When in Rome, do as the Romans.” But it might also refer to the fact that even the most high-minded person will succumb to a poor ethical environment. Maybe this could explain the more disappointing aspects of the Obama administration. [daily log: walking, 7km]
I realized recently that I started neglecting my long-standing habit of posting occasional Korean-language aphorisms and proverbs. Part of what happened is that my little “stockpile” became empty, and I got too lazy to replenish it, which led me to a situation where posting an aphorism was always more work than I wanted to deal with, at the last moment when deciding what to put on my blog.
Lately, too, I have been very depressed about my Korean ability. You might observe that I am always depressed about my Korean ability, so what’s really different? Well, obviously, if I’m so depressed about it that I’m actively avoiding my little self-study sessions, such as trying to understand various proverbs, well, then, that’s more depressed than before.
I’ll have to get over that, right? I have about 7 months remaining to become fluent – since I jokingly said, about 9 years ago, that I thought it would take me 10 years to become fluent. At the time, I thought I was giving myself more than enough time. Now, I’ve passed my 9th anniversary in Korea, and frankly, it looks like I’d been overly optimistic.
I may be a linguist, but that doesn’t seem to mean I’m necessarily very good at learning languages. Here is an aphorism from my Korean book of aphorisms.
목수가 많으면 집을 무너뜨린다 mok.su.ga manh.eu.myeon jib.eul mu.neo.tteu.rin.da carpenter-SUBJ be-many-IF house-OBJ destroy-PRES “If there are many carpenters, the house is destroyed.”
This is clearly the same aphorism as the English, “Too many cooks in the kitchen (spoil the broth).” That’s fairly self-explanatory, and therefore a good proverb for me to try to resume my occasional Korean proverbs. It’s a cloudy Sunday, but the snow turned to rain. I made a broth to gowith my pasta, but it wasn’t spoiled because I was the only cook. [daily log: walking, 1km]
Last night, the temperatures in Northwest Gyeonggi province were forecast to drop to -15 C. The government sent out some kind of mass safety notice that showed up as a message on my phone. It said,
I wasn't sure what it was, so I did what I normally do when I get texts on my phone in Korean that look important but where I don't quite understand them – I popped the text of it into google translate.
Google translate was not up to the task. Here's what it told me,
[National Security Agency] Safety instructions. Today 23:00 Gyeonggi Gyeonggi North Korea alert, the elderly people go out of control health care, prevention of frost, fire prevention, etc. Please note.
This looks really alarming – the mention of "North Korea," for example. The phrase "prevention of frost," however, clued me in to the fact that it was probably just a safety warning about the cold. So I made the effort to more laboriously translate a few of the individual words. The part about North Korea actually is referring to the northern part of Gyeonggi Province, where I live, and the part about "elderly people go out of control" actually is just advising the elderly to exercise special caution. Just a typical government advisory.
The image of a bitterly cold night-time invasion of out-of-control old people from North Korea will stick with me, however. It might make a good premise for a B-grade Korean horror movie.
Last Thursday, watching my uncle chipping wood before distributing the wood chips on his surrounding forest floor, Curt seemed puzzled by the purpose of it all. He said there was an expression in Korean that seemed relevant: “왜사서 고생이야?”
Loosely, this translates as, “why do [you] make work for [yourself]?’
More literally, it is something like, “Why buy and then suffer?” One should not suffer as a consequence of one’s purchases, right?
It applies to everyone, at one time or another, though. Nevertheless, it’s a type of activity that may be more relevant to some more than others. I, like my uncle, sometimes seem to make work for myself, unnecessarily. [daily log: walking, 9km]
So, I was reading a random blog, and ran across this little meme, which is not that new:
“Pick up the nearest book to you, turn to page 45. The first sentence explains your love life.”
Curious to have my love life explained, I immediately did this.
The book nearest to me was TOPIK in 30 days – this is a book for self study of Korean vocabulary, intended for preparation for the TOPIK test (Test Of Proficiency In Korean – and as a side note, ¿why in the world does the main Korean language proficiency test have an English acronym?). Not that I’m preparing for the test, but I do try to compel myself to study Korean vocabulary sometimes.
On page 45, the sentence was an example of usage of the verb 구하다 [gu.ha.da = “get”]. The sentence read,
오후 내내 방을 구하러 다녔지만 마음에 드는 방이 없었다.
I’ve been looking all afternoon to get a new room, but there’s none that are appealing.
In fact, this is quite plausible, as a kind of metaphorical explanation of my love life.
A thought for the day, if that’s what it is:
“What if we’re not conscious, we just think we are?”
I saw this four-character aphorism in my building’s elevator’s advertising video thingy two different times. It must be important.
雷聲大名
뇌성대명
noe.seong.dae.myeong
thunder-sound-big-name
I guess this is about reputation and fame, though it’s not clear to me if it has negative, neutral or positive valances. The Korean definitions are: “남의 이름을 높여 이르는 말” (a person’s name spoken of far and wide) and “세상에 널리 드러난 이름” (a name revealed widely in the world). And important person? It’s not clear to me how this is actually used. [daily log: walking, 6.5km]
I tried to learn this four-character idiom from my building’s elevator the other day.
溫柔敦厚
온유돈후
on.yu.don.hu
gentleness+showing-respect
I guess this just means showing respect. Frankly, I found the definitions I found of this idiom to make the whole thing seem much more complicated, but perhaps I’m over-analyzing. The online hanja dictionary at daum.net gives: “괴이하거나 익살스럽거나 노골적이지 아니하고 독실한 정취가 있는 경향” which I make a rough effort to translate as: “Neither bizarre antics nor clowning around [interfere with?] a tendency toward an unblunt and sincere atmosphere.” I also found: “성격이 온화하고 부드러우며 인정이 두터움” which might be “personality is mild and smooth, acknowledge cordiality.”
I notice in both definitions a more contrastive as opposed complementary relation between the two components of the hanja (first two hanja are one component, second two are second component). I have no idea how that ends up working. But I get the general idea, maybe. [daily log: walking, 7km]
손발이 잘 맞다
son.bal.i jal mat.da
hand-foot-SUBJ well be-in-balance
“Hands and feet are in harmony.”
This seems like something a sports coach would say, but I could see it being a business buzzwordy type of expression, too, which is clearly how Curt used it. I was trying to think of how best to translate the intended pragmatics. Maybe something like, “the team is a smoothly functioning machine.” He was intending it as a goal, rather than description of the current state. In fact, he was lecturing the staff room bemoaning the lack of teamwork.
I have no idea how many Korean businesses experience this kind of “in sync” teamwork, despite it being the highest ideal of Korean business. I suspect very, very few actually get there. [daily log: walking, 7km]
One thing that happens every time my friend Peter leaves Korea is that I get a pile of books. I am his Asian book storage facility, because he knows I appreciate them.
One book he left with me is a book of poems entitled “A letter not sent” by Jeong Ho-seung (정호승). The book is bilingual, which I like, with translation by Brother Anthony and Susan Hwang. Brother Anthony is a Catholic monk based in Seoul and prolific translator of Korean poetry – I’ve written about him before on this blog. Peter actually seems to know the man through their shared membership in the Royal Asiatic Society.
I particularly liked this poem (note that I copied the poem’s text from the book, so any strange typing mistakes, especially in the Korean where my typing skills are imprecise, are my own and not in the original).
밥 먹는 법
밥상 앞에
무릎을 꿇지 말 것
눈물로 만든 밥모다
모래로 만든 밥을 먼저 먹을 것
무엇보다도
전시된 밥은 먹지 말 것
먹더라도 혼자 먹을 것
아니면 차라리 굶을 것
굶어서 가벼워질 것
때때로
바람 부는 날이면
풀잎을 햇살에 비벼 먹을 것
그래도 배가 고프면
입을 없앨 것
– 정호승 (한국 시인 1950년-)
How to Eat
No kneeling
in front of the meal table;
the rice made of sand should be eaten
before the rice made of tears.
Above all else
rice on display should not be eaten;
if you must eat it, you should eat it alone;
otherwise you should fast;
by fasting you will grow lighter.
From time to time
on windy days,
you should mix grass with sunlight and eat that;
and should you still feel hungry
you should do away with your mouth.
– Jeong Ho-seung (Korean poet, b1950)
One comment on the title. The translation of the title, “How to Eat,” isn’t completely literal. Literally, it is “Rules for eating rice.” But “eat” and “eat rice” are essentially synonymous in Korean (in a way that can sometimes lead to confusion for Westerners).
I very much prefer the literal title, and I think the poem is playing with the semantic overlap between “eat” and “eat rice” which means the title should include “rice.”
I have written a nonnet as a kind of “response” to this poem. I will post it tonight as my daily nonnet. [daily log: walking, 6.5km]
I learned this four character aphorism on my building’s elevator last night.
強固無比
강고무비
gang.go.mu.bi
strong-firm-no-compare
“Incomparable strength and steadiness.”
It can be made into a descriptive verb, too: 강고무비하다. The underlying meaning of this 고사성어 seemed more transparent than most – the dictionary definition given for the aphorism is simply: 비교할 수 없이 굳세고 단단함 (Incomparable firmness and strength).
Last night we had one of those post-work dinner meetings as is the Korean custom, called 회식 (which is one of the few words where I find the "official" romanization highly dubious as far as implied pronunciation: officially, [hoesik], but what you hear might be better written in English as "hwehshik").
It was unlike most hwehshik of this sort, however, in that it was spontaneous - meaning there was no advance notice. Curt even admitted this, trying to teach me a Korean word which means "spontaneous" but which, as so often occurs, failed to stick in my calcified brain.
I don't really deal well with unexpected demands on my time. I think in general, I can cope with unexpected occurrences – meaning when students do unexpected things in class, or there is a sudden schedule change at work. Indeed, some of my colleagues comment on my seeming equanimity in the face of these kinds of things. But these types of unexpected things occur within the boundaries of my normal working hours. On the other hand, after-work activities infringe on time I perceive as my own. As long as I know they're coming, I don't really have a problem with them – like a pre-work meeting or a morning parent-centered event that we all know is coming, I work them into the calculus of my "work time." But unannounced, I don't deal with them well.
Anyway, this is all to say, I had an unpleasant time, and it was unpleasant from the moment I knew it was happening, 5 minutes after coming out of my last class at 10pm. The after-work dinner is stressful for other reasons, too.
It involves eating. I don't enjoy eating, and I feel self-conscious of this fact, because the people around me make eating and the enjoyment of food such a focus of social interaction. I'm sure I've written before that I don't see this as a specifically Korean trait – it's a universal human characteristic. With my post-surgical, handicapped mouth, with my lack of taste, with my constant struggle to swallow things correctly without devolving into a fit of gagging or choking, eating is task that exists in my mind at about the same level as cleaning my toilet: not at all enjoyable and only to be done because it must.
Furthermore, of course, during these times everyone is babbling on in rapid Korean, and so my sense of shame and failure around my lack of mastery of the language impinges. At work, by nature of the work, I intereact with my students in English. That's my job, and there is no guilt in it. But for socializing in a country where I have lived so long, I feel a moral obligation (not to mention the practical necessity) to do so in Korean – so the fact that it still doesn't come easily feels like a moral failing. I'm letting the people around me down, and my fundamental incompetence is on display.
This morning I feel gloomy and discouraged, because of these things. Perhaps I should do like Grace, and simply refuse to participate – although clearly her reasons for boycotting the hwehshik are different from what mine would be.
In fact, I have always rather liked the concept, abstractly. It seems a strong and useful and important social custom, as a way to build a cohesive social unit out of a group of people who work together. But the way that it challenges me personally, I really doubt if it's useful for my overall mental equilibrium.
목마른 송아지 우물 들여다 보듯
mok.ma.reun song.a.ji u.mul deul.yeo.da.bo.deut
thirsty-PPART calf well lookinto-LIKE
[It is] like a calf looking into a well.
The book says this means something like “sour grapes.” I could see that – seeing something that he can’t get, perhaps the calf is annoyed. [daily log: walking, 7.5km]
여유있는 태도를 잃어서는 안 된다
yeoyuitneun taedoreul ilheoseoneun an doenda
relax-have-PRESENTPARTICIPLE attitude-OBJ lose-MUSTNOTDO
One shouldn’t lose one’s relaxed attitude.
That complicated ending (-서는 안 된다) was hard for me to figure out. It seems to be some kind of fixed idiom that can’t quite be got at by its parts. I was about to give up, but then I got lucky and managed to google a grammatical explanation here.
So the lesson is, don’t lose your relaxed attitude when you can’t figure out some bit of Korean grammar. Google will save you. [daily log: walking, 7km]
I caught this movie on the TV, called 나의 절친 악당들. It was funny and a bit surreal. I recommend it.
The song at the end, kind of an outro theme song, had a classic music-video style sequence, with the actors lip-syncing the lyrics. I couldn’t find the clip online, but the whole movie is posted here (for now, since these things tend not to last long) so you could scroll to the end to catch the video sequence, at 1:43:00. I kind of got hooked on the song. I started trying to translate the lyrics because I couldn’t find a translation online, but that effort lost steam. I thought the title, anyway, might be something like “What’s your game?” or “What are you playing at?” although the subtitles in the movie posting have “Why surprised?” But I think the the verb 놀다 has an element of the meaning “to play” that “Why surprised?” fails to convey. Maybe something like “Why are you pretending to be surprised?”
So that song is…
what I’m listening to right now.
장기하와얼굴들, “뭘 그렇게 놀래.”
가사.
뭘 그렇게 놀래
내가 한다면 하는 사람인 거 몰라
그렇게 동그란 눈으로
나를 쳐다보지 마
뭘 그렇게 놀래
내가 빈말 안 하는 사람인 거 몰라
뭐라도 본 듯한
표정 짓고 서 있지를 마
뭘 그렇게 놀래
내가 한다면 하는 사람인 거 몰라
그렇게 얼빠진 눈으로
나를 쳐다보지 마
잘 들어 미안하지만
니가 보고 있는 것들은 꿈이 아냐
그리고 잘 봐 낯설겠지만
니가 보고 있는 사람이 진짜 나야
나도 내가 진짜로
해낼 줄은 몰랐었어
이렇게나 멋지게
해낼 줄은 몰랐었어
너도 내가 진짜로
해낼 줄은 몰랐겠지만
더 이상 예전에 니가 알던
내가 아니야
뭘 그렇게 놀래
내가 굉장히 냉정한 사람인 거 몰라
되돌릴 수 있다는
그런 꿈꾸지도 마
잘 들어 미안하지만
니가 보고 있는 것들은
꿈이 아냐 그리고
잘 봐 못 믿겠지만
니가 보고 있는 사람이 진짜 나야
나도 내가 진짜로
해낼 줄은 몰랐었어
이렇게나 멋지게
해낼 줄은 몰랐었어
너도 내가 진짜로
해낼 줄은 몰랐겠지만
더 이상 예전에 니가 알던
내가 아니야
나도 내가 진짜로
해낼 줄은 몰랐었어
이렇게나 멋지게
해낼 줄은 몰랐었어
너도 내가 진짜로
해낼 줄은 몰랐겠지만
더 이상 예전에 니가 알던
내가 아니야
