Grandson Writes Letter to Honor Late Writer

The late Korean writer, poet and English literature scholar Pi Cheon-deuk, whose pen name was Geum-a, met a Japanese girl named Asako three times in his essay “Karma,” before he died last year.

“I shouldn’t have met her the third time,” he wrote in the essay. But for him, there were people who were missed badly. They are his daughter Pi Seo-yeong, whom he held dear for his entire life, and his grandson Stefan Jackiw. The first is a professor at Boston University and the latter is a gifted 22-year-old violinist.

May 25 marks the first anniversary of his death. In observance of the day, Jackiw wrote a letter to his grandfather, whom he never failed to call once a week. He wrote his signature on the letter as Stefan “Pi” Jackiw.

The grandson is returning to where his grandfather left. He joined the classical music ensemble Ditto led by Korean-American violinist Richard Yongjae O’Neill and will give a recital at Seoul Art Center on June 28. The literary giant Pi remains alive this way in his grandson’s music world. The following is Jackiw’s letter.

Grandpa,

When I was young, our family spent summer in Korea almost every year. I remember we began visiting Korea when I was four. We would play cards, take a walk in the park, and visited art galleries and museums. Sometimes, only you and I would have lunch at restaurants. Wherever we went, people recognized you and greeted us.

You really loved music. We all fell for the film “Amadeus.” Though I watched it every day, I never got tired of it. When going to bed, I felt excited thinking of watching it again with you the next morning. I was so immersed in the movie that I memorized almost all the lines.

Do you remember telling me about your romance in your youth? It was a love story with a pretty female composer. I can recall that you told me she put your poem to music.

You cherished American poet Robert Frost’s poetry book that had his autograph. I heard you both got along with each other when you studied at Harvard University on a Fulbright scholarship from 1955-56. You said Frost enjoyed talking with a “small gentleman coming from the Far East” about Western culture. I still have the book you gave me.

Several tours of Europe with you are also among my happiest memories. I can still see you being deeply touched by one of Michelangelo’s best works Pieta in Rome. There was a copy of Pieta on the wall in your study. You said it was a present from one of your protégés. You also admired Venice but dreaded riding a gondola.

It was in Ireland, if my memory serves me right, that you said, “This is the moment my lifetime dream has come true.” Saying Ireland is the homeland of William Butler Yeats, you asked me to memorize the inscription on his gravestone: “Cast a cold eye on life, on death, horseman, pass by.”

You met Stephen Hawking at Cambridge University in Britain. You said you were “deeply impressed by him.” Come to think of it, I should say my parents were really worried about you at the time because you disappeared without notice. I couldn’t believe you, such an old grandfather, walking such long hours by yourself…though you were a feeble grandpa who was even afraid of riding escalators.

There are lines from your essay “Seo-yeong”: “If I am fortunate to lead a long life, I will live near Seo-yeong’s house. Her two sons will come to see me everyday.” Seo-yeong is my mother but we lived some 3,000 miles apart. Despite the long distance, however, you believed we spent our time happily together, which you wanted.

Unfortunately, since age 12, I couldn’t visit Korea because I was busy studying and playing the violin. But I read all your poems and essays translated into English. You are probably aware that your presence was the basis that helped me grow into a healthy and confident adult. Your comments “You inherited your artistic talent from your mother, who was good at playing the Korean lute,” still ring in my ears.

Grandpa, I have wished for something for a long time. That is performing in front of you in Seoul. I realized my dream in 2006 when the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra invited me to perform in Korea. But that was the last time I saw you. Did I tell you that Chopin Nocturnes that I played as an encore was for you?

You often told me on the phone, “I lived a blessed life.” Grandpa, you were also a great blessing to me.