Yun Dong-ju: 70th anniversary of a patriotic poet’s death

“In the well, there are the bright shining moon, clouds flowing by and the sky spreading open/ There are blue wind blowing, autumn and a man like a memory.” (Self-portrait) “Turning the lamp on, let the darkness go away/ At the last moment I am waiting for the morning to break forth like a new age.” (The Poem Easily Written) "Wishing not to have so much as a speck of shame toward heaven until the day I die, I suffered, even when the wind stirred the leaves." (Prologue) Yun Dong-ju, a poet with a sad life who reflected himself with clear and transparent inner eyes and pondered upon reality. February 16, 2015 was the 70th anniversary of Yoon`s death. He lived only 27 years in the miserable colonial era like a star passing by the wind.

“Mother, I try to call each star by some such evocative word, names of school friends with whom I shared desks, names of foreign girls like Pai, Gyeong, Ok, names of maidens who have already become mothers, names of neighbors who lived in poverty, names of birds and animals like pigeon, puppy, rabbit, donkey, deer, and names of poets like Francis Jammes and Rainer Maria Rilke.” (Counting Stars at Night) Yoon wrote the poem beautifully to express what he missed. His heart and eyes must have been warm. The poem heals people beyond borders and time.

A variety of events are held at home and abroad to commemorate the 70th anniversary of the poet’s death. Poetry readings and memorial services for him have been in place each year in Fukuoka, Japan, where he passed away in a prison, since 1994. A project to build a memorial stone for his poems is going on despite the opposition by some anti-Korean groups. “Japanese can self-examine the past with sincerity only when they honor Yun Dong-ju,” Kenji Nishioka, a professor emeritus at Fukuoka Prefectural University, recently told the Dong-A Ilbo.

“People say life is hard. It is shameful that a poem can be written so easily.” Yoon had a pure soul. He kept searching his soul while writing poems. We read his poems that he wrote while agonizing and resisting during the oppressive era all too easily and soon forget about our shamefulness. I will look up the sky when the wind blows at a starry night, thinking of him who is like “a sad man who walks alone under a meteorite.” (Confessions)