‘Çѱ¹ÀÇ ÀÒ¾î¹ö¸° ¾ÆÀ̵é’(The Lost Children of Korea)
È£ÁÖ ¸ð½º¸¸ û³â¹®ÇлóÀ» ¹ÞÀº ¹Úµ¿¿µ ¾çÀÇ ½Ã
Lauren Park(¹Úµ¿¿µ, ÇËºí·¹À̵ð½ºÄ®¸®Áö 9Çгâ)
Let’s go on an adventure, They told us:
An isle with pools of fire,
(Gods’ warnings, Gods’ welcoming)
Misty, dark tracks The soil cut with ash,
Remains of eruptions past. You’ll be safe, they told us:
It’s dormant.
¿©ÇàÀ» ¶°³ªÀÚ, ±×µéÀº ¿ì¸®¿¡°Ô ¸»Çß´Ù:
È»êÈ£¼ö°¡ ÀÖ´Â ¼¶,
(½ÅµéÀÇ °æ°í, ½ÅµéÀÇ È¯¿µ)
¾È°³³¤ ¾îµÎ¿î ±æ Àç·Î µÚµ¤ÀÎ ¶¥,
¶°´Ù´Ï´Â È»ê ºÐÃâ¹°. ³ÊÈñµéÀº ¾ÈÀüÇÒ °Å¾ß, ±×µéÀº ¿ì¸®¿¡°Ô ¸»Çß´Ù:
±×°ÍÀº ÈÞÈ»êÀÌ´Ù
Relieved to be out of
tan brown blazers, we made our own uniform:
red converses, ocean blue denim, Ralph Lauren
polo with the horse, un-stabled, on lime green.
Our parent’s wave from the Wharf
(happy for us, but happy to be rid of us).
´ä´äÇÑ °¥»ö ±³º¹À» ´øÁ®¹ö¸®°í,
¿ì¸®´Â ¿ì¸®¸¸ÀÇ »õ·Î¿î ±³º¹À» ¸¸µé¾ú´Ù:
»¡°£ ¿îµ¿È, ÆĶõ û¹ÙÁö, Æú·Î¼ÅÃ÷.
ºÎ¸ðµéÀº ºÎµÎ¿¡¼ ¼ÕÀ» Èçµç´Ù.
(¿ì¸® ¶§¹®¿¡ ÇູÇØ Çϸ鼵µ ¿ì¸®°¡ ¶°³ª¼ ÇູÇØ ÇÏ°í)
A scaled down Titanic, Bleached whiteness
with its name neatly printed?
Sewol. It means ‘the passing of time’,
They told us. Time passed.
ÀÛÀº ŸÀÌŸ´ÐÈ£, ÇϾé°Ô Ç¥¹éµÈ ¼±Ã¼¿¡ ¼±¸íÇÏ°Ô »õ°ÜÁø À̸§ –
‘¼¼¿ù’. ±×°ÍÀº ½Ã°£ÀÇ È帧À» ÀǹÌÇÑ´Ü´Ù,
±×µéÀº ¿ì¸®¿¡°Ô ¸»Çß´Ù. ½Ã°£Àº Èê·¯°¬´Ù.
When the water seeped through
windows and the doors,
we keep fear at bay with play:
the boys threw life jackets as a dark prank.
Soon practical jokes gave way to practical necessity.
We couldn’t breathe: choking and floating in one move,
Water displaced air, ended sight, doubled weight.
Stay on the ship, they told us.
¹°ÀÌ ¹®°ú â¹®À» ħ¹üÇÒ ¶§,
¿ì¸®´Â ¼±½Ç¿¡¼ µÎ·Á¿öÇÏ¸ç °è¼Ó ³î¾Ò´Ù:
¼Ò³âµéÀº ±¸¸íÁ¶³¢¸¦ ´øÁö¸ç ħ¿ïÇÏ°Ô Àå³ÃÆ´Ù.
°ð °¡º¿î ³ó´ãÀº ÇÇÇÒ ¼ö ¾ø´Â ¿î¸íÀÌ µÇ°í
¿ì¸®´Â ¼ûÀ» ½¯ ¼ö ¾ø¾ú´Ù: ¼ûÀÌ ¸·È÷°í À̸®Àú¸® ¹°¿¡ ¶°¹Ð·È´Ù.
¹°Àº °ø±â¸¦ Áý¾î»ïÅ°°í ½Ã¾ß¸¦ °¡¸®°í ¸öÀº ¹«°Å¿öÁ³´Ù.
¹è¾È¿¡¼ ±â´Ù·Á¶ó, ±×µéÀº ¿ì¸®¿¡°Ô ¸»Çß´Ù.
The crew left for safety.
Rescuers will come, They told us.
We grabbed onto anything we could:
Rope, handles, windows, walls, each other,
Our orange vests. Grip slipped so we linked
Our voices: called into silence for a sound.
Our life jackets bobbing in oblivion
¼±¿øµéÀº ¾ÈÀüÀ» À§ÇØ ´ëÇÇÇß´Ù.
±¸Á¶´ë°¡ ¿Ã°Å¾ß, ±×µéÀº ¿ì¸®¿¡°Ô ¸»Çß´Ù.
¿ì¸®´Â Áæ ¼ö ÀÖ´Â ¹«¾ùÀÌµç ¿òÄÑÀâ¾Ò´Ù:
¹åÁÙ, ¼ÕÀâÀÌ, â¹®, º®, Ä£±¸µé,
¿À·»Áö»ö ±¸¸íÁ¶³¢. ¼ÕÀÌ ¹Ì²ô·¯Áö°í
¿ì¸®´Â ¿ì¸®µéÀÇ ¸ñ¼Ò¸®¿¡ ¸Å´Þ·È´Ù:
¸ðµÎÀÇ ¸ñ¼Ò¸®´Â ¸ØÃè´Ù. Àý±Ô¸¦ À§ÇØ
¿ì¸®ÀÇ ±¸¸íÁ¶³¢´Â ¸Á°¢ÀÇ ¹Ù´Ù¿¡ ºÎÀ¯Çß´Ù.
They lost contact, they told them.
As politicians stood on shore with
our families, taking sober photos,
frowning, hugging. We had a sense of
lost contact: no slurping mother’s kimchi soup
from squat spoons; no sibling squabblings, no
poking, tickling; no piano recitals at New Year parties.
¿¬¶ôÀÌ ¾ÈµÅ, ±×µéÀº ±×µé¿¡°Ô ¸»Çß´Ù.
Á¤Ä¡ÀεéÀº ¹Ù´å°¡¿¡¼ ¿ì¸® °¡Á·µé°ú ÇÔ²² ¼¼
»çÁøÀ» Âï°í, Âô±×¸®°í, Æ÷¿ËÇß´Ù. ¿ì¸®´Â ´ÜÀý°¨À»
´À²¼´Ù: ¾ö¸¶°¡ ¸¸µç ±èÄ¡Âî°³¸¦ ¼ù°¡¶ôÀ¸·Î ¸Àº¼ ¼ö ¾ø°í,
µ¿»ý°ú Â°í °£Áö·´È÷´Â ½Ç¶ûÀ̵µ ¹úÀÏ ¼ö ¾ø°í,
»õÇØ ¸ðÀÓ¿¡¼ ÇǾƳ븦 Ä¥ ¼öµµ ¾ø´Ù.
Our fingers were found broken.
¿ì¸®ÀÇ ¼Õ°¡¶ôµéÀº ¸ðµÎ ºÎ·¯Á®¹ö·È´Ù.
Lauren Park / ¹ø¿ª ±è¼ö¹Ì ¼±»ý
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