Kim Young Tag , poem
Moderator 
Poet Dr. Kim Young Tag (金永卓) was born in Yecheon, North Gyeongsang Province. He earned his doctorate in Venture Business Administration, with a specialization in Cultural and Arts Management, from the Graduate School of Venture Studies at Hoseo University. His literary career began in 1998 with his debut in the quarterly poetry journal Sian. Since then, he has published several notable works, including the poetry collections When the Sound of Birds Makes the Body Bow to the Distant Mountains and Refrigerator Woman, as well as the prose volume Poetic Taste: Exploring the Flavor and Style of Korean Art.
In recognition of his contributions, he received the 2nd Maegye Literary Award. Today, he continues to be active in both academia and publishing, serving as an invited professor at Hoseo University, a member of the ISO Publishing Committee, and the editor-in-chief of the quarterly literary magazine the spring of Literature.
Drum Tree
From the subway train, a person sometimes seems like a tree.
When you look at a person as you would a tree, that person becomes tree-like.
Where a tree should be rooted,
where a tree should stand holding up the sky, a person drifts instead,
like a nomad, like a wanderer,
floating up to the subway ceiling.
At such times, the one trapped inside the drum’s echo, crying,
tears through the drum with fingernails,
like the sharp sprouting seed of a tree.
And then, the quickly growing branches
carry those who doze, or read the newspaper,
or glance sideways,
stealing looks at a beautiful person—all dangling together on the branches,
becoming one great tree.
나무의 편지
나무는 일생 사람들에게 편지를 쓴다는 사실을
나만이 몰랐네 그저 편지를 보내면
낙엽인 줄 알고,
빗자루로 쓸기만 했네
끊임없이 편지를 쓰는 나무는,
봄의 전령으로 꽃편지를 띄우고, 여름이면
초록 볼우물에서 시원한 우물을
퍼 올리듯 편지를 쓰고
가을이면 끊임없이 편지를 부치는 나무,
겨울엔 무장무장 눈을 맞으며
봄에 부칠 꽃편지를 쓰느라 지쳐
겨울 곰처럼 잠이 들기도 하네
이제야 나무에게 편지를 쓰는 밤,
하이얀 종이를 사랑하듯 사각거리는 연필은
오래전에 떠난 이들을 나무에게로 불러오고
세상의 나무들은 그리운 이들을 편지에 보내네
A Letter from the Tree
I alone did not know
that trees spend their whole lives writing letters to people.
Whenever they sent them,
I mistook them for fallen leaves
and simply swept them away.
Unceasingly, the tree writes its letters—
sending flower-letters as heralds of spring;
in summer, from its green dimples,
it writes as if drawing up cool water from a well,
in autumn, the tree keeps mailing its letters without end,
and in winter, armored against the snow,
weary from writing flower-letters to be sent in spring,
it sometimes falls asleep like a winter bear.
Only now, on this night, I write a letter to the tree.
The pencil, rustling as if it loves the white paper,
calls back those who departed long ago to the tree,
and the trees send the longed-for ones within their letters.
Përgatiti për botim - Prepared for publication by Angela Kosta
