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½ÃÁý ‘The Scent of golden Pines from Maroomoteh’ ÀÇ ¼ö¸¹Àº ½Ã Áß¿¡¼ µÎ ÆíÀ» °ñ¶óº¸¾Ò½À´Ï´Ù. ½Ã¸¦ ÅëÇØ ´õÀ§¸¦ ÀØ°í ¸ÁÁßÇÑ(ØÏñéùØ)ÀÇ ¿©À¯¸¦ Àá½Ã ´©·Áº¸¼¼¿ä. |
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Ironing in Detroit
Though it’s late at night in Detroit I’ve begun ironing in a room of a small hotel To prepare for the meeting with a buyer the next morn. I’m all care putting a crease in my trousers Keeping an eye on them to check If there happens to be any wrinkle or speck.
As mother prayed earnestly in my childhood In front of a bowl of lustral water She fetched and placed on the jar stand, I put all my heart and mind on ironing.
Believing that Heaven will help me If I put all my heart To any task, small or big, I only lead an earnest life. |
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Speak of the Summer
Trees speak of the summer Growing exuberant Fighting off the rainstorms Standing firm against the roaring thunder and lightning. They dream of autumnal bountifulness Bearing stout fruits.
Meanwhile, I wait and wait For the girl, my childhood friend Who would forget about the summer heat While she listens to the cicadas chirping And sings riding on a cart. The green as much fills the valley As the scent of pine trees does. Along with the day lily that beams with a smile Everything is fresh and beautiful.
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