Kim Sakkat's travels to the US
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By Choi Yearn-hong
Long after his death, Kim Sakkat the traveling Joseon-era poet finally traveled to the United States ― that is, his poems traveled here. I welcomed him to my humble home recently.
Reading his poems in English was fun, and I laughed and smiled when I read them. So, I am sure, will my American friends.
Kim Sakkat, born Kim Pyong-yon, lived in the late 19th century (1807-1863). His pen name, Sakkat, is the Korean word for “rain hat.”
According to legend, Kim Sakkat wrote a poem that insulted the memory of his late grandfather ― a county chief who could not control the rioting in his county and was eventually killed as a traitor because the Joseon government believed he had collaborated with the rebels.
After the incident, Kim Sakkat was so ashamed that he decided he could not face the sun. That is why he traveled everywhere with a rain hat on his head, or so the legend goes.
This account may not be accurate, however, because it is doubtful that Kim Sakkat would have been allowed to live if his grandfather had been executed as a traitor. In Joseon times, the traitor and his entire family would all have been killed.
How could a traitor’s grandson escape and become a famous poet? Nobody knows for sure.
So Kim Sakkat became the man in the rain hat. He was a traveling poet ― or a traveling beggar with a gift for writing poetry.
For the last 40 years of his life, he remained a wayfarer, a poet on the road, frequently knocking at the doors of the “yangban” (the Joseon nobility) or the Buddhist temples for a meal and a place to stay. At other times, he could be found at cheap inns and drinking establishments.
Though it was other people’s kindness that helped him survive those 40 years, he left many satirical poems behind in the houses and temples where he had stayed. Not everyone was kind to him, and he often complained of inhospitality.
When I was young, I thought the Korean people had been generous to their traveling poet. But now that I have read more about Kim Sakkat’s life, I know they were not always so nice to him, and I can understand why. The poet begged other people for food and a place to stay ― not just once, but many times.
During my teaching years in the Washington, D.C., area, I began to understand the plight of the homeless people in that city. Many were not just homeless. Many had run away from government shelters, choosing instead to beg in the streets. They could not maintain jobs like other people because of mental health issues. In some cases, they were sick mentally and physically and could not adjust to life in a shelter.
There is no way of knowing whether Kim Sakkat was a sick person who wandered because he could not live a normal life. With his satire, he made the land of Joseon his land. Having insulted his grandfather unintentionally in one of his poems, he used his poetic talent to insult many others intentionally ― his country, the yangban nobility, Buddhist monks and schoolteachers. He found joy in his life that way.
Many contemporary Koreans appreciate Kim Sakkat’s poetry, but he was disdained by the literati of his own time. He was more of a folk hero than a respected artist.
There are three possible reasons for this. One is his satire. Another is his habit of mixing the Korean and Chinese languages, both of which he spoke well. None of his peers had ever tried such a thing.
Another reason is that he wrote about distasteful things. He wrote poems about fleas and lice, his constant companions. Insects were not the subjects of traditional poetry. His poem about the “piss pot” in his room must have irked his contemporaries. Kim may have been the first poet in Korean history to address such subjects, if not the first in world history.
Kevin O’Rourke is the best translator of Kim Sakkat’s poems. He understood the Korean tradition of hansi ― poems written by Korean poets in Chinese characters. He worked from Han Kyoung shim’s Korean translation of Kim Sakkat’s hansi poems. O’Rourke includes explanatory notes with every poem, and these will be very helpful to readers who do not understand the cultural context.
Not all the poems in the book are definitely Kim Sakkat’s. O’Rourke makes it clear that some may not be his.
To understand Kim’s biting sense of humor, consider what he wrote on an empty signboard outside a yangban house where he had experienced an inhospitable visit. His message consisted of three characters: “kwi-nak-dang.” In literary Chinese, it means “The Hall of Precious Delight.” But read backward, the word is “dangnagwi” ― the Korean word for donkey.
However, Kim Sakkat’s love poems are not in the category of satire. He wrote about his encounters with “gisaeng’’ (Korean geisha) in his “love poems.” His poem titled “A Beauty” is still appealing to modern readers.
Look in each other’s arms at east window; pleasure without end.
She was coquettish but shy.
“Do you love me still,” I asked gently.
She fixed the golden pin in her hair and nodded that she did.
O’Rourke is the first foreigner to earn a doctorate in Korean literature from Yonsei University, and is now a professor emeritus at Kyunghee University. I met him for lunch when I was still in Korea, and I took the opportunity to express my respect for his work.
God bless Kevin O’Rourke! This book is one of his most admirable works. I learned more about Kim Sakkat from this book.
Could there ever be a modern-day Kim Sakkat? Kim Chi-ha’s “Five Enemies” in the 1960s and Allen Ginsburg, an American poet popular in the 1960s, might come close. More smiles than anger are needed for a modern-day Kim Sakkat.
Choi is a poet and writer, who has been contributing to The Korea Times since 1966.