My summer holiday with independence activist, poet Yoon Dong-ju
In the traditional East Asian calendar, Aug. 8 marks "ipchu" or the threshold of autumn. In Korea, the season still feels very much like the peak of summer. The heat is intense, and I long for a cool breeze. Still, I cannot deny that the scorching sun nurtures the grains and fruit of an abundant harvest. In that sense, summer’s fiery energy is not without its grace.
Summer is a time when all living things breathe with vigor. We retreat to mountains, fields, rivers and seas to rest, recharge and return to work with renewed spirit. This is, in essence, the idea of work-life balance — a concept that grew out of the women’s labor movement in 1970s Britain and in Korea was institutionalized through the Ministry of Employment and Labor’s “Work-Family Balance Policy” in 2017. Such initiatives aim to counter the stress of overwork, enhance productivity and improve quality of life through flexible work systems, family-friendly measures and mental health support.
Although I often travel alone, I find summer particularly suited to leaving home, even briefly, to escape the heat. Stepping away from familiar routines allows new ideas to emerge and grants a sense of liberation. In unfamiliar surroundings, one can gain fresh perspectives, see oneself more clearly and even set a new course in life.
This summer, I embarked on an airplane-free journey, alternating between train and bus, to a quiet rural village in Korea surrounded by rivers and forests. There, I read aloud and transcribed the poems of Yoon Dong-ju, the celebrated poet and independence activist best remembered for "The Sky, the Wind, the Stars, and the Poem."
Yoon entered Rikkyo University in Japan in 1942 before transferring to Doshisha University in 1943. He was later arrested on charges of anti-Japanese activities and sentenced to two years in prison, where he died in February 1945, at the age of 27 — just six months before Korea’s liberation. His friend, Jeong Byeong-wook, conscripted as a student soldier, entrusted Yoon’s manuscripts to his mother, telling her, “Keep it well — it’s as precious as life.” Thanks to her care, his poems survived.
In "Confessions," his final poem written in Korea, Yoon lamented that he had “lived wrongly for 24 years and a month” and vowed to “write another line of penance.” Composed just days before he was compelled to adopt a Japanese family name in order to study in Japan, the poem conveys his deep anguish under colonial oppression.
Yoon’s poem reminded me of the cicadas singing in the forest around me. These creatures, which emerge from underground for only a brief period, spend their days and nights in fervent courtship before their time ends. Like the cicadas, Yoon burned brightly in his short life, leaving behind verses that still echo with love for his homeland.
After a summer spent in the quiet company of a poet who gave his youth and his words to Korea, I return to my daily life carrying both inspiration and gratitude for his enduring spirit.
Shin Hye-suk (sinesu@naver.com), who also goes by Shindy, completed a doctorate in sociology and has devoted two decades of her life to academic pursuits at a university in Japan. She is also a florist and has served as president of the Rotary International Seoul Club Korea.