Dawn of labor, dawn of life
It must have been around 30 years ago that I first heard of Park Nohae. The name sounded quite unfamiliar. I have heard of his poem "Dawn of Labor," but I could not read it.
I remember one line from one of his poems that ‘Today father is being noisy, naughty again too." I was very much struck by it, because he was a man but could grasp the invisible oppression of one by another, namely, a father’s oppression of a mother. The poet must have been a very sensitive and empathizing person. Later, I heard the news that he was imprisoned under the military dictatorship in 1990s. Then I forgot about him. He was cut out of this mercantile world and put into a deserted, solitary prison cell.
I never expected to see him again. But about 30 years later, I happened to. One of my friends told me to go to see the exhibition of his photographs held in downtown Seoul. I went to the gallery, which was so clean and cozy with humble decorations of dried flowers and branches. I slowly looked around his photos exhibited on the white wall. Every photo not taken by a smartphone was in black and white.
A photo showing the scene of a mountain as high as 4 thousand meters with the bright blue sky, a photo showing a valley with a thick forest as deep as 3 thousand meters, a photo of a wooden, shabby table on which a white cup of tea was laid on the side of the rustic road. A photo of hands of women picking fruits from black trees. A photo of a young man with a dark face leading unknown livestock.
There was labor in his photos. There was the light of dawn as was written in his poem. There were people in his photos whose names I could never know, but whose warmth I could feel. I could feel silence, feel solitude, feel life. I could see hidden passion and something earnest and eager, and mother nature, too. All his photos were beyond description. No words could express or delineate the beauty and grandiosity of his photographs. I was stunned.
I went down to a cafe of the gallery and sat on a chair. It was a wooden chair and wooden table that looked like ones of my old school days. On the table was laid a black old stand that gave a warm, yellow light. The wall was painted dark green. On the table was also a small glass vase with several simple flowers. From the speakers in the cafe flowed the Latin-American style music, light cello and guitar. On top of that, I heard a male voice like a cry and lamentation.
I felt as if I was suddenly taking a long trip to strange places. To the strange places of the old poet of my 20s, to the exotic, lonely places on the other side of the world. Everything was so exotic and familiar at the same time. Living my daily life, living the dawn of labor, and meeting the old poet without a face.
In the corner of the cafe stood a small Christmas tree ornamented with small golden lights and cute red ribbons. Soon I will see the sun rise again in the new year of 2026. That will be a new dawn of my labor and the clear blue dawn of my life. This is another chapter of my life. I am thrilled to see it.
Lee Nan-hee studied English in college and theology at Hanshin University.