note to a teacher..


I’m trying to push a little ahead. A style question:

가을에는 모든 낙엽이 져요. 가을은 내가 제일 좋아하는 계절이에요. 가을의 날씨는 시원하고 마음도 풍요로운 계절이에요. 하지만 가을이 끝나가고 있어요.


가을에는 모든 낙엽이 져요. 가을은 쓸쓸하고 침묵하며 어둡고 암담한 계절이에요. 하지만 가을은 내가 제일 좋아하는 계절이에요. 안타깝게도 (지금) 가을이 끝나가고 있어요.

I love run-on sentences, lists of descriptive phrases – is this possible in Korean? For example, from one of the masters of English Literature, Henry Miller:

“Or wandering along the Seine at night, wandering and wandering, and going mad with the beauty of it, the trees leaning to, the broken images in the water, the rush of the current under the bloody lights of the bridges, the women sleeping in doorways, sleeping on newspapers, sleeping in the rain; everywhere the musty porches of the cathedrals and beggars and lice and old hags full of St. Vitus’ dance; pushcarts stacked up like wine barrels in the side streets, the smell of berries in the market place and the old church surrounded with vegetables and blue arc lights, the gutters slippery with garbage and women in satin pumps staggering through the filth and vermin at the end of an all-night souse. The Place St. Sulpice, so quiet and deserted, where toward midnight there came every night the woman with the busted umbrella and the crazy veil; every night she slept there on a bench under her torn umbrella, the ribs hanging down, her dress turning green, her bony fingers and the odor of decay oozing from her body; and in the morning I’d be sitting there myself, taking a quiet snooze in the sunshine, cursing the goddamned pigeons gathering up the crumbs everywhere. St. Sulpice! The fat belfries, the garish posters over the door, the candles flaming inside. The Square so beloved of Anatole France, with that drone and buzz from the altar, the splash of the fountain, the pigeons cooing, the crumbs disappearing like magic and only a dull rumbling in the hollow of the guts. Here I would sit day after day thinking of Germaine and that dirty little street near the Bastille where she lived, and that buzz-buzz going on behind the altar, the buses whizzing by, the sun beating down into the asphalt and the asphalt working into me and Germaine, into the asphalt and all Paris in the big fat belfries.” – Henry Miller – Tropic of Cancer

every burst of fragments is connected by a semicolon (;) and far too few periods! from my own work:

“The house I lived in, built by the Mennonites, was set against a pine forest and a tiny branch of Barne’s Creek. It was simple, like a Preacher’s house — a sad place, colorless, dark, full of unmarked days — not melancholy, not black or white or grey; the days rolled by noiselessly, with no discernible quality. It was the melting of definition, the ability to define. Burning from an early age, it flattened me, pulled everything apart.My parents were many times faded, like old photo plates on silver glass. I, as much raised by the span of days than by a human hand, would stand out there in the heat of it, maybe five or more dogs from the yard would follow me out, to the shade of the trees, to float in a muddy pond, to lie in the weeds. My refuge was the wilderness. No harm could come to one there, that couldn’t be easily avoided. The quiet in a field of weeds — sweet and safe, always safe. There was no contradiction of soft man to hard environment, nothing of man but things left behind, and barbed wire.” – H. Grevemberg – The Zen Revolution

eventually I want to press forward into Korean, but of course I can only talk about the weather…

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