우리 한시 삼백수 7언절구 편 – 정민 평역
Three Hundred of Our Classical Chinese Poems: Heptasyllabic Truncated Verse Volume
Annotated and Translated by Jeong Min

Bibliographic Summary

• Title: 우리 한시 삼백수 7언절구 편 (Three Hundred of Our Classical Chinese Poems: Heptasyllabic Truncated Verse Volume)
• Author: 정민 (Jeong Min), professor at Hanyang University (漢陽大學校, 한양대학교)
• Publication: First printing 2013, second printing 2014
• Price: 19,800 Won
• Language: Korean with poems in original Classical Chinese text
• Pages: 657 pages

Introduction

Summer is around. So, I thought I would recommend a Korean book on Classical Chinese poetry (漢詩, 한시) as a summer reading suggestion for those that know Korean at an intermediate level. I tried to look for an anthology that seemed to be popular and not too simple or overly difficult. I found Three Hundred of Our Classical Chinese Poems by Professor Jeong Min, which had several reviews including those from major newspapers. The “three hundred” in the title is an explicit reference to the Classic of Poetry (詩經, 시경), which also has roughly three hundred poems. Truncated verse (絶句, 절구) refers to a form of Classical Chinese poem that follows strict tonal meter.

Content

The author follows the norm for Korean translations of Classical Chinese texts. As seen in the scan below, for each poem, there is a Korean translation, Classical Chinese original, Korean pronunciations, annotation of difficult characters, and additional commentary by the author. The poems are arranged in chronological order from the late Shilla period (新羅, 신라, 57BC-935AD) to the early 20th century. Many of the poets covered are well-known figures from Korean history, such as Choe Chiwon (崔致遠, 최치원, 857-?), Yi Gyubo (李奎報, 이규보, 1168-1241), Jeong Mongju (鄭夢周, 정몽주, 1337-1392), Jeong Dojeon (鄭道傳, 정도전, 1342-1398), Heo Gyun (許筠, 허균, 1569-1618), Kim Satgat (金笠, 김삿갓, 1807-1863), and Han Yongun (韓龍雲, 한용운, 1879-1944).

Review

This book is ideal for the casual or novice reader of Classical Chinese poetry that knows Korean. Professor Jeong Min manages to balance the level and depth of the annotated translations between the general Korean audience that might not be focused on Classical Chinese to those that are interested in pursuing the language further. It includes a fairly easy to read Korean translation, original text plus the pronunciations, and annotations of difficult characters or words. Compared to some other books I have, the annotations are light and not too excessive. They explain enough of the language in the poem for readers that are interested in further digging into the original text. The author’s own commentary also gives some background behind either the poem or the poet.

I hope subscribers that know Korean at some level consider Professor Jeong Min’s Three Hundred of Our Classical Chinese Poems in their summer reading list. (He also recently published a pentasyllabic truncated verse volume.) Those residing state side can have Korean books shipped via Aladin (알라딘). Korea’s Classical Chinese literature is woefully underappreciated even by many Koreans. I further hope books like his revive interest in this often dismissed part of Korean cultural heritage.

(Source)

Yang Wanli (楊萬里, 양만리, 1127-1206) was a Song dynasty (宋, 송, 960-1279) bureaucrat and poet. He was born in what is now Ji’an (吉安, 길안) in Jiangxi Province (江西省, 강서성); his courtesy name (字, 자) is Tingxiu (廷秀, 정수); and his pen name (號, 호) is Chengzhai (誠齋, 성재). Yang Wanli grew up during the Jurchen Jin invasions, one of many turbulent times in Chinese history. In 1154, he passed the civil service exam, and became appointed to various bureaucratic positions around China, the first in Lingling (零陵, 영릉). During the reign of Song Emperor Xiaozong (宋孝宗, 송 효종, 1127-1194, r. 1162-1189), Yang Wanli was promoted to various high ranking positions, such as the Imperial Academy (國子監, 국자감), Head Scholar of the Ministry of Ceremonies (太常博士, 태상박사), and Reader-in-Waiting for the Heir Apparent (太子侍讀, 태자시독). In 1187, however, for opposing the memorialization of a widely criticized minister named Lu Yihao (呂頤浩, 여이호, 1071-1139) at the royal shrine (廟祀, 묘사), Yang Wanli was banished from the capital and demoted to Administer of Yunzhou (筠州, 균주), which is in Jiangxi Province (江西省, 강서성). His status was restored and he was reappointed to the Imperial Academy, during the reign of Song Emperor Guangzong (宋光宗, 송 광종, 1147-1200, r. 1189-1194). Regardless, few years later, shortly after Song Emperor Ningzong (宋寧宗, 송 영종, 1168-1224, r. 1194-1224) took the throne, Yang Wanli offered a retirement request to the Emperor, who accepted it. The court called him back repeatedly from retirement, but he refused every time. Throughout his political career, even well after the signing of the Treaty of Shaoxing (紹興和議, 소흥화의) ending the Jin-Song conflict in 1142, Yang Wanli repeatedly submitted petitions (上疏, 상소) demanding the court send troops to reclaim territories lost to the Jurchen. He grew bitter over the fact that his call for action went unheard. 

In addition, Yang Wanli was a prolific Classical Chinese poet. During his appointments across China, he wrote a volume of poems about the regions he was stationed. In total, Yang Wanli wrote over 4,000 poems, just shy of the record set by his contemporary and friend, Lu You (陸游, 육유, 1125-1209). The following is from 1179, when Yang Wanli was appointed as the Superintendent of Guangdong (?) (廣東常平提學, 광동상평제학). He composed this poem as he was traveling from Quzhou (衢州, 구주) to Jiangshan (江山, 강산) during the fourth month of that year. In the poem, Yang Wanli captures the toil and labor of farmers planting rice in the countryside. Planting rice the usual agricultural practice from Grain Budding Day (小滿, 소만) to Grain in Ear Day (芒種, 망종). Both these days are solar terms and thus fall every year around May 21 and June 6 respectively. Rice farming has a long history in China, as rice (Oryza sativa) was first domesticated in southern China sometime between 8,000 to 13,000 years ago.

揷秧歌 삽앙가

Rice Planting Song

田夫抛秧田婦接 전부포앙전부접 平平平平平仄仄(韻)
小兒拔秧大兒揷 소아발앙대아삽 仄平仄平仄平仄(韻)
笠是兜鍪蓑是甲 립시두무사시갑 仄仄平平平仄仄(韻)
雨從頭上濕到胛 우종두상습도갑 仄仄平仄仄仄仄(韻)
唤渠朝餐歇半霎 환거조찬헐반삽 仄平平平仄仄仄(韻)
低頭折腰只不答 저두절요지불답 平平仄平仄仄仄(韻)
秧根未牢蒔未匝 앙근미뢰시미잡 平仄仄平平仄仄(韻)
照管鵝兒與雛鴨 조관아아여추압 仄仄平平仄平仄(韻)

The farm husbands throw the rice seedlings; the farm wives receive.
The smaller children pick the rice seedlings; the larger children plant.
Bamboo hats are like war helmets; straw raincoats like armor.
Rain waters flow from top of the head and soak down to the collar bone.
Those people, having been called to breakfast, respite for half a second.
Lowering their heads and bending their waists, they only do not answer.
Since the rice seedlings’ roots are not yet firm and the planted seedlings have not yet spread,
Take care of the young goslings and ducklings!

Definitions:

Rice paddy • husband • throw • seedlings • rice paddy • wife • treat
Small • children • pluck • seedlings • large • children • plant
Bamboo hat • to be • helmet • helmet • straw raincoat • to be • armor
Rain • from • head • top • soak • reach • collar bone
Call • that • morning • meal • respite • half • moment
Lower • head • bend • waist • only • not  • answer
Seedling • root • not yet • firm • seedling • not yet • go around
Inform • take care • geese • child • and • chick • duck

Notes:

• Heptasyllabic archaic poem (七言古詩, 칠언고시) with each line ending with an oblique tone rime (仄韻, 측운). The riming characters (韻, 운) are 合(합), 葉(엽), and 洽(흡), all entering tones (入聲, 입성) of -p (ㅂ). (Entering tones no longer exist in Mandarin Chinese.)
• Korean translation available here.

(Source)

Seo Geojeong (徐居正, 서거정, 1420-1488) was a early Chosun dynasty period bureaucrat, diplomat, Neo-Confucian scholar, and poet. He was of the Dalseong Seo Clan (達城徐氏, 달성서씨); his courtesy name (字, 자) was Gangjung (剛中, 강중); his pen names (號, 호) were Sagajeong (四佳亭, 사가정) and Jeongjeongjeong (亭亭亭, 정정정); and his posthumous name (諡, 시) was Munchung (文忠, 문충). At the age of 24 in 1444, Seo Geojeong passed the civil service examination (科擧, 과거), and rose through bureaucratic ranks. In 1451, he was made a At-Leisure Reader (賜暇讀書, 사가독서) and a member of the Hall of Worthies (集賢殿, 집현전). In 1460, he was made Envoy to the Ming Dynasty (謝恩使, 사은사) and traveled to China a number of times throughout his career. In the following year, Seo Geojeong was made Inspector General (大司憲, 대사헌). In 1464, he was appointed as Director of the Office of Royal Decrees (大提學, 대제학) and then two years after in 1466 progressed to Minister of Six Bureaus (六曹判書, 육조판서), one of the highest bureaucratic position in the government. In 1487, he was appointed as tutor to the crown prince, but passed away the following year.

Throughout this time, Seo Geojeong was a prolific compiler of Classical Chinese works. He participated in the compiling of various legal documents and histories, such as the Great Code of Managing the Country (經國大典, 경국대전), Comprehensive Mirror of the Eastern Kingdom (東國通鑑, 동국통감), A Geographical Survey of the Eastern Kingdom (東國輿地勝覽, 동국여지승람). Seo Geojeong put together a number of anthologies of Classical Chinese writings by Korean authors, such as the Poetry Discourses of the Eastern People (東人詩話, 동인시화), Anthology of Eastern Texts (東文選, 동문선), and Poetry and Prose of the Eastern People (東人詩文, 동인시문). He arranged one of the earliest works of humor in Korean history in a publication titled the Comical Tales of Great Peace and Leisurely Chatter (太平閑話滑稽傳, 태평한화골계전). (Seo Geojeong also translated a number of Classical Chinese works into Korean using Hangul.) 

Furthermore, his own compositions were very well renowned. He is considered perhaps the best writer of the early Chosun dynasty period. One story has it that when Seo Geojeong met Ming officials in China, they were shocked by the high quality of his poems and invited him to compose poetry with them. Back home in Korea, his colleagues acclaimed his writings as equal in quality to that of the famous Tang dynasty poet Han Yu (韓愈, 한유, 768-824). In the poem below, Seo Geojeong describes the scenery of Seoul when returning home drunk from a friend’s place during Buddha’s Birthday (釋迦誕辰日, 석가탄신일 or 初八日, 초파일), and opines on Buddhism. The day traditionally falls on the eight day of the fourth month on the Lunar Calendar, which is May 25 on the Western Gregorian Calendar this year. The custom even today is to light lanterns, as he describes below.

四月八日, 友人家, 扶醉而歸.
사월팔일, 우인가, 부취이귀.

On the Fourth Month, Eighth Day, Returning Home from a Friend’s House, Inebriated and Slumped Over.

佛祖生辰四八日 불조생신사팔일 仄仄平平仄仄仄
都人發願千百燈 도인발원천백등 仄平仄仄平仄平 (韻)
明月梨花吾醉去 명월리화오취거 平仄平平平仄仄
人間妄想夢何曾 인간망상몽하증 平平仄仄仄平平 (韻)

The founder of Buddhism’s birthday is on the fourth month, eighth day.
People around the city send off their prayers with thousands and hundreds of lanterns.
The bright moon is like pear blossoms, as I leave in my inebriated state.
Why do mankind’s delusions and dreams overlap?

Definitions:

Buddha • progenitor • birth • day • four • eight • day
Capital • people • to send off • prayer • thousand • hundred • lantern
Bright • moon • pear • blossom • I  • drunk • to leave
People • among • absurd • to think • dreams • how • to overlap

Notes:

• Heptasyllabic truncated verse (七言絶句, 칠언절구) with the end of the second and fourth line riming (韻, 운) with the character 蒸(승). There is also an interesting progression in the tonal meter. It is as though the poet intended to write a recent style poem (近體詩, 근체시), but is so inebriated he falls short. The first couplet violates the rules of recent style poetry. In the first line, the last three characters are all oblique ones (下三仄, 하삼측). Furthermore, in the second line, the second and fifth characters are an isolated plain tone (孤平, 고평) and the second and sixth are not of the same tone (二四不同二六對, 이사부동이륙대). In contrast, the second couplet complies with the rules. Nevertheless between the two couplets, the adhesion rule (粘法, 점법) was not followed.
• 扶醉(부취) – Literally “supporting a drunkard.” Here, it refers to being hauled by others to go back home.
• 佛祖(불조) – Literally “founder of Buddhism.” Refers to Buddha.
• Korean translation available here.

아리랑, 아리랑, 아라리요 Arirang, arirang, arariyo.
아리랑 고개로 넘어간다   Arirang, crossing over the hill,
나를 버리고 가시는 님은  My dear who has abandoned and left me
십리도 못가서 발병난다   Has not even traveled ten miles before having feet pains.

Introduction

Arirang (아리랑) is the most famous folk song of Korea. In fact, the song is so well-known that it is often described as the unofficial anthem. Yet, despite its popularity, no one seems to sure about what “Arirang” means or even exactly when or where the song first came to be. Indeed, there are hundreds of theories on the etymology of Arirang (語原百說, 어원백설). There are even theories as to the origins of other words that are seemingly benign in the song. This post will cover some of the more accepted, conventional theories that have been studied by Korean scholars on the etymology of the song’s name.

Theories on the Etymology of “Arirang”

1. 閼英(알영) – Al-yeong (Personal Name)

The first theory purports that the song originates from the founding of the Shilla Dynasty (新羅, 신라, 57BC-935). The dynasty’s first king was Bak Hyeokgeose (朴赫居世, 박혁거세, 69BC-4AD, r. 57BC-4AD). His wife’s name was Alyeong (閼英, 알영), which was taken from the name of a nearby well where she was born. She is said to have showed great generosity to farmers and silkworm rearers while traveling around the country. The peasants in gratitude started singing praises about her magnanimity with her name prominently in the lyrics. Over the ages, the word “Alyeong” morphed to “Alliryeong” (알리령) and then finally to “Arirang.”

2. 阿娘(아랑) – A-rang (Personal Name)

Another hypothesis is that the lyrics emerged from 16th-17th century Milyang (密陽, 밀양), where one of the more popular variants of the song comes from. The local folk tale states that there was a lady named Arang (阿娘, 아랑), who was a daughter of the local magistrate. She was kidnapped, but was killed by her captors while fighting them off in an effort to preserve her chastity. The locals in praise and in commiseration with the magistrate created the song. Arang’s name in the song eventually changed to Arirang. There is a shrine to Arang at the Yeongnam Pavilion (嶺南樓, 영남루) in Milyang, but its construction only dates to the 19th century. It should be noted that in contrast to Milyang, the other regions that often claim to be the origin of the song, such as Jindo (珍島, 진도) and Jeongseon (旌善, 정선), do not have a theory as to its etymology.

3. 我離娘(아리랑) or 我離郞(아리랑) – A-ri-rang (“I Part from My Dear”)

This theory proposes that the song dates to 19th century Chosun during the reign of Regent Heungseon (興宣大院君, 흥선대원군, 1829-1898, r. 1863-1873). The Regent is widely remembered as a tyrant who increased burdens on peasants by imposing compulsory labor, forcing families to leave their villages and live apart from one another. As these peasants parted from their families and villages, they expressed their angst in song, crying “A-ri-rang” a phrase coined from Classical Chinese (漢文, 한문). Here, “a” (我, 아) means “I”, “ri” (離, 리) means “to part from”, and “rang” (娘 or 郞, 랑) means either “dear wife” or “dear husband.” Together, Arirang would mean “I part from my dear wife” or “I part from my dear husband.” (Surprisingly, even though this would make “Arirang” a Sino-Korean word, it is the theory most favored among North Korean historians.)

4. 我難離(아난리) – A-nan-ri (“Our Escape Is Difficult”)

The fourth conjecture would also pin the etymology of Arirang to developments during the reign of Regent Heungseon. More specifically, the song alludes to the reconstruction of Gyeongbok Palace (景福宮, 경복궁), which had been destroyed during the Japanese invasions (1592-1598) and laid fallow between then and the 19th century. According to this theory, during the reconstruction, the conscripted laborers recalled forced laborers centuries ago who had toiled under Emperor Qin Shi Huang (秦始皇, 진시황, 260-210BC, r. 246-221BC) in constructing the Great Wall (萬里長城, 만리장성). The Qin laborers had sighed, “Eo-yu-ha, A-da-go” (魚遊河 我多苦, 어유하 아다고), meaning “The fish can play in the streams, but our pangs are many”. In remembrance of their toil, the Chosun laborers lamented, “Eo-yu-ha, A-nan-ri” (魚遊河 我難離, 어유하 아난리), meaning “The fish can play in the streams, but our escape is difficult.” Under this conjecture, the latter half of their lamentations would eventually turn from “Ananri” to “Arariyo.”

5. 我耳聾(아이롱) – A-i-rong (“My Ears Become Deaf”)

Yet another theory would also date the origin of Arirang to the reign of Regent Heungseon and also the reconstruction of Gyeongbok Palace. To rebuild the palace, Regent Heungseon “asked” for donations (願納金, 원납금) several times around the country. Peeved, someone wrote a Classical Chinese poem (漢詩, 한시) complaining, “Dan-weon-a-i-rong / Bul-mun-weon-nap-seong” (但願我耳聾 / 不聞願納聲, 단원아이롱 / 불문원납성), meaning “If only I could, I would wish that my ears became deaf so that I do not hear words ‘please donate.'” According to this theory, this poem became widely circulated by word of mouth, and the last three syllables in the first line eventually morphed from “Airong” to “Arirang.”

6. 啞而聾(아이롱) – A-i-rong (“Mute and Deaf”)

The sixth hypothesis also attributes the etymology of Arirang to the reign of Regent Heungseon and reconstruction of Gyeongbok Palace. Under this hypothesis, it is said that able-bodied men that wanted to be exempt from being conscripted had others state that they were “mute and deaf” (나는 귀가 먹어 듣지도, 말하지도 못한다), or in Classical Chinese “Airong” (啞而聾, 아이롱 or 아이농). The phrase “Airong” eventually morphed to “Arirang.”

7. 兒郞偉(아랑위) – A-rang-wi (Onomatopoeia)

This conjecture also dates the origin of the song to the Regent Heungseon’s reign, although the phrase itself predates this period. When traditional Korean houses for the gentry were built, the gentry owners would celebrate by posting Classical Chinese poems on the ridge beams and reciting them. The poems dedicated for the completion of construction often had the phrase “A-rang-wi, po-ryang-dong” (兒郞偉 抛樑東, 아랑위 포량동) repeatedly. “A-rang-wi” was an onomatopoeia in Classical Chinese that depicts laborers’ grunts while constructing and “Po-ryang-dong” means “To turn the crossbeam eastward.” Under this conjecture, during the reconstruction of Gyeongbok Palace, buildings were completed so frequently that the conscripted laborers were able to memorize and sing the poems among themselves. Eventually, “Arangwi” morphed to “Arirang.”

8. 俄美日英(아미일영) – A-mi-il-yeong (“Russia, America, Japan, and England”)

This theory also pins the song’s origin to the late 19th century and references colonial powers that were trying to grab a hold of Korea: Russia, America, Japan, and England. Or in Sino-Korean, “a” (俄, 아) (“Russia”), “mi” (美, 미) (“America”), “il” (日, 일) (“Japan”), and “yeong” (英, 영) (“England”). The embassies for these countries for constructed incidentally during the reign of Regent Heungseon. Under this theory, “Ami’ilyeong” turned to “Arirang.” This theory was first forwarded by Japanese scholars during the colonial period.

9. 樂浪(낙랑) – Nak-rang (Geographic Name)

Under the last theory, the word Arirang originated from a name of hill named Nakrang (樂浪, 낙랑). This hill was supposedly located near a path between Pyongyang and Gaesong between two peaks. Under this theory, the song is said to have originated from homesick travelers. The word “Nakrang” eventually morphed to “Ara” and finally to “Arirang.” There are other explanations that similarly propose that the word refers to a geographical location. Under one alternative explanation, “Ari” (아리) is a native Korean term that means “to be bright” and that “rang” (랑) is a corruption of the word “ryeong” (嶺, 령) meaning “hill” or “peak.” (This explanation seems to be the most popular in English sources.)

Conclusion

Arirang is by any measure a unique and integral part of the Korean cultural patrimony. One reason why it is so popular is that it seems to be an expression of “pure” Korean culture. For that very reason, the song plays well to the tendencies unfortunately held by many Koreans today: (i) that only the “pure” parts of the Korean cultural patrimony are worth preserving to the neglect of others and (ii) that Korean culture ought to be portrayed as wholly distinct from its neighbors. In particular, many who hold such notions often like to minimize sinitic influences on Korean culture and portray them as being limited to the upper crust of previous generations of Koreans. This attitude, however, is certainly regrettable and would be amiss even with Arirang. Indeed, most of the more accepted, conventional theories on the song’s etymology point to Sino-Korean or Classical Chinese. Even the “purest” explanation of the term relies on a corruption of a Sino-Korean word. These explanations, though hypotheses, demonstrate that Korean cultural patrimony without its sinitic elements would paint an incomplete and hollow picture of the Korean experience throughout the ages.

Sources:

• 아리랑 (한겨레음악대사전) (This post’s list is primarily based on the one in this source.)
• 아리랑의 어원백설 (겨레의 노래 아리랑)

A May 6, 2015 op-ed warns readers of greedy private Hanja educators, highlighting one particular Hagwon that charges 10,000 won (less than $10 USD) for one year of lessons. The author of the op-ed is not being sarcastic, and his arguments are sadly quite typical of other anti-Hanja proponents. (Source)

One of the primary arguments against Hanja education asserted by Hangul supremacists is that it will increase onus of studying upon students and will further exacerbate private education commonly known as Hagwons (學院, 학원). As someone who attended many Hagwons while growing up in Korea, I do find this argument worthy of consideration. Upon closer examination, however, there are many signs that such arguments are less than sincere. Take for example an op-ed from the Korean news site OhmyNews from May 6 titled, “The Largest Pro-Hanja Education Association Holds Hands with Private Education” (‘한자병기 주도 최대 조직, 사교육업체와 손잡아), which is emblematic of this type of argument.

Its author warns readers of the supposed danger that money-grubbing (“돈벌이” and “장삿속”) Hanja Hagwons poses upon Korean students. The article begins with an advertisement from one of the largest publishers of Hanja books promoting Hanja lessons for elementary school students. (For the sake of full disclosure, I do have a few books of theirs intended for older audiences on my bookshelf.) The author describes that the lessons cover Chinese classics such as Elementary Learning in Four Characters (四字小學, 사자소학) and Analects of Confucius (論語, 논어) as well as elementary school level Chinese characters. The cost for all of this? The author will lead you to believe that this is a whopping 150,000 won (about $130 USD) for one year. But staring readers right in their face is the article’s introductory image showing the price as 10,000 won. That is less than $10 USD. 

If Hangul supremacists were actually genuinely worried about avaricious Hagwons, they would be up in arms over English private education. It is well documented that English private education is a multi-billion dollar industry in Korea. Some of its owners and teachers are millionaires. The average cost of an English Hagwon is over 1,000,000 Won (almost $1,000 USD) per month, 100 times more than that of the advertised Hanja Hagwon highlighted by this op-ed charges per year. There are even ones that go for many more that target even younger ages. Not to mention, for the price, the quality of its teachers do not seem to be that great.

Yet there is only silence over English Hagwons from these Hangul supremacists. In fact, one earlier op-ed from OhmyNews states that it is not worried over English education while attacking Hanja education. In doing so, they seek to vilify old, retired grandpas and grandmas who make up a great proportion of Hanja teachers and many of whom who teach for free — or almost free in the case of the highlighted Hagwon.

Hagwons and the education system in general pose serious challenges for Korea. To exploit them as a bludgeon so lightheartedly against Hanja education as Hangul supremacists do is not only absurd and reckless, but also shows their lack of actual concern over this issue and further underlines their intellectual bankruptcy.

(Source)

Jeong Yakyong (丁若鏞, 정약용, 1762-1836) was a late Chosun dynasty philosopher, bureaucrat, poet, and civil engineer. He was of the Naju Jeong Clan (羅州丁氏, 나주정씨); his courtesy names (字, 자) were Miyong (美鏞, 미용) and Songbo (頌甫, 송보); his pen names (號, 호) were Dasan (茶山, 다산), Sammi (三眉, 삼미), and Yeoyudang (與猶堂, 여유당), among several others; and his posthumous name (諡, 시) was Mundo (文度, 문도). At the age of 21, in 1783, Jeong Yakyong passed his first civil service examination. Thereafter, he continued his studies at the Sungkyunkwan (成均館, 성균관) and also rose through the bureaucratic ranks. Through his studies, he became introduced to Western Learning (西學, 서학), i.e., Catholicism, through fellow scholar Yi Byeok (李蘗, 이벽, 1754-1786). While there is no proof that Jeong Yakyong himself had ever converted, some of his close family members and friends were baptized into the Catholic Church. His associations with early Korean Catholics and more importantly with the Southerners’ Faction (南人派, 남인파) would later embroil him. Beginning in 1791, members of the rivaling Old Doctrines Faction (老論派, 노론파) accused him of being Catholic, an accusation that he repeatedly denied. For some time, however, Jeong Yakyong was still favored on the royal court. In 1792, for instance, already known for his knowledge of Western civil engineering techniques, he was asked to supervise construction of Hwaseong (華城, 화성), a fortress in Suwon (水原, 수원). This changed with the start of the Shinyu Year Persecutions (辛酉敎難, 신유교난) in 1801, when Jeong Yakyong was arrested and banished for his associations with Catholics. During his banishment, he devoted himself to studying Confucian classics and started writing several notable works, including Remaining Thoughts on Managing the Nation (經世遺表, 경세유표) and Mind of Governing the People (牧民心書, 목민심서). He was released in 1818, but remained out of politics and passed away in 1836 near Seoul. 

From an early age, Jeong Yakyong was recognized for his Classical Chinese poetry. By the age of 10, he had already amassed a collection of his own poetry. As for his style, Jeong Yakyong was somewhat unconventional in that he explicitly disliked the strict rules of recent style poetry (近體詩, 근체시) and preferred freer archaic style poetry (古體詩, 고체시). In one particular poem from his banishment, he remarked, “I am a man of Chosun / Gleefully writing Chosun poetry” (我是朝鮮人 甘作朝鮮詩 – 아시조선인 감작조선시). This line is surprising, because he brazenly ignores conventional tonal meter. (Also note that Hangul and Korean vernacular poetry written in Hangul had existed for well over three centuries when he wrote this line.) The poem below also does not conform to the strict rules of recent style poetry. In it, he describes farmers threshing barley. In Korea, the agricultural custom of threshing the barley (–打作, 보리타작) was traditionally associated with Grain in Ear Day (芒種, 망종). As a solar term, the day marks when the Sun is between the celestial longitudes of 75 to 90 degrees and falls around June 6-7 on the western Gregorian calendar every year. Barley has a long history in Korea, as the grain was introduced to the peninsula already domesticated from either China or Central Asia sometime during prehistoric times.

打麥行 타맥행

Threshing the Barley

新芻濁酒如湩白 신추탁주여동백
大碗麥飯高一尺 대완맥반고일척
飯罷取耞登場立 반파취가등장립
雙肩漆澤飜日赤 쌍견칠택번일적

The new hay and cloudy wine are milky white;
The large bowl is with barley feed one feet high.
Having finished their meal, they grab flails and go out to stand in the yard.
Twin shoulders, lacquered with sweat, overturn in the redness of the sun.

• 濁酒(탁주) – Literally “cloudy alcohol.” Refers to an unrefined rice wine known as Makgeolli (막걸리).

呼邪作聲擧趾齊 호아작성거지제
須臾麥穗都狼藉 수유맥수도랑자
雜歌互答聲轉高 잡가호답성전고
但見屋角紛飛麥 단견악각분비맥

Oh, alas! Making noise, their feet are in lockstep.
For a brief moment, barley ears are stacked all over the place.
Various tunes call and answer in antiphony, with their voices becoming gradually louder.
But only seen are the barley flying scattered about upon the corner of the ceiling.

• 須臾(수유) – Binome word (連綿辭, 연면사) meaning “briefly.”
• 狼藉(낭자) – Binome word meaning “to be messy.”

觀其氣色樂莫樂 관기기색락막락
了不以心爲形役 료불이심위형투
樂園樂郊不遠有 락원락교불원유
何苦去作風塵客 하고거작풍진객

Having observed their complexions, they cannot be any more joyous:
In the end, they do not regard their spirits to be servile to their bodies.
The paradisaical garden and paradisaical purlieu do not exist afar.
Oh, how I agonize over having left to become a traveler amid the windblown dust!

• 樂莫樂(낙막락) – Literally, “joy unlike joy.” Refers to extreme joy.
• 風塵客(풍진객) – Literally, “windblown dust’s guest.” The term “windblown dust” refers to the mundane world (俗世, 속세). The phrase as a whole refers to someone in bureaucracy.

• Heptasyllabic archaic poem (七言古詩, 칠언고시) with no riming scheme. The poem has been broken into three parts for the purposes of presentation.
• Korean translation available here.

Students carrying the banner “Defend democracy to the death!” (民主主義死守하자!) in front Seoul City Hall during the April 19th Revolution that culminated in the resignation of President Rhee Syngman.

On May 2, not too long after the anniversary of the Sewol sinking, an article in the Korean news website OhmyNews seriously asked, “If we said 인양(引揚) instead of 인양, would we know what that means?” (‘인양’을 ‘인양(引揚)’이라 하면 알까). This was in reference to the government’s plans to recover the sunken Sewol. The article’s main target, however, is about the Education Ministry’s discussions to bring back Hanja mixed textbooks. Predictably, the article is so poorly thought out that it is difficult to consider where to begin the rebuttal. Besides the invocation of the Sewol tragedy (which I will assume for the benefit of the doubt to be misguided and not opportunistic), the editorial makes a number of ridiculous contentions, including misleading statistics regarding support of Hanja education (48.5% support is still a lot) and hypocrisy over English education. This post will focus on the article’s imaginings about the link between Hangul and democracy (“한글민주주의”):

거칠지만 민주주의를 계층이나 연령의 차등과 차별을 최소화한 이념 체계로 정의해 보자. 이를 전제로 할 때 한글은 일부 지배층의 언어인 한자나 한문보다 민주주의의 보편성에 상대적으로 더 잘 부합하는 문자 체계라고 볼 수 있지 않을까…

Let us roughly define democracy as the ideology that most minimizes the discrimination and ranking by socioeconomic class or age. Under this premise, can we not consider that compared to Hanja or Hanmun, the language (언어) of the ruling class, Hangul is not the script (문자) that relatively better conforms to the egalitarianism of democracy? …

The article’s primary basis for equivocating Hangul to democracy is that “Hanja was traditionally the ruling class’ script.” The article seems to be blind to Korea’s linguistic policies in the modern era, and has to lackadaisically stretch all the way back to days of the Chosun dynasty to look for a blanket argument. While it may be true that statistically literacy was largely limited to the ruling classes prior to the modern era in Korea, this was the case all over the world before the industrial revolution — even with Hangul, which first spread among the noblewomen. Due to its infatuation with pre-modern Korea, the article misses the fact that Hangul exclusivity is primarily a legacy of autocratic regimes in both North and South Korea.

An article announcing President Park Chunghee’s plans for Hangul exclusivity in the October 9, 1969 Edition of the Dong-a Ilbo (東亞日報, 동아일보).

Contrary to the article’s imaginings, Hangul exclusivity came at the behest of not-so-democratic strongmen. In North Korea, President Kim Ilsung banned Hanja from official texts beginning in 1948. In South Korea, the military dictatorship of Park Chunghee embarked on a “Five Year Hangul Exclusivity Plan” (한글전용 5개년 계획 안) starting in 1968 and banned Hanja from all public education that year. While both men are remembered for many things (e.g., the latter for vastly improving South Korea’s economy), neither are remembered as being champions of democracy. President Park Chunghee’s original plan was to completely eliminate Hanja by 1972, but because of public backlash had to adjust course. He tweaked his original plans by making Hanja education optional in middle and high schools. Nevertheless, he maintained the ban on use of Hanja outside of Hanja textbooks and the prohibition of Hanja education in elementary school. Moreover, subsequent military dictatorships continued President Park Chunghee’s Hangul exclusivity policy. The result was that large portions of the Korean populace never formally learned Hanja, contributing to its precipitous decline during this time period.

In stark contrast to the underlying presumptions of the article, this anti-Hanja policy changed only after the end of the military dictatorship and transition to democracy. For example, the ban on Hanja education in elementary schools was lifted in 1992 (shortly before I started learning Hanja in an elementary school where it was taught). Not to mention, Nobel Peace Prize winner President Kim Daejung, remembered for his advocacy of democracy, spent some time during his presidency actively attempting to reverse Hangul exclusivity, and introduced incentives for students to study Hanja.

It should be noted that it is not as if other Hangul supremacists are wholly unaware of this dark side of Hangul’s modern history. Indeed, some Hangul supremacists do not even pretend at all that there is such a link between democracy and Hangul. A few years ago, one Hangul exclusivist linguistics professor from Seoul University in fact told his fellow exclusivists, “I very much hated President Park Chunghee because he was a dictator. But I can forgive all of his misdeeds because he imposed Hangul exclusivity,” and urged them to do the same (“나는 박정희 대통령이 독재를 했으므로 아주 싫어했다. 그러나 한글전용을 시행했으므로 그의 모든 것을 용서해 줄 수 있다”). Essentially, they are so fervent about Hangul exclusivity that they would excuse the trampling of democracy and human rights.

Given Hangul exclusivity’s recent history and concession by other Hangul supremacists, the article’s assertion that Hangul is somehow linked to democracy is laughably contemptible. Furthermore, from a democracy aspect, Hangul exclusivity is especially troubling because it is so closely tied to expression. Indeed, Hangul exclusivity has severely limited the degrees of freedom in Korean expression in writing by two orders of magnitude, from 2,000 plus to little over 20. If democracy is seriously to be considered in linguistic policy, this distressing statistic should be taken into account.

Big Dipper asterism, part of the Ursa Major constellation (Source)

Quan Deyu (權德輿, 권덕여, 759-818) was a mid-Tang dynasty period (唐, 당, 618-907) bureaucrat and poet. He was born in Tianshui (天水, 천수); his courtesy name (字, 자) was Zaizhi (載之, 재지); and his posthumous name (諡, 시) was Wengong (文公, 문공). From an early age, Quan Deyu was recognized for his literary talents. By the age of 15, he had already published a volume containing hundreds of his poems in the Collection by a Child Ignoramus (童蒙集, 동몽집). When Tang Emperor Dezong (唐德宗, 당 덕종, 742-805, r. 779-805) heard of him, he appointed Quan Deyu to the prestigious positions of the Scholar of the Ministry of Ceremonies (太常博士, 태상박사) and Drafting Official of the Secretariat (中書舍人, 중서서인). During his time at the Ministry of Rites, Quan Deyu was tasked on three occasions with selecting qualified candidates from the imperial examination. He especially excelled at choosing candidates from the countryside, who were often overlooked, thereby earning the nickname “Obtainer of [Talented] Men” (得人, 득인). By being favored at the imperial court, Quan Deyu was promoted to higher positions later on. During the reign of Tang Emperor Xianzong (唐憲宗, 당 헌종, 778-820, r. 805-820), he became the Minister of Rites (禮部尚書, 예부상서) and Regional Governor of the Shannan West Circuit (山南西道節度使, 산남서도 절도사). Few years into his last post, Quan Deyu became gravely ill, and decided to return to his home village but passed away en route.

His own literary talents were recognized well after his death. His works appear in both the Complete Literary Works of Tang (全唐文, 전당문) and the Complete Tang Poems (全唐詩, 전당시), anthologies that were compiled in the 19th and 18th centuries respectively. In the poem below, Quan Deyu tersely describes the celestial order in relation to the Earth’s seasons, in particular reflecting upon the Summer Solstice (夏至, 하지). The Summer Solstice marks the day when the Sun is at the celestial longitude of 90 degrees, and falls around June 21 or 22 on the Western Gregorian Calendar. 

夏至日作 하지일작

Written on Summer Solstice Day

璇樞無停運 선구무정운 平平平平仄
四序相錯行 사서상착행 仄仄平仄平(韻)
寄言赫羲景 기언혁희경 仄平仄平仄
今日一陰生 금일일음생 平仄仄平平(韻)

The celestial pivot, without stopping, translates;
The four orders, mutually staggered, travel.
Send a message to the bright, shining sun:
Today, the first of the Yin (陰, 음) arises.

Definitions:

Star gauge • pivot • without • to stop • to move
Four • arrangement • mutually • to stagger • to travel
To send • message • bright • bright • sunlight
Today • day • one • Yin • to arise

Notes:

• Pentasyllabic truncated verse (五言絶句, 오언절구) with an invocation of an exception. Riming character (韻, 운) is 庚(경). This poem has — I believe — two examples of broken form (拗體, 요체), which refers to specific types of violation of the conventional tonal meter that were considered acceptable, and were frequently employed in recent style poems during the Tang and Song dynasty periods in China.
  • The first couplet exhibits a doubly broken form (雙拗, 쌍요). In the first line, the fourth character (停, 정) should be an oblique tone (仄, 측), but is a plain tone (平, 평) thereby breaking (拗, 요) the tonal meter (平仄, 평측); however, the couplet is “saved” (救, 구) with the use of a plain tone in the third character (相, 상) of the second line.
  • The third line exhibits a singly broken form (單拗, 단요). In this line, the third character (赫, 혁) should be a plain tone, but is an oblique tone; however, the line is saved with the use of a level tone in the fourth character (羲, 희).
• 樞(구) – Literally “pivot.” Refers to Alpha Ursae Majoris, which is also referred to as Dhube in English. It is at the front of the Big Dipper asterism.
• 四序(사서) – Literally “four orders.” Refers to the four seasons.
• 今日一陰生(금일일음생) – Under the Yin and Yang duality (陰陽, 음양), the Yin is said to arise between during the the Summer Solstice and the Winter Solstice, as the days become shorter.
• Korean translation available here.

Four Seasons’ Mountains and Rivers (山水 春夏秋冬, 산수 춘하추동) by Heo Baekryeon (許百鍊, 허백련, 1891-1977), student of Jeong Manjo (Source)

Jeong Manjo (鄭萬朝, 정만조, 1858-1936) was a late Chosun dynasty bureaucrat and colonial era historian and scholar. He was born in Seoul into the Dongrae Jeong Clan (東萊鄭氏, 동래정씨); his courtesy name (字, 자) was Daegyeong (大卿, 대경); and his pen name (號, 호) was Mujeong (茂亭, 무정). In 1889, he passed the civil service examination and arose quickly through the ranks, becoming the Third Minister of the Six Ministries (參議, 참의) by 1894. In 1896, however, Jeong Manjo was implicated in the assassination of Empress Myeongseong (明成皇后, 명성황후, 1851-1895), and was sentenced to a 15 year banishment to Jindo (珍島, 진도), an island off the southwestern corner of the Korean peninsula. While in exile, Jeong Manjo established a Confucian school (書堂, 서당) to teach Confucian classics to the locals (including the painter above). He was released early from his banishment in 1907 by the Japanese. He was soon reinstated to what remained of the Chosun bureaucracy as the First Counselor at the Gyujanggak (奎章閣副提學, 규장각부제학), and tasked with compiling a history titled The Precious Mirror of Succeeding Dynasties (國朝寶鑑, 국조보감) for the reigns of King Heonjong (憲宗, 헌종, 1827-1849, r. 1834-1849) and Cheoljong (哲宗, 철종, 1831-1863, r. 1849-1863). When Korea was annexed in 1910, the Japanese colonial general-government (朝鮮總督府, 조선총독부) offered him positions in the Office of Managing the Rites of the Yi Dynasty (李王職典祀官, 이왕직전사관), Central Directorate (中樞院, 중추원), and the Chosun History Compilation Committee (朝鮮史編修會, 조선사편수회). As part of the History Compilation Committee, Jeong Manjo was tasked with compiling the records of Emperors Gojong (高宗, 고종, 1852-1919, r. 1897-1907) and Sunjong (純宗, 순종, 1874-1926, r. 1907-1910) to lend legitimacy to Japan’s occupation of the peninsula. He also later became a professor at Keijou Imperial University (京城帝國大學, 경성제국대학) (now Seoul National University) and the Director (大提學, 대제학) at the Institute of Confucian Classics Studies (經學院, 경학원), an association of pro-Japanese Confucian scholars.

While Jeong Manjo is formally recognized by a Korean government commission responsible for investigating colonial era activities as a pro-Japanese collaborator, like many other collaborators, some of his works are still considered valuable. He excelled at Classical Chinese, especially in composing poetry and a specific type of prose known as four-six character lines (四六文, 사륙문 or 駢儷文, 변려문). During his exile in Jindo, Jeong Manjo composed a poetry collection detailing the customs of the islanders titled The Kind Waves’ Drippy Brush (恩波濡筆, 은파유필). In the poem below, he describes the scenery of the island and its people during the Dano Festival (端午, 단오). It falls on the fifth day of the fifth month on the Lunar Calendar, which is June 20 this year on the Gregorian Calendar. While seldom celebrated today, the festival is associated with various traditional Korean customs including women washing their hair in water that was boiled with sweet flags (菖蒲, 창포), which is hinted below.

端午 단오

Dano Festival

家家楊柳彩繩飛 가가양류채승비 平平平仄仄平平(韻)
隊隊菖蒲寶髻輝 대대창포보계휘 仄仄平平仄仄平(韻)
映街紫奈朱櫻實 영가자내주앵실 仄平仄仄平平仄
烘日香羅細葛衣 홍일향라세갈의 平仄平平仄仄平(韻)
此鄕不識繁華好 차향불식번화호 仄平仄仄平平仄
遠客飜疑節序違 원객번의절서위 仄仄平平仄仄平(韻)
出色石榴花一樹 출색석류화일수 仄仄仄平平仄仄
短墻西甬對斜暉 단장서용대사휘 仄平平仄仄平平(韻)

House by house, the willows’ beautiful twines fly;
Bunch by bunch, the sweet flags’ precious topknots gleam.
Covering the streets are purple crab apples and red cherry trees’ fruits;
Shimmering in the sun are fragrant silks and thin arrowroot clothe.
These villagers do not know how to indulge in luxuries;
Travelers from afar fall flat in confusion over their etiquette transgressions.
The streaming, colorful pomegranate flowers on one tree,
Along the street bounded by low walls on the west, face the inclining sunshine.

Definitions:

House • house • willows • willows • color • string • fly
Group • group • iris • iris • treasure • topknot • shine
Cover • streets • purple • crab apples • red • cherry tree • fruits
Shimmer • sun • fragrant • silk • thin • arrowroot • clothe
This • village • not • know • luxury • extravagance • enjoy
Distant • traveler • fall • confuse • order • order • transgress
Special • color • stone • pomegranate • flower • one • tree
Short • wall • west • street • face • aslant • sunshine

Notes:

• Heptasyllabic regulated poem (七言律詩, 칠언율시). Riming character (韻, 운) is 微(미). The poem generally complies with the rules of recent style poetry (近體詩, 근체시), except for the loss of inversion and adhesion rules (反粘法, 반점법) between the first and second and between the second and third couplets (失粘, 실점 or 失簾, 실렴). The second character of each line is: 平/仄/平/仄/平/仄/仄/平. The inversion and adhesion rules were not considered set-in-stone rules until the late Tang dynasty period, and most poems from pre- and early Tang dynasty times did not follow them. Regardless, there are many examples after this period.
• 甬(용) – The character by itself refers to a street surrounded by walls.
• Korean translation available here.
• Korean newspaper article on Jeong Manjo’s legacy here.

President Rhee Syngman on the cover of October 16, 1950 edition of Time Magazine (Source)

Rhee Syngman (李承晩, 이승만, 1875-1965) was a Korean independence activist, the first President of the Provisional Government of the Republic of Korea in Shanghai, and the first, second, and third President of the Republic of Korea — and a controversial one at that. He was of the Jeonju Yi Clan (全州李氏, 전주이씨); his childhood name (兒名, 아명) was Seungryong (承龍, 승룡); and his pen name (號, 호) was Unam (雩南, 우남).

Like so many did before him, Rhee Syngman started his studies at a Confucian school on the path to taking the civil service examination. However, when the Gabo Reforms of 1894 (甲午改革, 갑오개혁) abolished the examinations, he enrolled at the American Methodist founded Paichai Academy (培材學堂, 배재학당), where he learned English and adopted Protestantism. He also began taking an active role in the independence movement. With the outset of the Russo-Japanese War in 1904, he went with a delegation to the United States to request aid from President Theodore Roosevelt. Although the delegation failed its objective, Rhee Syngman stayed behind and received education, eventually obtaining a doctorate from Princeton. Shortly after graduating, he returned to Korea, which had now become a Japanese colony, but fled for America just two years after. In 1919, Rhee Syngman was elected in absentia as the first president of the Provisional Government of Korea then based in Shanghai. He spent most of his presidency, however, back in the United States, repeatedly asking for aid but to little avail. In 1925, the Provisional Government impeached Rhee Syngman for abuse of powers and removed him from office.

With Japan’s surrender on August 15, 1945, Rhee Syngman returned to Korea along with American forces. In 1948, he was elected in landslide victory in the National Assembly and inaugurated as the first President of the Republic of Korea. Upon taking office, Rhee Syngman took a very harsh stance against Communists, and actively attempted to root out Communism wherever it was perceived to exist. His government oversaw several massacres of civilians, the most infamous of which occurred on Jeju Island from 1948 to 1949. (The threat of Communism was arguably quite real, but his methods against civilians are still of much controversy.) When North Korea invaded on June 25, 1950, he fled Seoul only two days after and moved the capital temporarily to Busan (釜山, 부산). Rhee Syngman requested for American intervention, and this time was successful in securing assistance under the banner of the United Nations. He directed the government and war efforts from Busan for most of the war.

After the war in 1954, knowing that he was unpopular in the National Assembly, Rhee Syngman amended the constitution to allow for direct election of the presidency, and in 1956 won the presidential election after his opponent passed away shortly before the vote. With the vice presidential elections in 1960, Rhee Syngman was accused of rigging the elections, when both opponents coincidentally died before the vote. This sequence of events triggered the widespread protests of the April 19 Movement. Just eight days later on April 27, 1960, surrounded by protesters, Rhee Syngman resigned and fled Korea to America. He spent the remainder of his life in Hawaii where he passed away in 1965. Rhee Syngman is survived by no direct descendants, as he did not have children of his own. He did, however, adopt a distant family member who is still currently alive as of this post.

However controversial his legacy, little known even in Korea is the fact that Rhee Syngman was well-versed in Classical Chinese. While Rhee Syngman is not the last Korean president to have received traditional Confucian education (the much more favorably remembered President Kim Daejung was), he is the perhaps the last Korean head of state to have an extensive collection of Classical Chinese poetry. The following poem is from the Korean War, the 65th anniversary of which is this week. Rhee Syngman composed this poem during the spring of 1951 while in Busan.

戰時春 전시춘

Wartime Spring

半島山河漲陣烟 반도산하창진연 仄仄平平仄仄平(韻)
胡旗洋帆翳春天 호기양범예춘천 平平仄仄仄平平(韻)
彷徨盡是無家客 방황진시무가객 平平仄仄平平仄
漂泊誰非辟穀仙 표박수비벽곡선 平仄平平仄仄平(韻)
城市遺墟如古壁 성시유허여고벽 平仄仄平平仄仄
山川燒地起新田 산천요지기신전 平平平仄仄平平(韻)
東風不待干戈息 동풍불대간과식 平平仄仄仄平仄
細草遍生敗壘邊 세초편생패루변 仄仄仄平仄仄平(韻)

The peninsula and its mountains and rivers brim with the encampments’ smoke;
Brutish Chinese standards and Oceanic Barbarians’ sails cover the spring sky.
Wandering and itinerant, all are homeless travelers;
Roaming and vagabond, who is not a grain-refusing hermit?
The remnant ruins of the town’s market are like old ramparts;
The smoldering grounds of the mountains and streams give rise to new paddies.
The easterly winds do not await the resting of spears and lances.
Thinly spread grass sprout all around, surrounding the fallen fort.

 Notes:

• Heptasyllabic regulated poem (七言律詩, 칠언율시). Riming character (韻, 운) is 先(선). The poem generally complies with the rules of recent style poetry (近體詩, 근체시).
• 胡(호) – Refers to the Chinese. Before the fall of the Ming dynasty, the character was used to refer to northern peoples such as the Mongols and Manchus. However, after the Ming dynasty was conquered by the Manchus, many Korean writers believing themselves to be last remnant of Sinitic civilization used this character to refer to all Chinese in general. The People’s Republic of China intervened in the Korean War in October 1950.
• 洋(양) – Refers to Westerners, more specifically, the Americans.
• 辟穀(벽곡) – Refers to refraining from grains, and instead eating jujubes, pine needles, dates, and the like.
• Korean translation available here. More of Rhee Syngman’s Classical Chinese poetry categorized by theme can be found here.

(Source)

Zong Le (宗泐, 종륵, 1317-1391) was a Ming dynasty Buddhist monk of the Linji School (臨濟宗, 임제종). He was born in Taizhou (臺州, 대주) in Zhejiang Province (浙江省, 절강성); his original surname (俗姓, 속성) was Zhou (周, 주); his courtesy name (字, 자) was Jitan (季潭, 계담); and his pen name (號, 호) was Quanshi (全室, 전실). From childhood, Zong Le disliked the mundane world. At the age of 8, he entered Jingci Temple (淨慈寺, 정자사) to study under the tutelage of the head monk, Xiaoyin Daxin (笑隱大訢, 소은대흔). He progressed, and attained tonsure (剃度, 체도) at the age of 14 and was ordained a monk (具足戒, 구족계) at the age of 20. After being ordained, Zong Le continued his studies and resided at various temples, including Shuixi (水西寺, 수서사) and Zhongtianzhu (中天竺寺, 중천축사) Temples. At the command of the Ming Emperor, he was posted at Tianjie Temple (天界寺, 천계사), where he was tasked with compiling and editing the Chinese Buddhist Canon (大藏經, 대장경). To further his work, Zong Le traveled to the countries west of China to retrieve more texts. Upon his return, Zong Le was appointed as the head monk of all of China (僧祿司右善世, 승록사우선세). Because of his run-ins with jealous court officials, however, Zong Le did not stay long and retired from the post to live in solitude. At the age of 74, he passed away (入寂, 입적) at Shifo Temple (石佛寺, 석불사) in Jiangpu (江浦, 강포). 

In the poem below, Zong Le frets about the heat of a summer night. Under the solar terms of the traditional Chinese calendar, the hottest days of the season were supposed to fall between the Minor Heat (小暑, 소서) and the Major Heat (大暑, 대서). These days fall around July 7 and July 22 respectively every year on the Western Gregorian Calendar, and mark when the Sun is between the celestial longitudes of 105 and 130 degrees.

暑夜 서야

Blistering Night

此夜炎蒸不可當 차야염증불가당 仄仄平平仄仄平(韻)
開門高樹月蒼蒼 개문고수월창창 平平平仄仄平平(韻)
天河只在南樓上 천하지재남루상 平平仄仄平平仄
不借人間一滴凉 불차인간일적량 仄仄平平仄仄平(韻)

This night’s sweltering dampness — I cannot bear.
With the door opened, upon the tall tree, the moon is blue and azure.
The heavenly stream only lies above the southern pavilion,
But does not even lend mankind one droplet of its coolness.

Definitions:

This • night • heat • steam • not • can • to suffer
To open • door • high • tree • moon • blue • blue
Heaven • stream • only • to exist • south • pavilion • above
Not • to borrow • man • among • one • droplet • cool

Notes:

• Heptasyllabic truncated verse (七言絶句, 칠언절구). Riming character (韻, 운) is 陽(양). The poem generally complies with the rules of recent style poetry (近體詩, 근체시).
• 天河(천하) – Literally “heavenly stream.” Refers to the Milky Way.
• Korean translation available here.

March 20, 1930 edition of Dong-A Ilbo (東亞日報, 동아일보) (Source).

One of my other interests besides Classical Chinese is astronomy. Today, with New Horizons, the first probe ever to explore Pluto, having flown by the dwarf planet, I checked somewhat frequently on various websites for news about the spacecraft. As I read for the umpteenth time about the history of Pluto’s discovery, I started to wonder: when did Koreans first hear of the discovery? In America, astronomer Clyde Tombaugh had found the celestial object on February 18, 1930. Its discovery was announced later on March 13. The name “Pluto” was officially adopted on March 24. To find out more about Koreans’ first reception of the discovery, I checked on Naver’s archive of old newspapers. The earliest reference I could find was from an article in the March 20 edition of Dong-A Ilbo, not too long after its first announcement. Here are a few sentences from the article:

Discovery of a New Planet Belonging to the Solar System:
From Lowell Observatory in America

(Telegraphed from Cambridge) According to the Harvard University Astronomical Research Center’s announcement, Percival’s Lowell Observatory in Flagstaff, Arizona State is said to have discovered what they believe is a new, fifteenth celestial object that belongs to the solar system as the ninth planet near Neptune. This new planet cannot be seen without the use of the most advanced telescope in the world …

Lowell Observatory is named after Percival Lowell, who passed away in 1916. He predicted the position and existence of a new planet. This was the result of research long speculated regarding the gravitational tugs on Neptune by the new planet.* The discovery of Neptune also was based on similar observations.

This discovery of the ninth planet in the solar system is the actualization of predictions made 30 years ago by the deceased Professor Percival Lowell, who designated it as “Planet X” or “Transneptunian.” This discovery, as it is the culmination of several decades of scientific research, is the most important, greatest discovery since the discovery of Neptune in 1864 …

So there you have it. No later than March 20, 1930. (There are other Korean newspapers from that time period, but they are not available on Naver.)

As for the Korean name for Pluto, it is Myeongwangseong (冥王星, 명왕성), literally meaning the “planet of the king of darkness.” This is a liberal translation of “Pluto,” who in Greek mythology is the god of the underworld. This Chinese character translation was first coined by Japanese astronomer Nijiri Hoei (野尻 抱影, 1885-1977) later that year. His nomenclature was adopted by the Kyoto Astronomical Observatory and soon spread to China and later to Korea.

* The “Planet X” hypothesis has been proven false since then. With Voyager 2’s new measurements of the masses of Uranus and Neptune in 1989, the necessity of a large hypothetical planet beyond the two ice giants was eliminated. With the discovery of thousands of objects in the Kuiper Belt, which encompasses the region just outside Neptune, Pluto was demoted from “planet” to “dwarf planet” in 2006.

Sunghyeon Confucian Academy (崇賢書院, 숭현서원), located in Daejeon (大田, 대전). It was destroyed during the Japanese invasions of 1592-1598 and reconstructed in 1609 at the direction of Song Namsu. The academy fell into ruin shortly after a decree by Prince Heungseon (興宣大院君, 흥선대원군, 1820-1898, r. 1863-1873) ordering the shutdown of all private academies. It was rebuilt for the second time in 1994. (Source)

Song Namsu (宋柟壽, 송남수, 1537-1626) was a Chosun dynasty scholar, poet, and civil bureaucrat. He was of the Eunjin Song Clan (恩津宋氏, 은진송씨); his courtesy name (字, 자) was Yeongro (靈老, 영로); and his pen names (號, 호) were Songdam (松潭, 송담), Sangshimheon (賞心軒, 상심헌), and Odosan’in (吾道山人, 오도산인). In 1578, Song Namsu was appointed to a bureaucratic position based upon the attainment of office by successive generations of his ancestors (蔭仕, 음사). Afterwards, he was posted in various offices, including Chief Clerk at the Royal Clothing Office (尙衣院判官, 상의원판관), Section Chief of the Board of Taxation (戶曹正郞, 호조정랑), and County Magistrate of  Imcheon (林川郡守, 임천군수). After the 1597 Japanese invasion of Korea (丁酉再亂, 정유재란), Song Namsu was accused of abandoning his post in Imcheon and fleeing from the Japanese. However, he was absolved upon appeal of his initial judgment. Regardless, for sometime after, he decided to stay out of politics and rusticate. In 1607, Song Namsu returned to government, obtaining the title of Auxiliary Military Protector in Resisting Assaults (折衝副護軍, 절충부호군), an office in charge of transporting rations for troops. In 1609, he directed the reconstruction of Sunghyeon Confucian Academy (崇賢書院, 숭현서원), which was destroyed during the invasions. Upon attaining the age of 80, Song Namsu received the title of Grand Master of Excellent Justice (?) (嘉義大夫, 가의대부). During the latter years of his life, he retired to his home village, where he composed histories and poetry.

In the poem below, Song Namsu writes about trying to ward off the summer heat. In Korea, the end of July and start of August typically see the hottest days of the year. These are marked on the calendar by the Great Heat day (大暑, 대서), which falls on July 23, and the latter two of the Three Hottest Periods (三伏, 삼복). Through the poem, he describes the vivid summer scenery around a pavilion named Geum’un Pavilion (錦雲亭, 금운정) and reflects upon his own life while drinking.

錦雲亭避暑, 示主人 금운정피서, 시주인

Avoiding the Heat at Geum’un Pavilion, Seen by the Owner

月臨山檻外 월림산함외 仄平平仄仄
花落藕塘中 화락우당중 平仄仄平平(韻)
勝境逢知己 승경봉지기 仄仄平平仄
淸樽幸不空 청준행불공 平平仄仄平(韻)

The moonlight comes down upon the mountain beyond the balustrade;
Flower petals drop into the lotus pond.
In this wondrous scenery, I meet and discover myself:
Luckily, my clear wine bottle is not yet empty.

Moon • to come down • mountain • balustrade • outside
Flower • to drop • lotus • pond • amid
Wondrous • place • to meet • to know • oneself
Clear • wine bottle • fortuitously • not • to be empty

林月向人明 림월향인명 平仄仄平平(韻)
荷香透檻淸 하향투함청 平平仄仄平(韻)
肝腸托樽酒 간장탁준주 平平平平仄
一笑話平生 일소화평생 仄仄仄平平(韻)

The forest’s moon turns towards mankind, shimmering.
The lotus’ fragrance surpasses the balustrade’s distinctiveness.
Entrusting my liver and innards to my bottle of wine,
With one burst of laughter, I have conversed all my life.

Forest • moon • to face • man • bright
Lotus • fragrance • to pass through • balustrade • distinct
Liver • innards • to entrust • wine bottle • wine
One • laughter • to converse • all • life

Notes:

• Two pentasyllabic truncated verses (五言絶句, 오언절구). The riming character (韻, 운) of first verse is 東(동) and of the second verse is 庚(경). The first verse complies with the rules of recent style poetry (近體詩, 근체시). Furthermore, the second verse does not comply: the fourth line, the second and fourth character are of the same tone. In addition, ending in a riming character in the first line of a pentasyllabic poem is generally rare. (This sudden and perhaps intentional break in form in the second verse may be an indication of the poet’s inebriated state.)
• 錦雲亭(금운정) – It seems that there have been a number of pavilions with the same name, including two that are still existent. It is uncertain which one Song Namsu is referring to.
• Korean translation of the poem available here (한국어번역).

(Source)

Cho Ryeo (趙旅, 조려, 1420-1489) was a Chosun dynasty civil bureaucrat, who spent most of his life outside government. He was of the Ham’an Cho Clan (咸安趙氏, 함안조씨); his courtesy name (字, 자) was Ju’ong (主翁, 주옹); his pen name (號, 호) was Eogye (漁溪, 어계); and his posthumous name (諡, 시) was Jeongjeol (貞節, 정절). In 1453, Cho Ryeo passed the civil service examination to enter Sungkyunkwan (成均館, 성균관), the national academy, where his intellect was widely recognized. But he soon left politics. Just two years later in 1455, Prince Suyang (首陽大君, 수양대군, 1417-1468) usurped the throne from his nephew King Danjong (端宗, 단종, 1441-1457, r. 1452-1455), taking the title King Sejo (世祖, 세조, r. 1455-1468). Cho Ryeo in protest retired from government to rusticate in his hometown of Ham’an (咸安, 함안) in South Gyeongsang Province (慶尙南道, 경상남도), west of Busan (釜山, 부산). There, he lived at the base of a nearby mountain and spent his time fishing, earning the pen name of Eogye (漁溪, 어계) (“fisherman’s brook”). In honor of Cho Ryeo, the mountain where he stayed was later renamed “Mount Baekyi” (伯夷山, 백이산) after the famous Zhou dynasty era Chinese nobleman Bo Yi (伯夷, 백이, ?-?), who also spent the remainder of his life as a hermit on a mountain after protesting the Zhou state’s (周, 주) invasion of his home state of Shang (商, 상). As he was not executed for protesting King Sejo’s usurpation of the throne by retiring from government, Cho Ryeo is known as one of the Six Surviving Ministers (生六臣, 생육신). This is contrast to the other six bureaucrats who suffered death for their protest known as the Six Martyred Ministers (死六臣, 사육신). For his merit, Cho Ryeo was posthumously raised to the high ranking position of Junior Minister of the Ministry of Personnel (吏曹參判, 이조참판) in 1698 and then to Senior Minister of the same ministry later on. 

During his seclusion from public life, Cho Ryeo spent his days not only fishing but also reading and composing poetry. In the poem below, Cho Ryeo describes the custom of Hair Bathe Festival (流頭節, 유두절 or 유둣날) while remarking on his own life. The name is an abbreviation of the phrase “Bathing the hair in the waters flowing east” (東流水頭沐浴, 동류수두목욕). The festival falls on the 15th day of the sixth month on the lunar calendar, which is July 30 this year. On this day, the traditional custom was to go to a stream or a waterfall to wash one’s hair to ward off the heat during the hottest period of year. Other customs included consuming food made out of wheat, millet, and beans and holding ancestral memorials (流頭薦新, 유두천신) using such food as offerings. The Hair Bathe Festival traces its origins back to the Shilla dynasty period (新羅, 신라, 57BC-935AD), and according to one source is the only traditional holiday unique to Korea — with the rest tracing back their origins to China. Today, however, outside of rural agricultural areas, the Hair Bathe Festival has been largely forgotten.

流頭 유두

Hair Bathe Festival

一帶長川抱隴頭 일대장천포롱두 仄仄平平仄仄平(韻)
好將塵髮俯淸流 호장진발부청류 仄平平仄仄平平(韻)
常懷事業偏多誤 상회사업편다오 平平仄仄平平仄
却恨光陰不少留 각한광음불소류 仄仄平平仄仄平(韻)
沐後彈冠心更淨 목후탄관심갱쟁 仄仄仄平平仄仄
醉餘揮筆興難收 취여휘필흥난수 仄平平仄仄平平(韻)
回看蕩蕩乾坤裏 회간탕탕건곤리 平平仄仄平平仄
物我俱新淡若秋 물아구신담약추 仄仄仄平仄仄平(韻)

Like a single belt, the long stream loops around the head of the hill.
Good it is to have dirty hair be bent into the clear flowing waters.
Always I have thought of my career and undertakings as mostly mistakes;
Yet I lament that my days and nights did not see even a few moments of respite.
After bathing, taking off my hat, my heart is once again cleansed;
Being intoxicated, waving around my brush, my interests can hardly be contained.
Turning, I observe within the fluttering and flittering heavens and earth:
All matter and myself, renewed and refreshed like autumn.

Definitions:

One • belt • long • stream • to surround • hill • head
Good • will • dirt • hair • to bend over • clear • flow
Always • to ponder • affair • work • to incline • many • mistakes
But • to resent • light • darkness • not • few • stop
To bathe • after • to pluck • hat • heart • again • to cleanse
Inebriated • to remain • to wave • brush • interests • difficult • to receive
To turn • to see • to flutter • to flutter • heaven • earth • inside
Material • I/me • all • new • fresh • to be like • autumn

Notes:

• Heptasyllabic regulated poem (七言律詩, 칠언율시). Riming character (韻, 운) is 尤(우). The poem complies with the rules of recent style poetry (近體詩, 근체시).
• Korean translation available here (한국어 번역).

(Source)

Last week, on August 4, United Nations Chief Ban Ki-moon (潘基文, 반기문, 1944-) presented calligraphy that he wrote himself for US President Obama’s birthday. The calligraphy reads “High virtue is like water” (上善若水, 상선약수). The message is a quote from the famous Chinese Daoist classic, the Dao De Jing (道德經, 도덕경), attributed to the Chinese philosopher Laozi (老子, 노자). While the President seemed thankful for the gift, the reaction on Korean social media was mixed: some had verbal fits complaining that foreigners would confuse Koreans with the Chinese; others praised UN Chief Ban Ki-moon for his erudition and showcasing of Eastern philosophy. Below is the excerpt from the Dao De Jing that the calligraphy alluded to, with the original text in bold and commentary to the side by Han Dynasty era (漢, 한, 206BC-220AD) scholar the “Riverside Sage” (河上公, 하상공, ?-?):

上善若水   上善之人, 如水之性.
상선약수   상선지인, 여수지성.

High virtue is like water. A man of the highest virtue is like the nature of water.

水善利萬物而不爭  水在天爲霧露, 在地爲源泉也.
수만리만물이불쟁  수재천위무로, 재지위원천야.

Water benefits all things well without quibble. When water is in the sky, it becomes fog and dew. When water is on the ground, it becomes a source of a stream.

處衆人之所惡   衆人惡卑濕垢濁, 水獨靜流居之也.
처중인지소오   중인오비습후탁, 수독정류거지야.

And resides in a place that the multitude of men disdain. The multitudes of men disdain the low, damp, dusty, and muddy [places]. Water alone quietly flows and lives there.

故幾於道   水性幾於道同.
고기어도   수성기어도동.

Therefore, [water] is almost like the Way. The nature of water is almost like the Way.

居善地   水性善喜於地, 草木之上則流而下, 有似於牝動而下人也.
거선지   수성선희어지, 초목지상즉류이하, 유사어빈동이하인야.

The virtue of a residence is in the land. The nature of water esteems happily the land. Above the grass and trees, [water] flows downward. Some are like heifers moving below men.

心善淵   水深空虛, 淵深淸明.
심선연   수심공허, 연심청명.

The virtue of the mind is like that of the pond.  The waters that are deep are empty and hollow. A pond that is deep is clear and bright.

與善仁   萬物得水以生. 與, 虛不與盈也.
여선인   만물득수이생. 여, 허불여영야.

The virtue of associations is like that of benevolence. All things acquire water to live. To associate is to not associate with the abundant in vain.

言善信   水內影照形, 不失其情也.
언선신   수내영조형, 불실기정야.

The virtue of speech is in trust. Within water, a shadow illuminates form and does not lose its state.

正善治   無有不洗, 淸且平也.
정선치   무유불세, 청차평야.

The virtue of rectification is in governance. There is nothing that is not washed: everything is clear and even.

事善能   能方能圓, 曲直隨形.
사선능   능방능원, 곡직수형.

The virtue of affairs is in ability. To be able to be square and to be able to be round, and to be crooked and to be curved is to follow form.

動善時   夏散冬凝, 應期而動, 不失天時.
동선시   하산동응, 응기이동, 불실천시.

The virtue of movement is in timeliness. To scatter during summer and to coalesce in winter is in response to time periods and movement, and does not lose track of celestial time.

夫唯不爭   壅之則止, 決之則流, 聽從人也.
부유불쟁   옹지직지, 결지즉류, 청종인야.

Generally, [virtue] does not quibble. If [the water] is blocked, then it will stop; if it is lifted, then it will flow. Listening, it will follow another.

故無尤   水性如是, 故天下無有怨尤水者也.
고무우   수성여시, 고천하무유원우수자야.

Therefore, [virtue] does not have any faults. The nature of water is like this. Therefore, underneath the heavens, there is nothing that has grievances and claims faults against water.

• Korean translation of Dao De Jing and commentary available here.
• The Riverside Sage was a scholar that lived sometime during the reign of Han Emperor Wen (漢文帝, 한 문제, 202-157BC). Not much is known about him personally: not even his original name. He is said to have lived in a thatched house near a brook where he enjoyed reading Dao De Jing. One day, the Emperor heard about the Sage’s abilities to interpret the work, and requested him to write a commentary.
• Other historic, influential commentaries of the Dao De Jing include those by Wang Bi (王弼, 왕필, 226-249), Lu Deming (陸德明, 육덕명, 550?-630?), and Jiao Hong (焦竑, 초횡, 1541-1620). Chosun dynasty scholars such as Yi I (李珥, 이이, 1536-1584) and Pak Sedang (朴世堂, 박세당, 1629-1703) also wrote commentaries.

(Source)

Kim Changsuk (金昌淑, 김창숙, 1879-1962) was a Confucian scholar, Korean independence activist, a politician, and the founder of the Sungkyunkwan University (成均館大學, 성균관대학). He was of the Euiseong Kim Clan (義城金氏, 의성김씨); his courtesy name (字, 자) was Munjwa (文佐, 문좌); and his pen names (號, 호) were Shimsan (心山, 심산) and Byeok’ong (躄翁, 벽옹) (“crippled old man”).

He was born in Seongju (星州, 성주) in North Gyeongsang Province (慶尙北道, 경상북도), and started learning Confucian classics from a young age. In 1905, when the Japan-Korea Protectorate Treaty was signed, Kim Changsuk protested and petitioned the the government to punish the signers of the treaty. He also took part in various patriotic organizations (including one dedicated to curbing smoking) and established a modern style school. But in 1910, with the Japan-Korea Treaty annexing Korea, Kim Changsuk went into despair and alcoholism, spending his days on drinking and debauchery. A few years after, however, at the advice of his mother, he sobered up and devoted himself to further studying Confucianism. In reaction to the March 1 Movement of 1919, Kim Changsuk assembled over hundred Confucian scholars across the peninsula and drafted a letter in support of Korean independence. He fled Korea and emigrated to Shanghai, where he had the letter delivered to the delegates of Paris Peace Conference of 1919. Kim Changsuk’s letter, written in Classical Chinese and known simply as the Paris Letter (巴里長書, 파리장서), was an diplomatic embarrassment to Japan, whose delegates had been trying to convince other major world powers that they came to Korea with the support of Koreans. He also published many other works in support of the Korean independence movement and participated in the Provisional Government of the Republic of Korea in China. But in 1924, his work for Korean independence was interrupted, when Kim Changsuk was apprehended while at the British Concession of Shanghai by the Japanese. He was soon sent back to Korea to Daegu (大邱, 대구) Prison, and there prison guards tortured him until he became crippled from the waist down. (Hence, the one of his pen names, “crippled old man.”) Kim Changsuk was released in 1934, and continued participating in independence activities albeit more passively. 

With the liberation of Korea on August 15, 1945, Kim Changsuk, having been again arrested earlier that year for independence activities, welcomed the news of from his prison cell. He was elected to a position in the Democratic Assembly (民主議院, 민주의원) formed by the US Army Military Government in Korea, but did not participate much in its activities. Instead, Kim Changsuk focused on regrouping the remaining Confucian scholars and seeing that Korea be united. In 1946, he became the head of committee for the Korean National Confucians’ Association and re-established Sungkyunkwan, the former national Confucian academy, as a modern University. He also heavily criticized the South Korean government for keeping the Korean peninsula divided. In particular, Kim Changsuk sharply denounced President Rhee Syngman (李承晩, 이승만, 1875-1965) for his dictatorial policies. For his criticism of President Rhee, Kim Changsuk was not only imprisoned for 40 days in Busan (釜山, 부산) but also later attacked by a mob of President Rhee’s supporters. After the Korean War ended in 1953, he reorganized Confucian village schools (鄕校, 향교) under one umbrella organization and attempted to modernize Confucianism as the head of Sungkyunkwan University. Kim Changsuk passed away in 1962, and received a civil funeral ceremony (社會葬, 사회장). He was posthumously awarded with the Order of Merit for National Foundation (建國勳章, 건국훈장) later that year.

Like most educated Koreans of the early modern era, Kim Changsuk was well versed in Classical Chinese. Below is just one of his poems expressing desire for Korean independence, which he composed while imprisoned in Daegu. This past August 15 marked the 70th anniversary of liberation of Korea from Japanese colonial rule.

大邱警部獄中 대구경부옥중

From the Daegu Police Station Prison

籌謀光復十年間 수모광복십년간 平平平仄仄平平(韻)
性命身家摠不關 성명신가총불관 仄仄平平仄仄平(韻)
磊落平生如白日 뢰락평생여백일 仄仄平平平仄仄
何須刑訊故多端 하수형신고다단 平平平仄仄平平(韻)

I have set out and planned for independence for tens of years.
My vitality, body, and family all are not of concern.
Sincerely and earnestly, all my life has been pure like the white sun:
What need is there for interrogation under torture, willfully for numerous dead ends?

Definitions:

To set out • to plan • glory • return • ten • years • space
Nature • fate • body • house • generally • not • to concern
Open • sincere • all • life • like • white • sun
How • must • punishment • interrogation • intent •  many • ends

Notes:

• Heptasyllabic truncated verse (七言絶句, 칠언절구). Riming character (韻, 운) is 刪(산). The poem complies with the rules of recent style poetry (近體詩, 근체시).
• 磊落(뇌락) – Alliterating bionome (雙聲連綿詞, 쌍성 연면사), meaning “to be open-hearted and sincere.”
• Korean translation available here (한국어 번역).

I sometimes get asked by some of my older Korean (and even Korean-American) friends who are now of that age about Chinese character recommendations for their soon-to-be-born children. Cognizant that there is a whole field of experts and numerous conventions behind naming (作名法, 작명법) that I am unaware of, I politely decline to give them any suggestions and recommend that they confer with their family members.

Occasionally, I inform them that South Korea has a limit to which characters can be used in personal names (人名用漢字, 인명용한자), which increased from from 5,761 to 8,142 last year, so that they can go and look for characters for their children themselves. Some of my friends are actually surprised that there are any restrictions. I had just assumed that such limitations were natural and necessary, and so was surprised that they were surprised. I looked into it further recently, and turns out there is a bit of controversy over this issue.

The video above is a news clip from last year discussing the issue of “intrusion of naming rights” (作名權 侵害 漢字 論難, 작명권 침해 한자 논란). In the clip, one of the reporters reveals that one of the characters in his name is not on the list, 熚(필), which is pronounced “pil” and means “to blaze furiously.” Until recently, whenever he had to list his Hanja name on public documents, the reporter had to explain that the character consists of the 火(화) radical and 畢(필) body and had his name listed as “金필奎.”

The news clip then went over the brief history of the regulation of characters in names. The Korean Supreme Court first introduced the list of permitted characters in personal names with just 2,731 characters in 1990, as family records maintained by the government were being digitized. Over the years, the number of characters permitted increased. Characters included in the list were based in part on the frequency of characters in personal names that appeared in telephone directories of Seoul residents. The justifications given were that using complicated Chinese characters would be inconvenient to everyone in society and would be detrimental to the well-being of children with such names (e.g., harassment).

At that time, the new list was controversial, especially because there were characters in the list that were contrary to the government’s stated justifications. Chinese characters, such as 死(사) (“to die”), 盜(도) (“thief”), 魔(마) (“evil spirit”), and 禍(화) (“calamity”), that would never likely appear in actual personal names were on the list. Furthermore, with the expansion of the list last year, peculiar names such as “Pikton” (腷噋, 픽톤), “Goektung” (馘佟, 괵퉁), and “Hul’e” (欻恚, 훌에) were possible, thereby undercutting the justification of child well-being. Even with the increase, however, the reporter noted that the character 熚 in his name was still not included. While he stated that he personally was not inconvenienced, the reporter noted that there were many others that complained to the Supreme Court about the restriction. There were efforts made by a National Assembly member in 2012 to eliminate the restriction entirely, but these attempts failed.

In responding to these complaints, the Korean Supreme Court stated that allowing all 50,000 plus Chinese characters would invite chaos and observed that there are many characters that have not been standardized. (I would like to note the list of characters already allows for variants, including some simplified ones.) The reporter countered by pointing out that there are over 70,000 characters already digitized and that any technical limitations that existed in the 1990s are now obsolete.

As for me, I am still of the opinion that there should be some practical restriction, although not quite sure where to draw that line.

Further Reading:

• List of Chinese characters permitted in personal names on Korean Supreme Court website (인명용한자표).

Notes:

• It should be noted that limitations to characters used in names are not new, e.g., naming taboo (避諱, 피휘). In pre-modern times, people and even geographical places were renamed to avoid having the same character as that of the Korean king or Chinese emperor. It is a custom in some Korean families even today to avoid using the same characters (and even homonyms) as that of an ancestor within three generations.

Jang Yu (張維, 장유, 1587-1638) was a Chosun dynasty civil bureaucrat and father of Queen Inseon (仁宣王后, 인성왕후, 1619-1674), one of the queen consorts of King Hyojong (孝宗, 효종, 1619-1659, r. 1649-1659). He was of the Deoksu Jang Clan (德水張氏, 덕수장씨); his courtesy name (字, 자) was Jiguk (持國, 지국); his pen names (號, 호) were Gyegok (谿谷, 계곡) and Mukso (默所, 묵소); and his posthumous name (諡, 시) was Munchung (文忠, 문충). Jang Yu began his political career when he passed the civil service examination in 1609, and rose through the ranks. A few years later in 1612, he was forced out of office due to his implication in the arrest of another bureaucrat. But he was not completely out of politics. In 1623, he participated in the Injo Restoration (仁祖反正, 인조반정) that usurped Prince Gwanghae (光海君, 광해군, 1575-1641, r. 1608-1623) and placed King Injo (仁祖, 인조, 1559-1649, r. 1623-1649) on the throne. For this, Jang Yu was placed back into government positions. During the First Manchu Invasions of 1627 (丁卯胡亂, 정묘호란), he accompanied King Injo as they fled the capital to Ganghwa Island, off the western coast of Korea. During the next Manchu Invasion in 1636 (丙子胡亂, 병자호란), despite being of the pro-Ming faction that brought King Injo to power, Jang Yu advocated for peace with the Manchus. In 1637, Jang Yu was promoted to Right State Councillor (右議政, 우의정) but retired soon thereafter. He died from exhaustion after holding funeral rites for his mother in 1638.

As for his erudition, Jang Yu was well-versed in a number of fields, ranging from astronomy to military strategy. Moreover, unlike most Korean Confucians, who were followers of Zhu Xi (朱子學, 주자학), Jang Yu found value in learning from the Yangming School (陽明學, 양명학) of Neo-Confucian thought. He was also esteemed for his literary talents, and is considered one of four masters (四大家, 사대가) of Classical Chinese of the Chosun middle period. In the poem below, Jang Yu describes the moonlit night scenery of the Mid-Autumn Festival (仲秋節, 중추절) or Chuseok (秋夕, 추석). This festival falls on the fifteenth day of full moon of the eighth month on the lunar calendar, which is September 27 on the Gregorian calendar this year, and is one of the major holidays in Korea.

中秋月 중추월

Mid-Autumn Moon

今夜中秋月 금야중추월 平仄平平仄
高開萬里雲 고개만리운 平平仄仄平(韻)
遙空添爽氣 요공첨상기 平平平仄仄
列宿掩繁文 렬숙엄번문 仄仄仄平平(韻)
蟾兎初誰見 섬토초수견 平仄平平仄
山河乍可分 산하사가분 平平仄仄平(韻)
茅齋看不厭 모재간부염 平平平仄仄
凉影坐紛紜 량영좌분운 平仄仄平平(韻)

Tonight, the mid-autumn moon
Opens from high the ten thousand li clouds.
The distant emptiness adds to the crisp air;
Arranged constellations cover splendid colors.
Who first saw the toad and hare?
The mountains and rivers for a brief moment can be told apart.
From my thatched-roof house, I watch without annoyance:
The moonlit shadows by themselves swaying and shaking.

Definitions:

Today • night • middle • autumn • moon
High • to open • ten thousand • li • clouds
Afar • emptiness • to add • cool • mood
Arranged • constellation • to cover • splendid • patterns
Toad • hare • first • who • to see
Mountains • rivers • briefly • to be able • to divide
Reed • shack • to watch • not • to be vexed
Thin • shadow • to sit • to be intricate • to be complicated

Notes:

• Pentasyllabic regulated poem (五言律詩, 오언율시). Riming characters (韻, 운) is 文(문).
• 蟾兎(섬토) – Literally “toad” and “hare.” Refers to surface features on the Moon.
• 茅齋(모재) – Refers to a house or shack with a roof made of reeds (띳집).
• 凉影(양영) – Refers to shadows of objects lit by the moonlight.
• 紛紜(분운) – Riming binome (雙韻連綿詞, 쌍운 연면사) meaning “to be noisy and complicated” or “to be intricate and complex.”
• Korean translation available here.

Anti-Hanja education protesters in Korea frequently resort to over-the-top nationalist rhetoric. Here, they are seen holding a mock funeral for the supposed impending death of Hangul. (Source)

Claim: King Sejong created Hangul to replace Chinese characters. Those who seek to expand Hanja education are a mar to his legacy and ought “to apologize King Sejong” (actual title of an article from a major liberal Korean newspaper).

Rebuttal: The very first works commissioned by King Sejong using Hangul were Chinese character dictionaries (plural) and the King himself explicitly stated that the new script was needed to “rectify” Korean pronunciations of Chinese characters. It is extremely unlikely that King Sejong intended to supplant Hanja with Hangul.

Introduction

With the rise in popularity of Hanja education and the recent calls to expand it, some quarters of Korean society have vehemently protested. They often employ over-the-top nationalistic histrionics, asserting that expansion of Hanja education is an affront to King Sejong’s legacy, Korea’s most venerated king. They have gone as far as holding mock funeral rites in front of the statue of King Sejong in downtown Seoul and offering oblations to Korean language textbooks.

But is it actually an affront? The creation of Hangul is no doubt a proud moment in Korean history. Many today presume that King Sejong created Hangul to supplant Chinese characters. Some can cite, by memory, the preface of the document that first introduced Hangul, the Proper Sounds to Instruct the People (訓民正音, 훈민정음) as the sole proof of their belief:

The sounds of our country are different from that of China and its characters do not mutually conform to them. Therefore, whenever the ignorant have something that they wish to communicate, many of them in the end cannot express their thoughts. Because of this, I am ashamed, and have newly created twenty-eight letters, and intend that each and every person be able to easily learn them and conveniently use them daily.

However, the passage above does not explicitly state that King Sejong intended to replace Chinese characters. Furthermore, there is plenty of evidence that suggests otherwise — including King Sejong’s own words.

One Theory on the Creation of Hangul:
As a Means to Transcribe Hanja and Standardize Its Pronunciation

Why King Sejong created Hangul is a topic of discussion in two recently published books about the script: The Invention of Hangul (한글의 발명) by Jeong Gwang and Hangul Wars (한글전쟁) by Kim Heungsik. They both take the position that King Sejong (世宗, 세종, 1397-1450, r. 1418-1450) created Hangul as a means to transcribe Hanja (發音記號, 발음기호) and to standardize its pronunciation. The former book drives this as one of its central points. The latter book explores other hypotheses, but only examines this one at length. Their theses was scoffed at many internet commenters on book review articles. Upon closer examination, however, they are actually well supported. Some of the points made in the Hangul Wars are summarized in this post along with some additional material.

The Korean pronunciations of Chinese characters are based on those used in the Tang dynasty (唐, 당, 618-907) capital of Chang’an (長安, 장안). As time passed by, these pronunciations changed and by the 15th century had significantly diverged from vernacular Chinese pronunciations, which in turn had also diverged from those during the Tang dynasty. These developments were problematic for a number of reasons. For one, the pronunciation of each Chinese character is not indicated from the character itself. Even characters with the same phonetic component radical (部首, 부수) are not always pronounced the same.

Furthermore, the system of transcribing Chinese characters recursively using other characters, known as Fanqie (反切, 반절) or Banjeol in Korean, was somewhat difficult to use. For example, the Banjeol for the character 東(동) is “德紅反(덕홍반, deok-hong-ban)” specifying that the character is to be pronounced using the first consonant of the first character /d/ and the rime of the second character /-ong/ resulting in /dong/ (동). Not knowing the pronunciations of 德 or 紅 would render this dictation useless. Moreover, because it is internally recursive, Banjeol was not too useful for Koreans who needed to learn vernacular Chinese (i.e., Mandarin), which was an important language for commerce and diplomacy.

There was a native script before Hangul called Idu (吏讀, 이두). This script used Chinese characters to transcribe Korean grammatical particles inserted between Classical Chinese clauses. But Idu was not used to transcribe pronunciations of characters and hence was perceived as lacking — although it should be noted that its use lasted well into the late 19th century.

A Vernacular Explanation on the Proper Sounds to Instruct the People (訓民正音 諺解本, 훈민정음 언해본) (Source)

Against this backdrop, King Sejong first introduced the court to Hangul on December of 1443. For sometime, however, there was no other activity at the court regarding the new script. Then suddenly on February of 1444, the King ordered scholars at the Hall of Worthies (集賢殿, 집현전) to translate the Collection of Rimes Ancient and Recent (古今韻會擧要, 고금운회거요), a Chinese rime dictionary compiled during the Yuan Dynasty (元, 원, 1271-1368). A rime dictionary is a Chinese character dictionary arranged by tone (聲, 성) and rime (韻, 운), two features particular to Chinese phonology not Korean. This was no easy task, given the number of Chinese characters there are. And more importantly, this to be the very first work in Hangul. In response, four days later, a Hall of Worthies scholar named Choe Manri (崔萬理, 최만리, ?-1445) submitted his now-infamous petition in protest of the new script, which he condemned as “a base, vulgar, and useless script (鄙諺無益之字, 비언무익지자).” In his remonstrance, Choe Manri raised six points of contention:

1. The creation of the vernacular script is contrary to the ways of Chinese civilization.
2. The creation of a vernacular script is a barbaric act and will make Korea grow distant from China.
3. The current Idu script is sufficient; the vernacular script will disrupt Neo-Confucianism.
4. The vernacular script will exacerbate the inequity of administrating punishments, thereby potentially afflicting those who are innocent.
5. Important affairs should not be carried out in such a rush. (In this section, Choe Manri criticizes the King for not having consulted ministers prior to the order to compile the riming dictionary.)
6. Princes should focus their attention on Neo-Confucian studies and the vernacular script will add to the burden of their studies.

The petition greatly angered King Sejong, who not only rebuked Choe Manri but also had him and others who supported him sent to jail for a day. Here are the King’s words, as recorded:

汝等云: “用音合字, 盡反於古.”
여등운: “용음합자, 진반어고.”

You all said, “They use sounds based on combined letters, thereby overturning old [customs].”

薛聰吏讀, 亦非異音乎? 且吏讀制作之本意, 無乃爲其便民乎?
설총이두, 역비이음호? 차이두제작지본의, 무내위기편민호?

Is not the Idu script created by Seol Chong (薛聰, 설총, 7th c.) also of different sounds? And again, was not the original intent of creating the Idu script for the convenience of the common people?

如其便民也, 則今之諺文, 亦不爲便民乎?
여기편민야, 즉금지언문, 역불위편민호?

If that [script] was [created] for the convenience of the common people, then should not the current vernacular script (諺文, 언문) also be considered for the convenience of the common people?

汝等以薛聰爲是, 而非其君上之事, 何哉?
여등이설총위시, 이비기군상지사, 하재?

All of you deem [the Idu script created by] Seol Chong as proper, but consider your King’s work to be improper! Why?

且汝知韻書乎? 四聲七音, 字母有幾乎? 若非予正其韻書, 則伊誰正之乎?
차여지운서호? 사성칠음, 자모유기호? 약비여정기운서, 즉이수정지호?

Again, do any of you know about rime dictionaries (韻書, 운서)? For the four tones and seven consonants, how many letters are there? If it is not I who rectifies these rime dictionaries, then who among you will rectify them? 

In the passage above, King Sejong himself not only states that the script is for the convenience of the people (便民, 편민), but also explicitly puts forth his intent to compile a rime dictionary. The King viewed compiling a rime dictionary and rectifying Korean pronunciations of Chinese characters as furthering the welfare of the people, not in conflict with it. That is, unlike the fancies of anti-Hanja education protesters dressed in full mourning gear, who often invoke the King’s name in their protests, King Sejong himself did not view Chinese characters as diametrically opposed to the new script. 

While the records state that a Korean translation of the Collection of Rimes Ancient and Recent was completed, there are no surviving copies. But there were other rime dictionaries made around this period. In fact, one of the very first five works in Hangul is another rime dictionary: the Proper Rimes of the Eastern Country (東國正韻, 동국정운). Based on the Ming dynasty rime dictionary Proper Rimes of Hongwu (洪武正韻, 홍무정운), this dictionary listed Chinese characters by their reconstructed or “proper” Korean pronunciations. That is, these Korean pronunciations were not those that were in actual use, but those that the Hall of Worthies scholar thought should be based on their reconstruction of older pronunciations. For example, entering tone characters (入聲, 입성) were originally pronounced with /-p/, /-t/, and /-k/ consonant endings, but in Korean the /-t/ ending for whatever reason had morphed to /-l/ (ㄹ). (There are several theories as to why this occurred.) In the Proper Rimes of the Eastern Country, these are listed with /-lʔ/ (ㅭ) as a compromise between the contemporary and historical pronunciations. Although very few Hangul works adopted these pronunciations, the rime dictionary represented King Sejong’s attempts to standardize the Korean pronunciation of Chinese characters.

The Proper Rimes of the Eastern Country was not the only work in Hangul concerning Chinese characters. King Sejong ordered the compilations of the Proper Rimes of Hongwu itself and an abridged version of the work, both with Mandarin pronunciations of characters transcribed in Hangul. The abridged version titled An Extensive Study of the Four Tones (四聲通攷, 사성통고) was completed sometime during King Sejong’s reign, but there is no existent copy of this work. The Transliteration and Glossary of the Proper Rimes of Hongwu (洪武正韻譯訓, 홍무정운역훈) was completed within a decade of the creation of the new script in 1455. (Not surprisingly, one pre-modern name for Hangul was “Banjeol“ because of its frequent use in transcribing pronunciations of Chinese characters.)

Turning to the question of “convenience for the common people,” rime dictionaries are not exactly something that a 15th century Korean commoner would use on a daily basis, even if literate: they are mainly intended for composing poetry. So, when was the first work in Hangul for the direct benefit of the common people published? King Sejong certainly did order the compilation of such works before Hangul and no doubt thought of this issue when creating the script. But their translations do not appear among the very first books in Hangul. Songs of Dragons Flying to Heaven (龍飛御天歌, 용비어천가) were poems in praise of ancestors of the royal family; Detailed Episodes on the Record of Sakyamuni (釋譜詳節, 석보상절) and Tunes of the Moonlight Imprinted on a Thousand Rivers (月印千江之曲, 월인천강지곡) were Buddhism-inspired texts compiled in honor of the deceased Queen Soheon (昭憲王后, 소헌왕후, 1395-1446). It would not be until 1481, almost forty years after the creation of Hangul and thirty years after King Sejong’s passing away, that a work arguably identifiable as directly for the common people was published: the Illustrations of Applications of the Three Bonds (三綱行實圖, 삼강행실도). Originally compiled in Classical Chinese and with drawings, this was intended as a series of lessons on exemplary Confucian virtues. This sequence of these events insinuates that the ability to transcribe Chinese characters and standardize their pronunciations using Hangul was of a higher priority to the royal court.

Banjeol Table (反切表, 반절표), arranged by 15th century Korean scholar Choe Sejin (崔世珍, 최세진, 1468-1542). (Source)

Conclusion

Hangul today is regularly portrayed as in contrast or conflict with Hanja. Especially in the current Hanja education debate in Korea, those who advocate for expansion of Hanja education are often vilified as somehow less patriotic and as an embarrassment to King Sejong’s legacy. Such a narrative, however, not only does injury to the rich patrimony of Hangul but is also contrary to one of the many explicit reasons for the creation of Hangul given by King Sejong himself, namely the transcription Chinese characters and standardization of their Korean pronunciations. Given these set of historical facts, the more-patriotic-than-thou grandstanding and invocations of the King’s name by these Hangul exclusivists are thoroughly misplaced.

Hangul exclusivists interrupt a Ministry of Education official meeting to discuss on whether to include Hanja in Korean textbooks. Thanks to their antics, the decision is postponed until next year. (Source)

With the rise in popularity of Hanja education in Korea and calls to expand it, Hangul exclusivists have taken to the streets in vehement protest of these developments. They frequently resort to over-the-top nationalist rhetoric. Among their assertions, perhaps the most bizarre is their attempts to link Chinese characters to the Japanese. In fact, if one reads much of their literature, one would walk away with the impression that Chinese characters were somehow a Japanese creation. They have gone as far out to call the expansion of Hanja education “[an attempt to] obliterate the Korean race” and a “legacy of the Japanese colonial period” as if it did not exist prior to that period. This language can be even found from the head of the Hangul Society (한글학회) himself:

한자병기는 일제가 심어 놓은 민족의식 말살 교육정책의 찌꺼기. 지금 일본이 큰소리치는 것은 한국을 너무 잘 알기 때문이다. 일본이 가르친 대로의 친일의 뿌리가 득세하고 있기 때문이다. 한글 관련 사업을 좀 해보려고 하면 친일세력들이 들어와서 판을 흐트려 놓는다…

Hanja-Hangul mixed script is a leftover of the educational policy planted by the Japanese to obliterate our racial identity. Right now, the Japanese shout so loudly because they know Korea very well. It is because the pro-Japanese collaborators who have done as the Japanese have taught them have gained power. If you intend to work on Hangul-related manners, these powerful pro-Japanese collaborators will shake you down…

(For those that do not know, the Hangul Society is a private organization that contributed to the development of Korean spelling rules, and campaigned and lobbied for Hangul exclusivity since the early-mid 20th century. The very first works published using Hangul were in mixed script.)

This type of language is all too common from Hangul exclusivists. Sadly, what would otherwise be dismissed as a conspiratorial rambling in more civil settings has been very effective in controlling the Hangul-Hanja debate in Korea. In contrast, the pro-Hanja education side does not resort to such nationalist rhetoric as much. Instead, they typically use internationalist or regionalist arguments by simply making the empirically verifiable observation that Korea’s neighbors China and Japan still use the script.

To knock these Hangul exclusivists off their more-patriotic-than-thou high horses, perhaps a refresher in early modern Hangul history is in order. One particular topic that might be of interest is today’s Korean spelling rules. Today’s Korean spelling rules are largely the legacy of those spelling rules promulgated by the Japanese colonial general government. There are plenty of Korean sources that acknowledge this. (This post merely wishes to introduce the topic in English.) Many of the integral figures in establishing most of these spelling rules were — drum roll — pro-Japanese collaborators. To get a sense of how integral these pro-Japanese collaborationist figures were to the development of today’s Korean spelling rules, one scholar who is often attributed as coining the very name “Hangul” (한글) is Choe Namseon (崔南善, 최남선, 1890-1957). He is officially recognized by the Korean government as a Japanese collaborator for his contributions in the colonial Historical Compilation Committee, which helped to legitimize Japan’s takeover of the peninsula. Ironically, despite this, Choe Namseon is still very much respected for his contributions to Hangul. More importantly, he is not an isolated example as there are other figures in the early modern development of Korean spelling rules that were pro-Japanese collaborators. Even the ones who are not officially recognized as pro-Japanese collaborators were educated at Japanese universities.

Before examining this topic, it should be emphasized that while there are many Korean sources on the early modern development of Korean orthography, most do not like to admit this — nor does the Hangul Society, who would like others to forget that some of their predecessors were pro-Japanese collaborators. This is not surprising, given that Hangul is perhaps Korea’s most treasured cultural heritage. As such, when such sources do discuss this period, their treatment is rather interesting. They either begrudgingly concede that the today’s Korean spelling rules were heavily influenced by the Japanese colonial government’s own rules or are baffled as to why the Japanese even bothered with coming up with such spelling rules. For example, the National Digital Hangul Museum, which is otherwise a great resource on this subject, falls into the latter category. In one Museum’s article on this period, stumped, the author wonders whether Japanese involvement in Korean orthography was a cunning ploy:

식민지를 지배하고자 하는 제국주의 세력은 피지배 민족의 글과 말을 말살하거 사용하지 못하게 하는 것이 일반적인 정책이다. 그러나 일본의 초기적 태도는 달랐다. 의도를 정확히 실증적으로 밝혀낼 수는 없으나, 일제 초기의 어문 정책의 일환이었던 표기법 문제는 그들에 의해서 처음으로 이루어졌다. 짐작만을 해 본다면 그것은 고도의 식민 통치 술수였는지 모른다.

The general policy of imperialist powers wanting to dominate their colonies was to prohibit and destroy the language and script of the subjugated peoples. But Japan’s attitude was initially different. We cannot for sure know their intentions by any evidence, but the issue of [Korean] spelling rules that was a part of Japan’s initial language policy first came into being by them. If we were to guess, this might be an clever stratagem of colonial governance.

This blog will cover this and more in the upcoming posts, which will give a brief overview of the history of Korean orthography from the 15th century to the mid 20th century:

1. The First Four Centuries of Hangul (15th-19th Century)
2. National Script Research Committee (19th Century)
3. 1912 and 1921 Primary School Use Korean Spelling Rules
4. 1930 and 1933 Korean Spelling Rules
5. Rhee Syngman’s Spelling Simplification Reforms

Note that this series will assume that readers know Hangul at a rudimentary level. For those readers that do not know the Korean alphabet, the Wikipedia article on Hangul has a decent explanation.