그 옛날 번창하던 시절 타운의 왁자지껄하던 소리가 세월에 묻혀 둔탁하게 들리는 듯하기도 하고 옛 시절을 아쉬워하는 얼마 남지 않은 나이 든 주민들의 깊은 시름의 한숨 같기도 하다.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
동쪽 끝 작은 마을
그 옛날 번창하던 시절 타운의 왁자지껄하던 소리가 세월에 묻혀 둔탁하게 들리는 듯하기도 하고 옛 시절을 아쉬워하는 얼마 남지 않은 나이 든 주민들의 깊은 시름의 한숨 같기도 하다.
Friday, August 30, 2013
A small village on the east end
It felt as if I were trapped in a space where life had suddenly come to a halt—empty and still.
Leaving behind the crowds of tourist hotspots, we drove up the US Route 1 in Maine, heading all the way to Eastport, the easternmost town in the United States, near the Canadian border. The misty little islands reminded me of the scattered islands along the southern coast of Korea.
As we entered the quiet, hilly town center, it felt like stepping onto the set of an old Western film—except for the utility poles and a few scattered cars. Some of the old red-brick buildings, now mostly abandoned, shared the same architectural style as many public buildings in Brooklyn from the same era.
In a small park near the shore, old black-and-white photographs showed rows of women working in white uniforms. Signs told the story of the town’s former life—and its quiet decline.
In 1875, the first sardine cannery opened here. At its peak, there were 13 bustling companies bringing life and prosperity to the town. But as the industry gradually collapsed, residents left in large numbers, leaving Eastport a sleepy, fading port. It reminded me of northern Brooklyn along the East River, where I live now.
After the Civil War destroyed most sugar factories in the South, the world’s largest sugar refinery was built right under the Williamsburg Bridge. That was the Domino Sugar Factory, which operated for over 150 years before finally closing in 2004—like the last dinosaur drawing its final breath.
The old, oval-shaped smokestack and buildings, weathered and worn, still stand as they wait for a new chapter. Fortunately, in Brooklyn, many of those warehouses have found new life as trendy homes. But here in far-northeastern Eastport, there seems to be no clear vision for what could replace the once-thriving sardine industry.
The town has a clean, open sea that could attract tourists, but sadly, no sandy beaches—an unfortunate limitation. Maybe that’s why the drink I had on the balcony of our waterfront inn tasted a bit more bitter than usual.
We walked toward a red-brick warehouse with empty windows, its concrete pillars standing in the sea. Between the crumbling columns, the shallow waves slapping the shore mixed with the cries of seagulls created an eerie echo.
It almost sounded like the muffled noise of a once-busy town, now buried in time—or like the heavy sighs of the few remaining elderly residents mourning the past.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
씁쓸한 만남
새우가 너무 작다는 투덜거림이다.
Friday, August 23, 2013
A gloomy meeting
Saturday, August 17, 2013
소설을 쓰고 싶지만
“소설은 아무나 쓰나.”
경험도 상상력도 없는 내가 우째 소설을 쓸까나? 올라가지 못할 나무에 오르려다 떨어지지나 말고 주변 정담이나 감칠 나게 써 봐야지. 소설은 무슨….
Friday, August 16, 2013
I'd like to write a novel, but
Saturday, August 10, 2013
삼만번 밥상 차린 여자
Friday, August 9, 2013
A woman who set the table for thirty thousand times
Saturday, August 3, 2013
말도 안 돼
Friday, August 2, 2013
No way
My friend wrote:
While she was grieving, pacing around in sorrow, I sat crouched on the floor like someone lost, picking up fallen strands of hair. I stared into the corner of the room, blankly repeating, “This can’t be true.” Maybe I was able to stay silent because I knew she was feeling the exact same thing.
It was like walking through darkness, finally spotting a faint light, only for it to suddenly disappear—leaving me to fall again into the endless depths of a dark cave. I never got to fully see the bright flame, and now I’m left sifting through ashes, hoping to find the last glowing ember. I’ve lost my way.
Though she’s gone, I don’t want to lose our book club too. I hope we can welcome another wonderful teacher—not just someone full of knowledge and degrees, but someone with humility and compassion. Someone who treats everyone fairly—whether educated or not, wealthy or poor, high-status or humble. Someone who doesn’t only listen to the loud voices but notices the quiet ones sitting in the corner, offering them kindness and warmth. Ms. Choi Wol-hee, I hope to meet you again in the next life—as your student once more.