10 9 / 2012
10 9 / 2012
This brutal, heartbreaking love letter was found in 1998, lying on the mummified body of Eung-Tae Lee, a 30-year-old Korean man who’d died in 1586, some four hundred years before. Lee was tall and bearded — “The dark mustache made me feel that he must have had a charming appearance,” says the former director of the Andong National University Museum — and left behind him a pregnant wife, the letter’s author. Here it is, via Letters of Note:
To Won’s Father
June 1, 1586
You always said, “Dear, let’s live together until our hair turns gray and die on the same day.” How could you pass away without me? Who should I and our little boy listen to and how should we live? How could you go ahead of me?
How did you bring your heart to me and how did I bring my heart to you? Whenever we lay down together you always told me, “Dear, do other people cherish and love each other like we do? Are they really like us?” How could you leave all that behind and go ahead of me?
I just cannot live without you. I just want to go to you. Please take me to where you are. My feelings toward you I cannot forget in this world and my sorrow knows no limit. Where would I put my heart in now and how can I live with the child missing you?
Please look at this letter and tell me in detail in my dreams. Because I want to listen to your saying in detail in my dreams I write this letter and put it in. Look closely and talk to me.
When I give birth to the child in me, who should it call father? Can anyone fathom how I feel? There is no tragedy like this under the sky.
You are just in another place, and not in such a deep grief as I am. There is no limit and end to my sorrows that I write roughly. Please look closely at this letter and come to me in my dreams and show yourself in detail and tell me. I believe I can see you in my dreams. Come to me secretly and show yourself. There is no limit to what I want to say and I stop here.
(via notabuddhist)
20 7 / 2012
To Friends Behind a Border
I
I wrote to you so cautiously. But whatever I couldn’t say
filled and grew like a hot-air balloon
and finally floated away through the night sky.
II
Now my letter is with the censor. He lights his lamp.
In its glare my words leap like monkeys at a wire mesh,
clattering it, stopping to bare their teeth.
III
Read between the lines. We will meet in two hundred years
when the microphones in the hotel walls are forgotten —
when they can sleep at last, become ammonites.— tomas tranströmer
(via notabuddhist)
16 7 / 2012
08 5 / 2012
“This is how Maurice Sendak sometimes sent his letters. Just imagine getting one.” (via Letters Of Note)
(via americanchickens)
