“I filled half, so I hope you fill the other half.”

Lee Yoon-hak is back!
The first collection of photographic essays by Lee Yun-hak, the painter of language, after a long silence.


Poet Lee Yun-hak suddenly moved to a mountain village a few years ago to escape the noise and bright lights of the bustling city.
There, feeling the change of seasons with his body and focusing his mind on the smell of the earth and the chirping of insects, he was able to escape the crippling alcoholism that had plagued him all his life.
This book is a compilation of beautiful sentences he recalled while living in the mountains, photographs he took himself, and short poems and postcards born from them.

In the author's note, the poet confesses:
Silence replaced the warmth of life, so that even when I was alone, I was not lonely.
It was because of the “feeling of being with you,” a name that has now become vague.

In the book, photos taken while trying to write poetry and sentences poured out while trying to take pictures coexist in a single, slow breath.
An abandoned gas station in the late afternoon with dogs roaming around, the cotton mask worn by my father who died of pneumoconiosis, the smell of that summer when we dug up purple potatoes, the afterimage of long hair on the floorboards… countless fragments of sad yet beautiful memories come back to life as metaphors for existence.

The loss and recovery, sadness and gratitude, and profound love that sustain life breathe deeply from the seemingly quiet depths of the sentences, and in the meantime, the poet willingly transforms the turbulent language of loneliness into a peaceful space.
It explores the sense of 'being together' that still lingers in the memories of those who have left, the names that have disappeared, and those who remain.

After my father passed away, I saw the cotton masks hanging on the nail in front of the gate.
I remembered my father's smiling face as he held the cat in his arms in front of the fireplace in the living room.
A patient with pneumoconiosis, a farmer father, struggling to breathe, his face filled with fine, white mist particles from his cotton mask.
The sky and the surrounding scenery were reflected in the paddy field that my father had farmed for over 50 years.
A spring breeze, full of caresses, was passing through the fields.
The excitement of the farmer father's past life continued after he stopped coughing.

--- p.41

For about a year after my father passed away, I had frequent dreams where I was between life and death.
It felt like he was staying by my side, but he was just like my father, unable to reveal his true form, with his mouth twitching.
This was the loss of Seung's words.
I was already used to the words of the underworld.
When I woke up, I would turn on the stand and sit staring blankly at Ongi.
--- p.48

White summer hydrangeas peek out like teeth through tunnels of corn and sugarcane.
The sound of children laughing and chatting led me around the back and into the furrows of the sesame field.
--- p.69

For her and for me, there must be a lost space in our hearts, locked with a rusty lock all the way to the keyhole.
The space in your heart left behind after you've completely forgotten the key you lost one day.
If the lock hadn't been locked, she, who was as old as I, might have opened the old door and come out.
She might come out bending over with more gray hair.
--- p.78

I could hear the sound of spring snow melting.
The water in the bowl of soft tofu soup that was left was drained.
A bitter, bean-smelling sadness wafted from the budding lawn garden.
My mother smiled briefly as she sprinkled red pepper powder on the soft tofu and placed a spoon in my father's hand.
“Honey, I wish you would just drink that and go back to your room to cool off your chilled body.” My father, sitting in the warm hut, poured makgeolli from a ceramic cup.
card.
The sound of makgeolli being poured from a kettle continued.
A steaming stream flowed.
The adorable willow puppy rubbed its red, burst cheeks and made me laugh with tears streaming down my face.

--- p.127

Your father appeared in my mother's dream yesterday and said, "Let's go somewhere nice with Mr. Gukjeon, who likes alcohol," and he put his arm around her and left.
But I had no idea why my mother would look straight at my face and smile whenever the topic of alcohol came up.
--- p.133

Aren't memories meant to cross ruins?
--- p.138

I will grow old with my father for a while.
Someday, when I see my father again, I plan to drink alcohol like it was the first time I had had it in a long time.
--- p.138

Blue waves rippled across the wheat fields on the slopes.
The soft breeze that touched the wheat touched the scent of the grass.
40 years had passed while I was closing my eyes.
Seeing the wheat fields and the downhill road, the children and I were so excited that we cheered and heard it 40 years ago.
--- p.156

I soothed my urge to have a drink by looking at sunflowers.
When I turned around, I saw a crescent moon.
Now that I've filled half, I'd like you to fill the other half.
--- p.161

It was the first freeze of the winter.
My mother pours warm water from a cauldron into the dog's water bowl. On her bent back, a TV antenna that is decades old has been picking up the signals and sending them to my father's ondol room, who has now passed away.
What makes it any better when you look at the clear sky on a very sad day?
Yunak, can you see anything even a little farther away?
Are there even a few pieces of pork fat floating in the soup that was boiled in a dark place?
--- p.191

I thought about what is precious to the person I liked, the person I will like until the end, and the person I will like in the future.
The beginning of summer has already passed.
The two dogs staying outside my house wagged their plumed tails.
He buried the common glasses and hovered around the spot.
I could see the faces and hear the voices of my former family members who never gave up on me.
--- p.238

Pain that always infuses me with poison, do not pass me by. A broken dam will burst again, and the flood will pass.
--- p.269

The sun is setting.
There are two graves at the entrance to the house, and the tombstones stand askew.
It is in front of the 1st class Gangwon Industrial Company.
The bark of the short cherry tree is half peeled off.
You can't say it's cold.
I have to put out my cigarette on the asphalt floor, which is pale and has dried salt stains.
Everywhere but the grave, it was winter in heaven, and the single room of Sagulse was cold.
--- p.270

That winter, we wandered around the house complex, walking to the spring lettuce field. Our mouths did not turn, our frail bodies trembling more than the seedlings. We drank the green juice squeezed from the sick seedlings and walked to the spring lettuce field.
--- p.273

There is a small hill in this mountain village, so the sun and moon rise slowly.
Still, I was glad to see the moon rise before it got too dark, so I stood on the deck and watched it for a long time.
A mother who is more fearful than anyone else.
My aging mother.
A mother who couldn't hug me.
It's an evening that makes me think of my mother.
--- p.280

She picked out a gray combo and put it on me, then headed to the checkout counter.
About 30 years ago, on a midsummer Sunday afternoon, I went out for a walk wearing a winter combination at her request.
She said to me, who was fortunately not feeling the heat, with a smiling face.
“In the middle of winter, we will think of ourselves today.
But please don't cry and call my country-like name."
--- p.305

I opened the Korean file of a long novel I had been writing for over ten years.
I wanted to fix it as best I could, say to myself at the end, “I love you,” and then forget about it.
--- p.307

Every day I went to the observatory, it was always cloudy or rainy.
It was the same last Saturday and yesterday.
What I want to see is not a distant star, so it doesn't matter if it's cloudy or rainy.
The stars I long to see and the stars I want to draw someday are all within me… I went to the observatory, looked at the closed sky through the telescope, and came back.

--- p.327