rv Hosteller 13- Paris

4. Hosteller

 

 Paris

Once in his youth when Moon was charmed by French language

and began to study it by himself, he would often read aloud the

passages of  'Le Petti Prince' by Saintexperre, and 'Le Pond

Mirabeau' a Poem by Appolinaire.

He liked the former because the contents was easy enough

for the first beginner like him to grammatically understand contents,

which were followed by pretty images to help readers to  easily catch 

what the writer meant and the pronunciation was rhythmic.

Then It was rhythmic sound of the pronunciation rather

than the contents pf the book that captivated him.

The passages he got by heart by reading the book aloud 

was the beginning, below, of the book

Lorsque j'avais six ans j'ai vu, une fois, une magnifique image,

dans un livre sur la Forêt Vierge qui s'appelait "Histoires Vécues".

Ça représentait un serpent boa qui avalait un fauve.

Voilà la copie du dessin.

On disait dans le livre:

"Les serpents boas avalent leur proie tout entière, sans la mâcher.

Ensuite ils ne peuvent plus bouger et ils dorment pendant les six mois

de leur digestion".

J'ai alors beaucoup réfléchi sur les aventures de la jungle

et, à mon tour, j'ai réussi, avec un crayon de couleur,

à tracer mon premier dessin.

Mon dessin numéro 1. Il était comme ça:

*J'ai montré mon chef d'oeuvre aux grandes personnes

et je leur ai demandé si mon dessin leur faisait peur.

Elles m'ont répondu: "Pourquoi un chapeau ferait-il peur?"

Mon dessin ne représentait pas un chapeau.

Il représentait un serpent boa qui digérait un éléphant.

J'ai alors dessiné l'intérieur du serpent boa,

afin que les grandes personnes puissent comprendre.

Elles ont toujours besoin d'explications.

Mon dessin numéro 2 était comme ça:

(In English )

Once when I was six years old

I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called

True stories from Nature, about the primeval forest.

It was a picture of a bow constrictor in the act of swallowing

an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing.

( a drawing)

 

In the book it said;

Boa constrictors swallow their prey whole ,without chewing.

After that  they are not able to move, and they sleep

through the six months that they need for digestion.

I pondered deeply, then, over the adventures of the jungle.

And after some work with a colored pencil I succeeded in Making

my first drawing. My drawing number one. It looked something

like this.

( ta drawing)

In case of the latter, 'Le Pond Mirabeau',

he, as a beginner, could understand the poem in French, 

though  not precisely, because the poem in Korean version was familiar to him.

He was proud  that he could read French and happy to read it, below, aloud

to his friends who did not learn the foreign Language 

Le Pont Mirabeau

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
            Et nos amours
       Faut-il qu'il m'en souvienne
La joie venait toujours après la peine

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
     Les jours s'en vont je demeure

 

미라보 다리 아래 센느강은 흐르고

우리의 사랑도 흐르네

기쁨은 항상 고통 뒤에 온다는 것을 상기하며

밤이 오고 시간이 울리고 세월은 가지만

나는 남았네
   
Les mains dans les mains restons face à face
            Tandis que sous
       Le pont de nos bras passe
Des éternels regards l'onde si lasse

 

손에 손을 잡고 얼굴을 마주보고 서자

마주 잡은 팔 아래로

영원을 바라보기에도 지친 강물이 흘러가더라도
 
    후렴: Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
     Les jours s'en vont je demeure
 
L'amour s'en va comme cette eau courante
            L'amour s'en va
       Comme la vie est lente
Et comme l'Espérance est violente
 

사랑은 이 강물이 흐르는 것처럼 지나가고

세월도 떠나가네 삶이 느린 것처럼, 희망이 격렬한 것처럼

   후렴  Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
     Les jours s'en vont je demeure
 
Passent les jours et passent les semaines
            Ni temps passé
       Ni les amours reviennent
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
 

시간이 흐르고 세월이 지나도

흐르는 시간과 떠난 사랑은 돌아오지 않고

미라보 다리 아래 센느 강은 흐르네.

     Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
     Les jours s'en vont je demeure

(In English)

The Mirabeau Bridge

Under the Mirabeau bridge flows the Seine
And our loves
Must I remember them
Joy always followed after pain

 

Let the night fall and the hours ring
The days go away, I remain

 

Hand in hand let us stay face to face
while underneath
the bridge of our arms passes
the so-slow wave of eternal looks

Let the night fall and the hours ring
The days go away, I remain

 

Love goes away like this flowing water
Love goes away
How slow life is
How violent hope is

 

Let the night fall and the hours ring
The days go away, I remain

 

The days pass and the weeks pass
Neither past time
Nor past loves return
Under the Mirabeau bridge flows the Seine

부림동 정법사를 지나

철길 횡단보도를 지나

왼쪽으로 알맞게 구부러진 경사로를 따라

이곳으로 오르는 길은

갈색돌담과 잎이 무성한 가로수만 좀 있으면

에꼴드 파리 유트릴로가 그린

몽마르트르 언덕길 같을 꺼야.

뮈르제 아폴리네르 모딜리아니 등

보헤미언 예술가들이 드나든

라뼁 아질 카페 앞의

그 언덕길 같을 꺼야.

 

문신 미술관에 오르는 길에서.

문신의 마산항 그림을 보면,

그림의 왼쪽 모서리에서 대각선을 따라  오른쪽으로

시선을 옮기면 그림속의 낮은 산과 작은 섬 사이에 먼 바다로 향하는

물길이 눈에 들어온다.

오래전에 은빛 반짝임의 그 작은 바다가 멈추어 서서 머뭇거리다

떠나버린 바로 그 바다 길목이다.

소년이 청년이 된 후로도 그으 서시너이 늘 향하던 바다길목이다.

그 화가의 손끝을 따라 시선을 멀리두며 장그리니에의 한무디를 떠올린다.

 

시험삼아 샤갈을 따라가보라. 그러면 그 화가는 네가 원하는 곳으로

너를 인도해줄 것이다'

 

The above poetic paragraph is  the first part of the essay titled " A painting of

Moon Shin" which he wrote, looking back upon the memory of 

the deceased Korean sculptor with affection, who was active in  Paris as an artist 

and died in Masan his hometown. on writing it, he said, he was reminded

of a phrase, below, in the book of ' The Writing Life' by Annie Dillard,

an American poet:

Write about winter in the summer.

Describe Norway as Ibsen did, in Italy;

Describe Dublin as James Joyce did, from a desk in Paris.

Willa Cather wrote her prairie novels in New York City;

Mark Twain wrote Huckleberry Finn in Hartford, Connecticut,

Recently, scholars  learned that Walt Whitman rarely left his room

 

It was in London at a hotel to smell of alluring tea perfume that he came to know

the name of Montmartre, in particular, Lapin a gill in Paris where I  was to arrive 

a few days after. The book café society which he bought in London lead him

to imagine Montmartre  ahead. 

 

According to the book of Café Society,

the Lapin café was an old Montmartre cottage

dating back to the sixteenth century. In previous lives it had reputedly been

a shooting box for Henry 1V. In the 1880 it was called 'les Assassins'.

The name Lapin Agile was apparently a corruption of a sign painted by Andre Agill,

a friend of Rimbaud and Verlaine , which had once hung outside the café-

'Le Lapin a' GIll'. Now in the 1910, it was a dark and rowdy café shared by artists and

petty criminals.

....... Many of the artists who went to the Lapin liked to think of themselves

as Bohemian..... on a typical night Utrillo , who looked like a failed and seedy

bank clerk , would sprawl across a table or lie in a corner while Piccaso

would hold court and listen to the minor poets of the Butte singing verses

by Ronsard or Villon./

 

             

 

*52-3page*

Monet(?) found the Café Guerbois far more stimulating. Manet moved there

from the de Bade some time after 1866. It was a little café in the Grande rue

des Batignolles ,later the Avenue de Clichy, quieter and closer to his home.

Monet ,Sisley , Pissaro, Cezanne would call in from the country .Manet

,Degas, and Renoir, who lived in Paris ,turned up more often, espeicaily

on Thursdays , the formal nights of rendezvous . So did Emile Zola, who

was almost their only supporter in the press , or there were more irregular

visitors like the young poet Stephane Mallarme'. (He said a painter Dega that

Poems are written with the words ,not with the ideas?) Sometimes Whistler

would arrive from London , explaining the café was a refuge from his

'fear of the twilight'.(? Osca Wild said that before Whistler painted The Thames

, there was no fog on the river.) 

.....They had come to the Café Guerbois because they were interested in the

technical language of painting , rather than in the political gestures of

Brasserie, and it was this political neutrality that helped them work together

without rancor. Their 'collective work' was to develop a new language

of painting , and not a new style of Bohemian life.

In this relation, being reminded a sentence, 'no man is an island'.  he said to himself

that the same can be said of Eduard Manet's famous famous painting ,

Lunchcheon on the grass. It seemed so revolutionary a work when first exhibited

almost a century ago that it caused a scandal ,in part because the artist had dared

to show an undressed young woman next to fashionably clothed men.

In real life such a party might indeed get raided by the police , and people 

assumed that Manet had intended to represent an actual event.

Not until many years later did an art historian discover the source of these

figures: a group of classical deities from an  engraving after Raphael.

The relationship ,so striking once it has been pointed out to us, had escaped

attention, for Manet did not copy or represent the Raphael composition-

he merely borrowed its main outlines while translating the figures into

modern terms. Had his contemporaries known of this, the Luncheon

would have seemed a rather less disreputable kind of outing to them,

since now the hallowed shade of Raphael could be seen to hover

nearby as a sort of chaperon.

..... For us, the main effect of comparison is to make the cool , formal

quality of Manet's figures even more conspicuous. But does it decrease

our respect for his originality? True, he is 'indebted' to Raphael. Yet

his way of bringing the forgotten old composition back to life is

in itself so original and creative that he may be said to have more than

repaid his debt. As a matter of fact, Raphael's figures are just as "derivative"

as Manet's; they stem from still older sources which lead us back to ancient

Roman art and beyond.

So it can be said that no work of art is an island. The sum total of these

chains makes a web in which every work of art occupies its own specific

place, and which we call tradition.. Without tradition,- the word means

"that which has been handed down"- no originality would be possible

;it provides, as it were, the firm platform from which the artist makes

his leap of the imagination.

Now the café Guerbois he hovered around as a backpacker reminded him

of the famous Manet's Luncheon on the grass.