Ieodo

They say the sea knows everything
They say it simply does not tell
But today
I will tell

I stayed on the island. I did not go to the mainland.
They went north and I went down
I take the float in my arms and enter the water again
Today I am not going for abalone
Today I am going to call

Ieodo sana
Ieodo sana
The island you go to and do not return from
Ieodo sana
Those who left their names behind
Ieodo sana
They are here, they are here
I have learned them all by heart

There were twelve people in that split hull
Somebody's son, somebody's husband
The government's documents had no names
But their mothers knew every one
The old fisherman's elder son — that name
I brought it up with me from under the water
His father went north
He went to call his son's name

Ieodo sana
Ieodo sana
The island you go to and do not return from
Ieodo sana
Those who left their names behind
Ieodo sana
They are here, they are here
I have learned them all by heart

The man who set down his brush and went to the execution ground
The man who threw away his mask and walked the roads
The woman who took up a torch and came down from the mountain
The child who found the writing beneath the floorboards
I never saw them
But their story came as far as this island
The sea is wide, but words still cross it
As there was a seed beneath the ash
There were names beneath the water

Ieodo sana, ieodo sana
The island you go to and do not return from
Ieodo sana, ieodo sana
Those who left their names behind
Though the brush breaks, the ink does not dry
Fire burns, but salt preserves
They are here, they are here
I have learned them all by heart

On clear nights
The northern horizon is red
Beacon or sunset, I do not know
Whether they arrived, I do not know
The sea does not tell
I will wait here