The ShinsungHwa of Poet Yun Dong-ju (2019)
A Brife Explanation of Yun Dong-ju’s ShinsungHwa
Energy streams rising from his head have formed a distinctive pattern within the spiritual realm. His artistic gift merges seamlessly into this very formation. The rectangular energy field beneath his feet—could this represent the burden of his times?
“Wishing not to have so much as a speck of shame toward heaven until the day I die.”
— from “Foreword (서시)”
A Voice Born in Exile
Yun Dong-ju’s story begins far from the heart of Korea, in Mingdong Village, Jilin Province, China—a haven for Korean expatriates during the harsh years of Japanese colonial rule. Born in 1917, Yun grew up surrounded by the echoes of a homeland under siege, his childhood shaped by both Korean and Chinese influences. Even as a boy, he was known for his gentle spirit and keen sense of justice, traits that would later define his poetry and his legacy.
From an early age, Yun was drawn to words. He attended local schools in Longjing before moving to Pyongyang to study at Soongsil Middle School, a Presbyterian mission institution. The school’s closure by Japanese authorities forced his return to China, but Yun’s passion for literature only deepened. By seventeen, he had already published his first poems, marking the start of a brief but luminous literary career.
“With my heart singing to the stars, I shall love all things that are dying. And I must walk the road that has been given to me.”
— from “Foreword (서시)”
Finding His Path in a World of Shadows
As Yun matured, so did his poetry. In 1938, he entered Yonhi College (now Yonsei University) in Seoul, immersing himself in a vibrant intellectual community. Here, he found lifelong friends and mentors, and his writing flourished. He often stayed in humble boarding houses, penning verses late into the night. His poems from this period—such as “A Night of Counting the Stars” and “Self-Portrait”—reflect a young man wrestling with questions of identity, conscience, and hope in a time of oppression.
Yun’s work is marked by a quiet defiance. He refused to abandon his native tongue, composing poetry in Korean even as colonial authorities tried to erase the language. His words became a form of resistance, a way to preserve the soul of a nation under threat. Before leaving for further studies in Japan, Yun painstakingly hand-copied a collection of his poems, entrusting them to close friends—a testament to both his humility and his unwavering commitment to his art.
“Life is meant to be difficult: it is too bad that a poem comes so easily to me.”
— from “A Poem Written Easily (쉽게 씌어진 시)”
A Gentle Rebel in the Age of Empire
In 1942, Yun traveled to Japan to continue his education, enrolling first at Rikkyo University and later transferring to Doshisha University in Kyoto. The move was fraught with risk. Like many Korean students in Japan, Yun faced suspicion and discrimination. He adopted the Japanese name Hiranuma (平沼, “Peaceful Marsh”) as required by colonial policy, a symbolic erasure of his identity that he quietly resisted through his writing.
Yun’s time in Japan was marked by growing involvement in the Korean independence movement. His poetry, always introspective and lyrical, took on new urgency. He wrote of longing, loss, and the unyielding desire to live with integrity—“without a single bit of shame toward heaven,” as he famously put it in his poem “Prelude” (서시, 序詩). For Yun, the sky (하늘, 天, “heaven”) became a symbol of moral clarity, while the wind (바람, 風, “wind”) represented the hardships he faced. These images, drawn from the natural world, gave his poetry a universal resonance.
“Memory in one star, love in another, loneliness, longing, and poetry in each, and Mother in another, Mother.”
— from “Counting the Stars at Night (별 헤는 밤)”
Imprisonment and the Enduring Light of His Words
In 1943, Yun was arrested by Japanese police on charges of participating in anti-colonial activities. He was imprisoned in Fukuoka, where he died in 1945 at just 27 years old. The exact circumstances of his death remain uncertain, clouded by accounts of medical experimentation and mistreatment. Yet even in confinement, Yun continued to write, leaving behind more than one hundred poems—each a testament to his unbreakable spirit.
After his death, Yun’s poetry was published posthumously in the collection The Sky, the Wind, the Stars, and the Poem (하늘과 바람과 별과 시). The book became a touchstone for generations of Koreans, its quiet dignity and moral clarity offering solace and inspiration during difficult times. In recognition of his contributions to the independence movement, Yun was posthumously awarded the Order of Merit for National Foundation by the South Korean government.
The Eternal Young Poet
Today, Yun Dong-ju is remembered as Korea’s most beloved poet—a symbol of youthful idealism and gentle resistance. His verses, simple yet profound, continue to resonate with readers of all ages. Walking the paths he once traveled, from the hills of Seoul to the quiet streets of Kyoto, one can almost hear the echo of his voice, urging us to live honestly, to love deeply, and to never lose sight of the stars.
