Poet Shin Dal-ja recalls hard work of her hands

“I always felt a sense of shame regarding my hand — a hand marred by dark spots and swollen with knuckles hardened by time. It was a stark representation of my enduring feelings of inferiority, shaped by a life devoted to caring for my husband, who fell into incompetence at a young age,” shared poet Shin Dal-ja, her fingers gently caressing the joints of her other hand.

Contrary to her description of her hands as “ugly,” when Ms. Shin observed the joints that had thickened over the years, her expression‎ was gentleness and kindness. After a lifetime marked by the sudden onslaught of challenges, the seasoned poet had finally sought forgiveness for the hand that had not only sustained her but also birthed her poems.

Your reporter met Ms. Shin, who recently released a collection of meditations titled “Crazy, Wailing, and Enduring” and a collection of poems named “The Temple on the Stree.” Reflecting on her past, the poet likened life to a relentless ascent up a flight of stairs. “I had to tread over every agony and adversity life hurled at me; there was no way to sidestep or leap over the hardships,” Shin said.

Ms. Shin became a breadwinner for her family when her husband suffered a stroke in 1977. Her husband endured 52 hospitalizations until his passing in 2000. “My husband, three daughters, mother-in-law, and my father all depended on me. I searched for support but found only myself. Overwhelmed by the burden of existence, I contemplated giving up on life,” she recalled. Her poem “About Aging” captures this sentiment: “In my ripe thirties / the pain of ripping fresh skin / caused me to yearn to grow old, white like magic.”

However, it was her mother’s parting words that saved Shin. In 1978, on the brink of death, Shin’s mother summoned her to the intensive care unit where she was caring for her ailing husband and spoke her final words: “You will make it.”

“Whenever I contemplated relinquishing my climb up the staircase of life, my mother’s voice from the distant afterlife pulled me back to the land of the living,” Shin explained. The poet raised three daughters, tended to her ailing husband, cared for her own father, and achieved a doctoral degree in Korean literature at Sookmyung Women’s University in 1992. When she secured a position as a professor of Korean literature at Pyungtaek University, Shin dedicated her “professor’s certificate” to her mother’s grave.

“Now, I understand that I was never alone in my life’s journey. I am grateful for those who offered me a hand each time I stumbled. Even though I find myself easily winded after undergoing surgery to remove a solitary pulmonary nodule, I still aspire to ascend the staircase of life, wearing a childlike smile,” Shin concluded.


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