VOL.93/2026.04

 

Poet Na Tae-Joo

Poetry, a language of longing shaped by what is missing

 

2025.12.01

 

Poetry is the most distilled form of language - words that can express the heart with absolute clarity. How romantic is someone who knows a poem by heart? And, what if so many people know the very same poem? If we were to choose the single poem most widely known among Koreans, it would likely be Na Tae-Joo’s Wildflower. Ever since it appeared on the well-known message board on the exterior of the Kyobo Life building in Gwanghwamun, it has become a nationally beloved poem - yet it continues to linger deeply and resonate with quiet force. The following is an interview with poet Na Tae-Joo, who has engraved poetry in the hearts of the Korean people for more than 55 years.

 

 

It’s an honor to have you with us on K-Book Trends. Please say hello to our readers along with a brief introduction of yourself.

 

It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Na Tae-Joo, a poet living in Gongju, Chungcheongnam-do, writing poems in Korean. I made my literary debut in 1971 through the Shinchunmunye (신춘문예; annual spring literary contest) hosted by the Seoul Shinmun, and this year marks my 55th year of publishing poetry. Over the years, I have released many collections - 53 volumes of original poetry collections, as well as one children’s poetry collection and one sijo (Korea’s traditional three-line poetic form) poetry collection. I worked as an elementary school teacher for 43 years, and since retiring in 2007, I have been a full-time poet, giving literary lectures across Korea.

 

 

Before becoming a poet, you worked for many years as a teacher. We wonder what “Teacher Na Tae-Joo” was like. Did your experience as an educator become a source of inspiration or material for your writing?

 

I lived as an elementary school teacher for 43 years. Thanks to that, I learned to view the world with innocence and to observe the essence of things. I also learned to write by borrowing the language and tone of elementary school children. That naturally became my later method of writing poetry, and I believe it is one of the reasons my work has resonated with readers. I also think that my ability to find poetic subjects in everyday surroundings and small, ordinary things was cultivated through my years as an elementary school teacher.

 

You made your debut in 1971 in Seoul Shinmun’s Shinchunmunye with the poem, Under the Bamboo Forest. Since then, for more than 44 years, you have been actively writing - not only poetry collections, but also essays and picture book texts. What is it that keeps you writing poems?

 

There were many things I lacked. I was a man writing poetry with a small build, little formal education, and a life rooted in the countryside. And financially, I was generally quite poor. These deficiencies - this sense of being a minority - stirred a kind of longing within me. Yes, longing. Longing has always been the most troublesome emotion for me, one that brought many challenges, and one of the lifelong questions I could never fully resolve. And, as I lived with this longing in my heart, poems naturally came to me - many of them. That’s right. It was something like a blessing born of deprivation.

 

 

My sense of deprivation stirred a deep longing,
and as I carried that longing in my heart,
poems found their way to me, one after another.

 

 

Poem Wildflower, included in Taking on a Slight Purple Hue (Poetry & Poetics), is a beloved poem nationwide. Despite its brevity, Wildflower has offered quiet, lasting comfort to countless readers. How was this poem born?

 

It was in 2002, as I recall. At the time, I was working as the principal of Sangseo Elementary School in Gongju-si, while also teaching classes. I remember it being a Thursday afternoon. I spent the time in the principal’s office with students from grades three to six, reading books, writing, and singing together. When the children began to grow restless, I suggested we step outside. We went out to the grassy field on the school grounds and held a “wildflower drawing” class. But, the children drew the flowers however they wished. None of their drawings resembled actual wildflowers. So, I found myself scolding them gently, saying the same thing several times: “Kids, if you want to draw a wildflower, you have to look at it closely, and for a long time. Only then will it appear beautiful and lovable to you.” After saying this, I handed out new sheets of paper to the students who had drawn theirs incorrectly and told them to try again. And, they obediently took the paper and went back to draw once more. Their willingness was endearing - so lovely, in fact, that I couldn’t help but call out to them as they walked away: “That’s right. And the same goes for all of you.”
When the wildflower drawing class ended and I returned to the principal’s office, I wrote down those very words I had just spoken, added a title - Wildflower - and the poem was complete. In a way, the children wrote that poem for me. It was truly a work born from my long years as an elementary school teacher and from the closeness I shared with my students. I am grateful for it.

 

Wildflower 1

Look closely.
It’s so pretty.

Take a long look.
It’s so lovely.

Like you.

Source: I Love You, I Have Loved

 

Not only Wildflower, but many of your works also feature images of grass and flowers. Is there a particular reason for this?

 

Perhaps it is because I have lived my entire life without leaving the countryside. When you live in a rural place, you encounter plants often and become familiar with them. And, the most beautiful and lovable part of any plant is, of course, its flower. Flowers are also used as symbols representing what is most beautiful and noble. That may be why the word “flower” appears so frequently in my poems.

 

In May, your collection, I Love You, I Have Loved (Parang), featuring 126 of your representative poems in English translation, was published. Looking back on so many works, it must have felt quite meaningful. How did you choose which poems would represent your body of work?

 

Ah, you must be referring to the collection translated by Brother Anthony of Taiz?. Actually, I selected a very large number of poems and handed them all to him. I wanted to give him a wide range of choices. From there, he read through them in order and chose the pieces that spoke to him, and translated those works. So, the final selection of poems was not made by me, but by Brother Anthony. And in my view, that was entirely appropriate, and the right choice.

 

 

You are also well known for your love of Hangul (Korean alphabet), not only for your use of pure Korean words, but also for releasing the “Na Tae-Joo font,” a Hangul typeface, free of charge. Korean literature, especially poetry, often loses much of its charm due to the limitations of translation, which is truly unfortunate. How did it feel to read your own works in English through I Love You, I Have Loved, which we mentioned earlier?

 

I must admit that my ability to read English is quite poor. Even so, when I slowly made my way through Brother Anthony’s translations, the meaning came through very strongly. In some cases, the feeling was even more powerful than when I read the poem in Korean. That is how perfectly the translation had been done. In that respect, I am deeply satisfied with Brother Anthony’s works. People often say that my poems are short, simple, easy to read, and, in certain lines, have a clear impact. I believe those qualities also played a role in making the translation process smoother.
But, I have another wish. Hangul is known around the world as a scientific script that is easy to learn. If young readers across the globe would learn Hangul and read my poems in the original Korean, that would be, if not a dream, then certainly a heartfelt wish of mine.

 

 

You are currently continuing your creative work at the Na Tae-Joo Pulkkot Literary House (나태주풀꽃문학관). Could you tell us more about this place?

 

The Na Tae-Joo Pulkkot Literary House originally opened in 2014, when the city of Gongju purchased a Japanese-style house built during the colonial era located at the foot of Bonghwang Mountain in the old downtown area, and named it Gongju Pulkkot Literary House (공주풀꽃문학관). For the next ten years, it served as a model example for Gongju’s urban regeneration project in the old city center. In recognition of this, the city decided it was appropriate to pursue the construction of a new literary house. A proposal was submitted to the central government, and the site was officially selected for the literary museum project.
With funding from Chungcheongnam-do supplemented by contributions from Gongju-si, amounting to approximately KRW 8 billion - a new 300-pyeong (roughly 1,000 square meters) building for the literary house was built, opening on July 29, 2025. Whereas most literary museums are organized in the form of memorial halls and exhibition centers, our literary house aims to move away from that model. Instead, we envisioned it as a space for experience, rest, and learning, and we worked to structure the interior facilities accordingly.

 

 

In 2023, you published I Wanted to See You Longer (Doublebook Publishing), the first “comic poetry collection” in Korea. Since then, you have released two more, Loving the Star (Doublebook Publishing) and Welcome, Happiness (Doublebook Publishing). You seem open to new concepts and challenges to introduce readers to the charm of poetry. Do you have any new projects coming up?

 

The comic poetry collection was born of a suggestion from students during a lecture I gave at a middle school. They pointed out that while novels and history books were often adapted into comic-book form for easier reading, poetry collections never were, and complained about it. Hearing that, I thought, “They are right. I should publish a comic poetry book.” So, I proposed the idea to my publisher, and Korea’s first comic poetry collection was born. Since then, I have released various types of poetry collections, including an “AI appreciation-based poetry collection,” a “puzzle-based poetry collection,” and a “scent-based poetry collection.” I am currently preparing new projects as well, such as a “Na Tae-Joo Poetry Songbook” and a “Na Tae-Joo Poetry Pop-Up Book,” which I have proposed to my publisher.

 

 

Your poems offer comfort, encouragement, and gentle cheer drawn from small moments in everyday life and from nature. That may be why so many readers love your works. What is the secret to sustaining such a warm heart toward others? And, why do you think we should read poetry?

 

To put it simply, I think it comes with age. In youth, people are inclined to be self-centered and individualistic -that is, after all, part of the nature of being alive. But as one grows older and lives through the years, one needs to move beyond a life that loves and cares only for oneself, and instead begin to live with consideration for others, to see things objectively, and to make room for others’ lives. When writing poetry, I believe an old poet must not fill poems only with his own grievances, confessions, or lamentations. He should also take in those of others and translate them into his own language. When that happens, a virtuous cycle occurs within the poem. What belongs to the poet becomes the reader’s, and what belongs to the reader becomes the poet’s - an astonishing exchange. A poet must lower himself before poetry and before its readers. He must consider the reader’s position fully and sincerely. Only then can he reach a state where the universe and the self become one (宇我一體), where the self and the other become one (彼我一體). In other words, a poet needs the ability to take the reader’s anguish, sorrow, weariness, depression, and anxiety and make them his own.
The reason why humans should read poetry is simple: we need to receive strength for our lives and to gain something meaningful for our own existence. Human beings are emotional creatures before they are rational ones. It is only natural, then, that we should read poetry, which speaks directly to emotion. It is, in the end, “reading poetry to survive.” And so poets, too, must write poems that help today’s readers endure and live on. Otherwise, readers will never stay close to poetry. I ask this of my own poems: “Oh poem that once kept me alive - go far, far into the world, and save even those readers I have never met.”

 

 

---