Flocks of white seagulls are flying freely
amidst the forest of towering masts.
At the quayside pile upon pile of whiting
have set the harbor women dancing for joy.
With her gum boots turned down halfway,
Deoksam’s mum whirls her burly arms
reckoning she’s as good as her husband . . .

Then someone cries: “Hey, girls!
What would we do without husbands?”
Clamorous laughter runs round the quay;
how right that expression is, in a place like this.

Eagerly gulping down fresh fish soup,
sisters, mothers, neighborhood women,
hard-working, healthy, fearless,
women from the northern region are working.

Don’t scold, saying they talk roughly . . .
drummed into our ears ever since we were kids,
I too can’t easily lose my native dialect . . .

Ah! Bearing mountain-like loads of those women’s joy.
boats go out and boats return.
What kind of harbor would it be if there were no women!
What kind of home would it be with no local dialect!