"Peer at the pupil of a flame." - Hang Kang

 

Winter through a Mirror

          Hang Kang, translated by Sophie Bowman

 

1.

Peer at the pupil of a flame.

Bluish

heart

shaped eye

the hottest brightest thing

that which surrounds it

orange inner flame

the thing which flickers most

that which surrounds again

half-transparent outer flame

tomorrow morning, the morning I

depart for the furthest city

this morning

the bluish eye of a flame

peers beyond my eyes.

2.

Now my city is spring morning, if you pass through the core of the earth, bore straight through the middle without wavering, that city appears, the time difference there exactly twelve hours behind, the season exactly half a year behind so that city is now an autumn evening, as though silently following someone that city follows behind mine, to cross over the night to cross over winter I wait silently, while my city outruns that one like somebody silently overtaking

3.

Inside the mirror winter is waiting

A cold place

An utterly cold place

It’s too cold

objects cannot tremble

your (once frozen) face

cannot shatter

I don’t reach out my hand

you also

don’t want to reach out your hand

A cold place

A place that stays cold

It’s too cold

pupils cannot waver

eyelids

do not know how to close (together)

Inside the mirror

winter waits and

Inside the mirror

I cannot avoid your eyes and

You don’t want to reach out your hand

4.

They said we would fly for an entire day.

Tightly fold twenty-four hours pop it in your mouth and

go into the mirror they said.

Once I unpack in a room in that city

I should take time to wash my face.

If the suffering of this city silently overtakes

I will silently lag behind and

when you are not peering at it for a moment

lean against the frosty back of the mirror

and hum carelessly.

Until, having tightly folded twenty-four hours

and spat it out nudged with your hot tongue

you return and peer at me

5.

My eyes are two candle stubs sliding drips of wax as they consume the wick, it is not searing nor painful, they say that the quivering of the bluish flame core is the coming of souls, souls sit on my eyes and quiver, they hum, the outer flame swaying in the distance sways to get further off, tomorrow you leave for the furthest city, here I am ablaze, now you put your hands into the tomb of the void and wait, memory bites your fingers like a snake, you are not seared nor in pain, your unflinching face does not burn or shatter

for more pls visit:https://modernpoetryintranslation.com/poem/two-poems-by-han-kang/