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Three Poems by Beth Eunhee Hong: bruises, new speech, quiet sunshine.
The three poems that follow—bruises, saemal, and quiet sunshine—are written as a conversation with what resists easy language. They move through questions of identity, memory, and the quieter afterlives of trauma: how harm imprints itself in the body and how to translate the seemingly untranslatable.
Selected Poems By Kim Hak Jung Translated by Eugene Kim A mural 1 Nobody believed the wall existed until the blind man fell against it. They noticed it was there only when he scattered himself to paint a mural 2 The mural was beautiful. The rough stroke looked like the man had weaved the inside
Six Poems from Because in Unni’s World No One Withers By Kim Hee JoonTranslated by Archarna Madhavan and Jae Hyung Woo Dear Unni The yuchae flowers looked ready to bloom The April breeze was aquamarine Had you been using your fingers to write letters in the dirt You said you were drawing the bones of
Five Poems from I’m Only Alive When I’m Anxious By Ahn Joo CheolTranslated by Beth Hong A Child Holding a Child I’ve eaten at Paengmok Port I’ve eaten at Mokpo New Port Did I eat with a living person or with a dead person? Did I eat with a child? Or did their parents eat?
Five Poems from Nothing Will Change Although I Cry By Park Joon Translated by Beth Hong Some Words Don’t Die When I have a conversation with someone, I have a habit of trying hard to remember at least one sentence. “Bring some hot water” is the last thing I remember my maternal grandfather telling me.
“Sad Gay” and Four Poems By Che Ho-ki Translated by Jae Hyung Woo Your Death Was I Scooping out my two eyes I bury you there. My remaining life, blinded, flies crookedly Where does it fall? If there still are days to cast a glance here It would be for nobody’s eyelashes but for you