'At the Moment When Passing a Rotary

In the burnt street,
Where passengers are almost scarce,
The north wind unknown mixed with snow-falls
Whizzled at intervals challenging,
The electric wires towards the square
Cry with ping.
   When I walk alone in such night-street of winter,
   I used to think subconsciously of the country lane
   of my childhood.

Under the glassy sky of the night
The cross is just vacant without passengers.
Some drunkers seemed to pass by
The building street so dimly laid,
Or as if picking a quarrel at once
Images are taking lonely their returning ways,
The night-streets of the world,
Thus becoming dark,
Casually they pass by all of a sudden.

The night is over, and the dawn breaks--
But while walking reluctantly,
Even at the moment when passing round a crowded rotary
There one may feel some expectation,
Perhaps, a small planet may linger
Around the wild gaze of a whore--'

Sang-ro Yi, in: A Pageant of Korean Poetry

   "Caravan to Timbuctoo"

Not terraces that snow embraces, jade;
Tarmac labyrinth in which we prosper
Or perish, with the car-flown flags that fade--
Modemtweet a cacophony of Hesper.
Why perish wisdoms more than modemtweet?
Shiloh i owe a depth of ullage to
Compels with blood & eke a furry whisper
But tarmac grips the very route-permute.
Now sometimes i have glimpse of another plea
Nestled in the solar setting-flash
That i might gladly lend obeisance-leash
If only there were other lord than jade

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