curves of incense

Threads of incense drift upwards
unending in my silent room—
a smoky portent, like cracks on a tortoise shell—
nine perfumed plumes twist.

An old mirror hides light with darkness—
embers flare within sullen ash.
The many folds of my silk curtain part—
what is most precious faces the wind.


Hyesim
tr. Ian Haight & T'ae-Yong Ho

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green jade chimes by the window

I hung green jade chimes by the window,
with a screen of peacock feathers beneath.
Whenever the wind blows they flutter,
and beguile me with their tinkling sound.
In the nights it penetrates my sleep,
like the sound of distant temple bells.



anonymous, Korean sijo
tr. by Richard Rutt


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