Relativity

Like grapes held in a glass,

a face

easy to take out.

Like grapes reflected in a glass,

a face

impossible to take out.

Like sunrise in the morning

and sunset in the evening,

a face

with a different mood.

Who raised so many versions of me?

Though I fall in love with countless selves,

though I part from countless selves,

a face

of the same temperature.

Like the seeds I spit out

and the fruit I swallow,

a face

governed by the same law.

Like morning when a bird sings

and evening when it returns,

a face

at the same coordinates.

Was it you,

keeper of the vineyard,

who raised them?

Faces

in the small palm of my hand,

met yesterday,

parting today.

​

A Note on Tuché*

        by Young-eun Kang

With a banana in my mouth,

I climb the stairs.

Climbing stairs is good for the body—

it straightens the back.

I lick with my tongue

a thought that has swum its way here,

and into my mouth disappears—

ah, banana.

Chewing a banana

without tension or rapture,

I arrive at the banana.

As though parting from something like sorrow,

the banana lets itself be chewed.

Thinking of the arrogance of a fruit

with neither juice nor seeds,

I arrive at the loneliness

of one that has wandered far from its kind—

like a newly born grave.

Ah, banana.

Like a philosopher,

the banana peel, having parted

from days of ravenous appetite,

is good for the teeth.

It polishes white

the stains upon them.

The banana says nothing

of what remains after death.

I climb the stairs

where only the peel remains.

There it was, by chance,

lying on the table—

ah, banana.

* Tuché: chance as an encounter with the Real.

Author Bio – Young-eun Kang

Young-eun Kang is a Korean poet born in Jeju. She made her literary debut in 2000 and holds an M.A. in Literature from Dongguk University. She has published nine poetry collections and serves on the Board of the Korean Poets Association. Her work has received literary awards and international recognition.