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y U N d O N G - J U ( 1 9 1 7 1 9 4 5 ) Three Poems confession Is it because my face is a remnant of some dynasty that it remains in a green-tarnished copper mirror as such a disgrace? Let me reduce my confession to one line: --With what hope have I lived for twenty-four years and one month? Tomorrow or the next day, or on some happy day I shall have to write another one-line question: --Why did I make such an embarrassing admission then, at such a young age? Every night, let me polish my mirror with the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet. Then the back of a sad person walking alone under some meteor appears in the mirror. a poem easily written Outside the window the night rain whispers; this six-tatami room is a foreign land. I know being a poet is a sad fate, still, shall I write a line of poetry? Receiving the money sent from home, smelling of sweat and love, I got to hear the lecture of an aged professor with a university notebook under my arm. When
Manoa – University of Hawai'I Press
Published: Jan 21, 2015
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