Join the conversation
Subscribe to Our Emails
Boston Review is a public space for the discussion of ideas and culture. Sign up for our newsletters and don’t miss a thing.
Apr 7, 2014
Read translator Jake Levine's interview with Kim Kyung Ju.
Below freezing my beautiful sugar is melting. Ugh. Like bacteria, floating snowflakes. People come out on the streets and are hit by snow like “D”. They say if lots of snow falls on the body, the body melts. With soft feet we climb to the roof and text. I miss you. Below freezing tonight, they say they will give us a blanket because it is cold. My beautiful sugar is melting. I have to buy new bird feed. Tonight, below freezing, will the snow fall “Do Re Mi Fa Sol La” and sleep fly through the window? At dawn while watching falling snow through the dormitory window “Do Rae Mi Fa So La” like a charcoal brick, I took one shit. Ugh. My beautiful sugar is melting, but if the bird freezes to death I must sit on the chair with my eyes open all night. My brother who wrote beautiful poems put me up a barren tree. He told me they say if you are holding the bird that died with its eyes open, you must fly following the floating snow in the eyes of the dead bird. You must fly all night and that’s life. Brother, where are those sentences now? Dig a dog hole in the wall. Got to buy bird feed, but the plastic earrings I bought keep falling on the floor. My beautiful sugar is melting and the bugs that melted to death in the sugar bite their nests and fly away. Every time I carry down the off-white panties I hung on the roof, piece by piece against my chest, where does our sugar fly off to? My calves break like sugar cubes. My beautiful sugar is melting and red snow inside my head flies wildly. Gathering next to the wall, we pass around the frozen gum from our pockets. My beautiful sugar is melting and snowflake fins waft in the city. Below freezing, I want to live whispering at night and curl my eyelashes like a mannequin. Ugh. Dreams where I wear pajamas and am packing boxes are awful. My sugar is melting, but I am Spearmint. I am Juicy Fruit. Underneath my skirt, gym clothes. Underneath my skirt, gym clothes. Like lowering panties in a cramped bathroom, goodbyes are not as embarrassing as ideas. Ugh. My beautiful sugar is melting, but I am inside the snowman I made. Will you come and play at my grave? I will give you all the deer I carved from soap.
Does the existence of time have anything to do with God?—Levinas, “Le temps et l’autre”
...we need your help. Confronting the many challenges of COVID-19—from the medical to the economic, the social to the political—demands all the moral and deliberative clarity we can muster. In Thinking in a Pandemic, we’ve organized the latest arguments from doctors and epidemiologists, philosophers and economists, legal scholars and historians, activists and citizens, as they think not just through this moment but beyond it. While much remains uncertain, Boston Review’s responsibility to public reason is sure. That’s why you’ll never see a paywall or ads. It also means that we rely on you, our readers, for support. If you like what you read here, pledge your contribution to keep it free for everyone by making a tax-deductible donation.
April 07, 2014
Vital reading on politics, literature, and more in your inbox
Printing Note: For best printing results try turning on any options your web browser's print dialog makes available for printing backgrounds and background graphics.