韩江（한강） ，1970年11月27日出生于韩国光州，毕业于延世大学韩语文学系，韩国作家，诺贝尔文学奖获得者。2013年起，韩江的作品陆续被译介到中国，包括《玄鹿》《素食者》《白》《植物妻子》《少年来了》等。2015年，《素食者》首次被译介到英国。 之后，逐渐成长为当代韩国文坛最具国际影响力的作家之一。
黑色的光之屋
那天在牛耳洞
雨雪落下
和我的身体，我灵魂的伴侣
随着每一滴眼泪而都抖动。
快走吧。
你在犹豫什么？
你在做什么梦，它在空中停悬？
两层楼的房子像花一样亮，
在他们之下，我学会了痛苦
奔向一片尚未触及过的欢乐之地
愚蠢地伸出一只手。
快走吧。
你在做什么梦？继续向前。
我向街灯上形成的记忆走去，
在那里，我抬头看见了灯罩的内部
一座黑色的房子。漆黑的
光之屋
天空是黑的，在黑暗中
留鸟
摆脱了身体的重量飞起来。
我要死多少次才能像那样飞？
没有人能握住我的手。
什么梦如此可爱？
又是什么记忆 如此耀眼？
雨雪，像母亲的指尖，
梳理我蓬乱的眉毛
拍打冰冷的脸颊，
再一次地
抚摸相同的地方，
赶快上路吧。
Pitch-Black House of Light
That day in Ui-dong
sleet fell
and my body, companion to my soul
shivered with each falling tear.
Get on your way.
Are you hesitating?
What are you dreaming, hovering like that?
Two-storey houses lit like flowers,
beneath them I learned agony
and towards a land of joy as yet untouched
foolishly reached out a hand.
Get on your way.
What are you dreaming? Keep walking.
Towards memories forming on a streetlamp, I walked.
There I looked up and inside the lightshade
was a pitch-black house. Pitch-black
house of light
The sky was dark and in that darkness
resident birds
flew up casting off the weight of their bodies.
How many times would I have to die to fly like that?
Nobody could hold my hand.
What dream is so lovely?
What memory
shines so brightly?
Sleet, like the tips of mother’s fingers,
raking through my dishevelled eyebrows
striking frozen cheeks and again
stroking that same spot,
Hurry up and get on your way.
镜中的冬天
1.
凝视火焰的瞳孔。
蓝色的
心
成型的眼睛
它周围最热最亮的东西
橙色内火中
最闪烁而又环绕的东西
半透明的外焰
明天早上，我
出发去最遥远的城市
今天早上
火焰的蓝色瞳仁
凝视住我的眼睛。
2.
现在我的城市是春天，早晨，如果你穿过地心，毫不动摇地穿过地心，那个城市就出现了，那里的时差正好落后十二个小时，季节正好落后半年，所以那个城市现在是秋天的傍晚，好像默默地跟着一个人那个跟着我的城市，从黑夜穿过冬天，我默默地等待，而我的城市就像超过了一个正在安静超越的人
3.
镜子里的冬天正在等待
一个寒冷的地方
非常寒冷的地方
由于太冷了
物体不能颤抖
你（曾经冻住的）脸
不能打破
我无法伸出我的手
你也
不想伸出你的手
一个寒冷的地方
保持寒冷的地方
太冷了
瞳孔不能滑动
眼皮
不知道如何关闭（在一起）
镜子里面
冬天，镜子里面
等待着
我无法回避的你的目光和
你不想伸出你的手
4.
他们说我们要飞一整天。
紧紧折叠24的个小时，放进嘴里，然后
他们说到镜子里去
一旦我在城市的一个房间中打开行李
我应该花点时间洗脸。
如果这个城市的痛苦无声地向前
我会安静的落后，并
当你不盯着它看的时候
靠在镜子结霜的背面
漫不经心地哼出声。
直到，紧紧地折叠了24个小时
然后吐出来，用你发烫的舌头轻轻推它
你回头看我
5.
我的眼睛是两根蜡烛头消耗灯芯时滴下的蜡，他们说，颤抖着蓝色火焰的核心是未来的灵魂，灵魂坐在我的眼睛，战栗，哼，外面的火焰在远处摇摆着，向更远的地方摇摆，明天你去最偏僻的城市，现在，我在这里燃烧,你把你的手放到空白的坟墓上，等待，记忆咬合你的手指像一条蛇，你不灼热也不痛苦，你那无畏的脸不会被燃火或破碎
Winter through a Mirror
1.
Peer at the pupil of a flame.
Bluish
heart
shaped eye
the hottest brightest thing
that which surrounds it
orange inner flame
the thing which flickers most
that which surrounds again
half-transparent outer flame
tomorrow morning, the morning I
depart for the furthest city
this morning
the bluish eye of a flame
peers beyond my eyes.
2.
Now my city is spring morning, if you pass through the core of the earth, bore straight through the middle without wavering, that city appears, the time difference there exactly twelve hours behind, the season exactly half a year behind so that city is now an autumn evening, as though silently following someone that city follows behind mine, to cross over the night to cross over winter I wait silently, while my city outruns that one like somebody silently overtaking
3.
Inside the mirror winter is waiting
A cold place
An utterly cold place
It’s too cold
objects cannot tremble
your (once frozen) face
cannot shatter
I don’t reach out my hand
you also
don’t want to reach out your hand
A cold place
A place that stays cold
It’s too cold
pupils cannot waver
eyelids
do not know how to close (together)
Inside the mirror
winter waits and
Inside the mirror
I cannot avoid your eyes and
You don’t want to reach out your hand
4.
They said we would fly for an entire day.
Tightly fold twenty-four hours pop it in your mouth and
go into the mirror they said.
Once I unpack in a room in that city
I should take time to wash my face.
If the suffering of this city silently overtakes
I will silently lag behind and
when you are not peering at it for a moment
lean against the frosty back of the mirror
and hum carelessly.
Until, having tightly folded twenty-four hours
and spat it out nudged with your hot tongue
you return and peer at me
5.
My eyes are two candle stubs sliding drips of wax as they consume the wick, it is not searing nor painful, they say that the quivering of the bluish flame core is the coming of souls, souls sit on my eyes and quiver, they hum, the outer flame swaying in the distance sways to get further off, tomorrow you leave for the furthest city, here I am ablaze, now you put your hands into the tomb of the void and wait, memory bites your fingers like a snake, you are not seared nor in pain, your unflinching face does not burn or shatter
