Emerging poet, Kang Hye-bin (1993-), writes emotively about the pain that precedes and follows 'coming out' by taking a rotten tomato as a metaphor for the secret of her sexual orientation.
In honor of National Coming Out Day, I thought it would be fitting to post my translation of Kang Hye-bin's appropriately-titled 'Coming Out' found in her recently-published debut poetry collection, Night's Palette (2020).
In this work, Kang poignantly expresses the anxiety, pain, and confusion that accompany a person before and after they 'come out' as LGBTQ+. She compares the secret of her sexual orientation to a rotten tomato that she is constantly striving to hide behind feigned positivity and a seemingly calm demeanor. However, under the surface, she expresses feelings numbness and pain that I imagine only members of the LGBTQ community can relate to.
In South Korea, the arena of LGBTQ+ rights is still a raging battleground, as its conservative, Confucian-based culture grapples between upholding tradition and accepting the LGBTQ+ community. However, progress is being made in the realm of the arts and popular culture. For example, the country's first transgender character appeared in the immensely popular drama, Itaewon Class (이태원 크레스) earlier this year, and I was able to pick up this volume of poetry written by a lesbian poet from the 'bestseller' table of a mainstream South Korean bookstore. (But there's also still lots more work to be done!!)
Some of the language and metaphor in this poem are quite multi-faceted, and very difficult for even the sharpest linguist to understand.* Plus, this may be the first English translation of the work, so bear with me if it's a little rough and bumpy at parts. Please feel free to write me with comments, impressions, interpretations, and suggestions for improvement.
Coming Out:
I’ve got a soggy secret;
this tomato, already rotten before its expiration date, must go unnoticed
so I place my mushy facial expression in the fridge,
before I double-check the front door,
and go out to meet tomorrow where I’ve yet to feel pain.
When the drunken wind pompously whirls through the alleyways,
I want to become like a leaf that can crumble to pieces anywhere
as we embrace, our wavering shadows
sink to an even lower place.
On a playground no one knows about, I stripped off my skirt and played on the swings.
The faces of the slide and seesaw
[seemed to say]: ‘let’s keep our hearts neither high nor low
once the word “alone” becomes unfamiliar.’
Freeze tag.
Red, orange, yellow, green: children who smell of crayon wax
flit about radiating laughter.
An intangible mass grows in the pit of my stomach.
Who could it be that is making me hunch over?
I suppose I must go to the joyless hospital.
Or perhaps, I’ll pray in the abandoned church?
Or if they won’t take me, shall I spend the night at an inn?
Or will I get dirtier and dirtier in its corridors full of windows?
They don’t teach you how to properly store tomatoes on the news.
I want to soak myself in sugar so I can ferment.
I’ve developed a slight cough.
Can you tell me your blood type before you use my cup?**
My rainbow-colored secret trickles out of the closet
and rolls down between my undergrown ankle and the speechless carpet,
willingly, toward that impossible tomato.
Original Text (원문):
축축한 비밀 잘 데리고 있거든
일찌감치 날짜가 지난 토마토 들키지 않고
물컹한 표정은 냉장고에 두고
나는 현관문을 확인해야 해
아픈 적 없는 내일을 마중 나가며
취한 바람이 호기롭게 골목을 휘돌아 나갈 때
나뭇잎이 되고 싶어 아무 데서나 바스러지는
우리가 서로를 껴안을 때 흔들리는 그늘
더 낮은 곳으로 자리를 옮겨 가는데
아무도 모르는 놀이터에서 치마를 까고 그네를 탔어
미끄럼틀과 시소의 표정
낮지도 높지도 않은 마음을 가지자
혼자라는 단어가 낮설어지면
얼음 땡,
크레파스 냄새 나는 빨주노초 아이들
웃음먼지를 풍기며 뛰어나가고
배 속에선 만질 수 없는 부피들이 자란다
누가 우리를 웅크리게 하는 걸까
웃지 않는 병원에 가야겠어
문 닫은 교회에서 기도를 하거나
그것도 아니면 여관에 하루 정도 재울까
창문이 많은 복도에서 자꾸만 더러워질까
뉴스는 토마토의 보관법을 알려주지 않는다
설탕에 푹 절여지고 싶어
사소한 기침이 시작된다
내 컵을 쓰기 전에 혈액형을 알려줄래?
옷장에서 알록달록한 비밀이 흘러나와
자라지 않는 발목 아래로, 말을 잊은 양탄자 사이로
기꺼이 불가능한 토마토에게로
About the poet:
Kang has been actively writing poetry since 2016, when she was awarded 'Literary Society Rookie of the Year.' Her work deals with color, and particularly rainbow colors, because of her sexual identity. She is both a photographer and a poet. Follow her on instagram at @paranpeng and @paranpee.
Notes:
*I can't post this without giving special thanks to my friend, Derek, who helped me get this translation to where it is now.
**Before doing something dangerous, Koreans sometimes say, 'you'd better tell me your blood type!' as a joke. For example, 'before you get on that roller coaster, you'd better tell me your blood type!' It is my personal impression that, here, Kang is alluding to herself as 'dangerous' or threatening' because of her sexual orientation. Oftentimes, people incorrectly assume that members of the LGBTQ community are dirty, diseased, or impure because of inaccurate stereotypes and biases. I've also heard people tell offensive jokes like, "you'd better not hang around so many lesbians or you'll become one!" Perhaps, Kang's "minor cough" in the previous line is a metaphor for her sexuality, which many view as a dangerously infectious disease that could be passed on from sharing.
References and Further Reading:
강혜빈, 밤의 팔레트, 서울: 문학과지성사, 2020.
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