We are parasitized in the memories of people who are incorrupt

"Yellow Season"

in those — books about concentration camps

Better pray that all stories develop linearly

Because we've been told the end in advance

Then fasten your seat belt and drive in with the train

Either way, it will touch marginal history.

How should innocent people imagine it?

this dark place that has never been made public;

Bypass the rugged mountain road, surrounded by ghosts

We are parasitized in the memories of people who are incorrupt

Start this bad trip. Inevitably becomes travel.

The timing is according to the prayer, into another spring

This season of rebirth is more difficult than winter.

Earlier Aboriginals opened their sad eyes

Too late to tell this most important lesson

Someone fell in the spring. Campers call it the season of yellow

But not because of the color of the field, the color of the harvest

labor! labor! labor!

Until the yellow sky is reflected in the pupils,

Those who fail to prepare for spring will die.

enough! The man who thinks he has the switch yells

Should we just end here?

The straightened memories fled from the trauma, screaming

The train just passed the spring of 1979

Suddenly back to the last autumn and winter, a sign of regret

All the way down to the bottom, 1977, 1976

Time is a mess. The starting point we were told

And the end is so easy, so unreliable.

The train crashed into the darker depths, the seat belt failed

As history has never set up a barrier for those who have experienced disasters.

 *Yellow Sky: From Pyongyang Aquarium. The inmates at Yaode called spring the "yellow season," because just a little overwork would leave you weak, sick, and dizzy, and the worst would see yellow skies instead of blue.