Present by Frank O'Hara

Frank O’Hara reads his poem Present.

The stranded gulch                                                    여러 가닥으로 꼬인 협곡
below Grand Central                                                
the gentle purr of cab tires in snow                            
and hidden stars
tears on the windshield
torn inexorably away in whining motion                      흐느끼며 가차없이 찢겨나간
and the dark thoughts which surround neon

in Union Square I see you for a moment
red green yellow searchlights cutting through
falling flakes, head bent to the wind
wet and frowning, melancholy, trying

I know perfectly well where you walk to
and that we’ll meet in even greater darkness
later and will be warm.

so our cross
of paths will not be just muddy footprints
in the morning

not like celestial bodies’
yearly passes, nothing pushes us away
from each other

even now I can lean
forward across the square and see
your surprised grey look become greener
as I wipe the city’s moisture from
your face

and you shake the snow
off onto my shoulder, light as a breath
where the quarrels and vices of
estranged companions weighed so bitterly
and accidentally

before, I saw you on
the floor of my life walking slowly
that time in summer rain stranger and
nearer

to become a way of feeling
that is not painful casual or diffuse                    산만한
and seems to explore some peculiar insight
of the heavens for its favorite bodies
in the mixed-up air



-----------------------------------------------------------romantic. how easily he neutralizes the power/influence/leverage of the distance between them!

not easy to put down my thoughts in english. feel like an astray animal.