Here's two whose results I'm particularly pleased with:
The Beggars, by Ko Un
When the food is gone they roam
Okjŏng-gol, Yongdun-ri, Chaetjŏngji,
Chigok-ri, Sŏmun and beyond, as far as
Tanbuk-ri in Oksan.
“Got any food to spare?”
Their humility rivals the wife
from Sŏnun-ri in Jungttŭm, their words,
“Please, anything,” hardly a murmur.
Even the shadows of pots
containing scraps of cold barley rice
dwindled in the spring famine,
so they indulge in the well water
at Soijŏngji.
Two beggars, married, share
a drink and return home.
Thick flocks of jackdaws settle
and daylight fades as husband and wife
descend the hill at Okjŏng-gol, where thin wisps
of supper’s fires rise from one less house.
Family Life, by Jacques Prévert
The mom knits.
The son goes to war.
Do what you must
she says, echoing
her husband busy
with work the same way
she’s busy knitting
and their son busy, too,
at war. As for the son?
Well, when the war is over,
he’ll go into business
with his old man. War,
knitting, business goes on
until he’s shot. The mom
and dad tend his grave.
What else can they do?
Mend, sell, kill, mend
again. That’s business for you.