GR translation: mirror-rotation of sorrow

[Mike Jing]

V432.32-433.8  (p439.37-440.13)   The odors of shit, death, sweat,
sickness, mildew, piss, the breathing of Dora, wrapped him as he crept in
staring at the naked corpses being carried out now that America was so
close, to be stacked in front of the crematoriums, the men’s penises
hanging, their toes clustering white and round as pearls . . . each face so
perfect, so individual, the lips stretched back into death-grins, a whole
silent audience caught at the punch line of the joke . . . and the living,
stacked ten to a straw mattress, the weakly crying, coughing, losers. . . .
All his vacuums, his labyrinths, had been the other side of this. While he
lived, and drew marks on paper, this invisible kingdom had kept on, in the
darkness outside . . . all this time. . . . Pökler vomited. He cried some.
The walls did not dissolve—no prison wall ever did, not from tears, not at
this finding, on every pallet, in every cell, that the faces are ones he
knows after all, and holds dear as himself, and cannot, then, let them
return to that silence. . . . But what can he ever do about it? How can he
ever keep them? Impotence, mirror-rotation of sorrow, works him terribly as
runaway heartbeating, and with hardly any chances left him for good rage,
or for turning. . . .

What is "mirror-rotation" referring to?  Also, what is the meaning of the
"turning" at the end of this passage?
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