Review of: Contemporary Korean Cinema: Identity, Culture and Politics, by Hyangjin Lee

Readers of Three Poets of Modern Korea: Yi Sang, Hahm Dong-Seon, and Choi Young-Mi, translated and edited by Yu Jung-Yul and James Kimbrell, may be pleasantly surprised to see the intriguing combination of these three poets, and wonder how these three poets have come to be put together in one volume. Yi (1910-1937) was an experimental poet from the early twentieth century when Korea was under Japanese occupation; Hahm (1930- ) is a poet, essayist, and professor of Korean Literature and relatively lesser-known than the other two poets; and Choi (1961- ) is the author of a poetry collection that has sold half a million copies. As Kimbrell warns, this volume is not a canonical collection, but presents "a sense of the vision inherent in each of these poets" (xviii) and appears to have been designed to showcase the diversity of Korean poetry to English readers.

Yu and Kimbrell, after a succinct introduction that provides both historical context and biographical sketches of each poet, invite the reader to three distinct poetic realms of modern Korea. Yi Sang, the first to appear in this collection, is one of the few Korean poets, whose work, like that of Ko Un, has been relatively widely disseminated in English. Yi's poetry exemplifies many undercurrents in the modern Korean literary scene. Well-known for the experimental, surreal, and abstract composition of his poems, which invite various interpretations, he uses the pseudonym Yi Sang, which can be interpreted as "strange." His poems remind one of Louis Zukofsky's "A" or some of the experimental pieces of the L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poets, and it is little wonder that his poems are widely read and studied for their distinctive style. In particular, "Crow's-Eye View," a serial collection of fourteen poems, translated here, poses an interpretive challenge to readers of both Korean and English literature. The series, in combining geometrical diagrams, disruptive grammatical composition, the innovative appropriation of space and other devices allows for a rich but sometimes frustrating poetic freedom of interpretation.

In accordance with the demanding textuality of Yi's oeuvre, translators sometimes must make bold interpretive decisions, and the attempts to embark on this difficult task in this volume deserve recognition for making the text very readable. However, close comparison with the original text shows that the translators have at times engaged in arbitrary interpretation of Yi's stylistic strategies. For example, the lack of spacing between the words in the original Korean highlights a visual and architectonic design on Yi's part, similar to the postmodern poetics found in many "Language" poems. The translation, however, disrupts this format, placing spaces between words and detracting from the aesthetic appeal of his poems.

For Hahm and Choi's poems, however, the translators succeed more fully in maintaining a delicate balance between readability and faithfulness to the original. Hahm differs from Yi in neither following radical experimental poetics nor having attained stellar literary status. Hahm differs from the indigenous lyricism of Su Jung-Joo and Park Jae-Sam, or the prosaic rhetoric of Kim Su-Young, in his exploration of the acute sense of reality about the separation of North and South Korea. Given that poems about the Korean War and the subsequent confrontation between the North and the South largely have not currently been receiving the attention they deserve from literary circles, the reintroduction of such Hahm's poems as "Colony," "In Tunnel Number Three," and "The Last Face" by English readers of Korean is very welcome. Beginning with his own personal experience of exile in the Korean War, Hahm delves into the sensibility of those who were forced to leave their home and echoes this sensibility onward to contemporary Korean society in a controlled voice. For example, in "Jeju Island," Hahm employs a poetic alter ego, 'Chusa,' who was exiled to Jeju Island for his role in the political turmoil of 1840, in order to confront the unbridgeable rupture between the personal and the historical before returning to his own subjectivity.

Hahm's poems attempt to reach into the ongoing histories of North and South and have perhaps their greatest appeal to the generation who experienced the Korean War. Choi's work, on the other hand, resonates most particularly with the so-called "386" generation who, in the 1990s were in their 30s, had attended university in the 1980s and were born in the 1960s (and who are now in the process of transformation into a "486" generation). The 386ers stood in the midst of the historical turbulence of the 1980s, marked by such events as the Kwangju Democratic Uprising, military dictatorship, radical student demonstrations, and the Seoul Olympics. Heirs to the spirit of the 4.19 Student Revolution in 1960, which led to the fall of the corrupt Syngman Rhee regime, they represent a similar wave of ideals and a desire to be free from corruption, politically and socially. Choi's first poetry collection, provocatively titled At Thirty, the Party Was Over, may be compared to the success of Sylvia Plath's Ariel. Choi here pointedly articulates the pessimistic voice of the female activist, recalling the agony and despair of the 1980s social movements that swept Korean society. In persuasively echoing the struggles of the 386 generation in the midst of the 1980s, she attempts to address the wounds of this turbulent age. "At Thirty, the Party Was Over" shows her ambiguous feelings about her involvement with the student protest movements. In a tone of self-contempt, she confesses that 'I liked the demonstrators more than the demonstrations' and that her efforts in the student movements made 'no difference at all.' However, she acknowledges her social responsibility, writing that 'someone will stay here until it's all over, and clean the table before the owner comes out.' Furthermore, 'the party' has a more specific cultural significance for women, because the burden of the tremendous preparation for traditional Korean parties is placed on women.

Choi's poems are also characterized by sexually provocative descriptions as in the following lines from "Recollection of the Last Sex": 'I chewed for a long time / on the recollection of the last sex / that filled my mouth.' Similarly in "Song in a Dolorous Café," she writes, 'With which chap / did I pluck the flower of random desire without any guilt at all.' Although overwhelmed by conflicting responses from the readership that she commercialized the student movement while succeeding in articulating her sexuality and individuality, Choi's poems make a fresh impact on readers who are accustomed to literary seriousness as well.

Readers, however, must be aware that the translations here are chosen from both her poetry books, and arranged randomly without any indication of volume. Poems from Choi's second volume, such as "Amen I" "Amen II" and "In the Submerged Area of Imha Dam," reveal an evolution from her earlier sensational and self-derogatory impulses towards a more sedate and patient tone, although the translators make no note of this. The changes signal Choi and the 386 generation's adaptation to a changing social and historical environment.

Three Poets of Modern Korea clearly shows Yu and Kimbrell's affection for Korean poems and fills a niche with its diversity of perspectives and tastes in Korean poetry. The volume will contribute towards fostering appreciation of Korean poems, and therein lies its strength.

Citation:
Chun, Sehjae 2006
Review of _Three Poets of Modern Korea: Yi Sang, Hahm Dong-Seon and Choi Young-Mi_, translated and edited by Yu Jung-Yul and James Kimbrell (2002)
_Korean Studies Review_ 2006, no. 10
Electronic file: http://koreaweb.ws/ks/ksr/ksr06-10.htm