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ludwigdvorak's review against another edition
dark
mysterious
reflective
sad
slow-paced
4.5
The best poetry collection I've read in a long time - it's surreal and not easy to understand, if at all, but the quality of the language and the images that are evoked are beautifully done.
emsemsems's review against another edition
4.0
‘Lips melt with the thought of promises/ like a late spring squandering its life’s worth of lilac’ – ‘The Neighbourhood’
Lee Hyemi’s book of poems had the quality of the kind of poems one writes in the middle of the night, sealed with some kind of strange affection, and to be sent to a lover/friend/stranger for whatever the reasons may be. The poems has a sense of an intimate eavesdropping, or even like ‘being spoken to’ in a whispering way – the narrator/voice is clearly communicating/conveying something to another person – whoever that may be. It explores the journey and process of their relationship rather than a straightforward declaration of their affection/love. Brilliant imagery – vivid and very different/strange ways of incorporating ‘nature’ (symbolically and otherwise) in the poems. The fruity imagery in the poems (and the use of ‘nature’ in general) makes me think of a more graceful and sensual Theodore Roethke. I’m quite in awe of how brilliant the poems are; but I found a few of the poems to be a little lacklustre and they felt like paler/less outstanding version(s) of the other/better poems in the collection. It felt like a careless addition of a few uncertain drafts in a rush. Definitely would have been a 5-star collection if more editing was done.
‘My praying bitch, I am wearing a wilted laurel wreath and watching the stars crash down. Casting a wet forest under my tear ducts. Darkness finally earns its share when it forgets its starry discernment and the past by taking sickness as its true nature.’ – ‘Star of Perfidy’
The first time I visited Paris, I (obviously) went to ‘Shakespeare & Company’ (which by the way, if you haven’t already known – was founded by the legendary Sylvia Beach). I left with a signed copy of Luke Kennard’s [b:The Transition|32813878|The Transition|Luke Kennard|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1477893774l/32813878._SY75_.jpg|53414807], and a bunch of freshly typewritten poems by Akhmatova, Auden, and Sappho (on heavyweight paper/cards). That was quite a desperately romantic/romance-hungry year/period for me so I had wanted to send one/more of those love poems to a lover if I had met one that I love terribly and seriously enough. But after a couple years of weak and anaesthetising rounds of lukewarm loves/loving, I gave away my Sapphos to one of my closest friends just in case she wanted to use it on Valentine’s Day. Maybe I should have embraced a cheeky mood, and posted the remainders off like how Bathsheba did in [b:Far From the Madding Crowd|31463|Far From the Madding Crowd|Thomas Hardy|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1388279695l/31463._SY75_.jpg|914540]? I might have shoved my Auden and Akhmatova ones between the pages of an old edition of [b:Wuthering Heights|6185|Wuthering Heights|Emily Brontë|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1388212715l/6185._SY75_.jpg|1565818] (most appropriately). And/but my point is – Lee Hyemi’s poems would make the most perfect ‘typewritten’/‘handwritten’ poems/letters of love. They carry a very suitable tone for that sort of expressions/gestures.
‘Amok, even as I blink and pull the trigger, the bullet is only fired inward. When you tug at my heartstrings from the outside, watch the hairs of my mad trees flutter in flames.’ – ‘Amok’
I always feel obligated to comment on the translation (with translated literature), esp. when it comes to poetry. I don’t know if this was a completely ‘creative’ translation, or if the translation was more direct. But to me, it feels more like a direct one which was done extremely well. I would stubbornly argue that that is harder to do work with/ do well than a more ‘creative’ poetry translation. Jack Underwood's [b:Solo for Mascha Voice/Tenuous Rooms|42510382|Solo for Mascha Voice/Tenuous Rooms|Jack Underwood|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1540736056l/42510382._SX50_.jpg|66224892] (not translated poetry, but creative 'replies' to poems of another/different language) which is of an entirely different approach/style in comparison to Lee Hyemi/Lee Soje's writing/work shares a slightly similar form of tender and vulnerable intimacy. Lee Soje is a translator that I’ve been hugely excited to discover/read. They also translated Lee Soho's [b:Catcalling|54438478|Catcalling|Lee Soho|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1617066776l/54438478._SY75_.jpg|72725619] and Choi Jin-Young's [b:To the Warm Horizon|56592266|To the Warm Horizon|Jin-Young Choi|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1610461099l/56592266._SY75_.jpg|59246761]. I was introduced to Lee Soho’s poetry by S. Penkevich - his review, and I’ve been trying to get my hands on a copy ever since. I’ve already got Choi’s book waiting for me on my shelves, and I’ve bumped it up my TBR list now that I’ve found myself a solid fan of Lee Soje's translation work.
‘Who linked a tree crown to their veins/ in attempt to understand blood?/ I think about them drinking/ the cooled plant to make green wander/ and the satellites of blood/ inside the boiling air’ – ‘Use of Green’
Other than Sappho, and Edna St. Vincent Millay, I’m ashamed to say that I’ve not read many queer poetry by women. Lee Hyemi’s poems brings to mind a poetic (and complicated) journey and exploration of queer love which reminds me of Mary-Jean Chan’s [b:Flèche|42185758|Flèche|Mary Jean Chan|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1562382077l/42185758._SY75_.jpg|65782860] (been in my TBR for much too long). During a poetry/creative writing workshop, I’d attended a few years ago, some random guy had said that my unusual play of ‘sounds’ and use of multiple languages in my poems/work reminded him of Chan’s work – all the more reason to read her. I remembered it clearly because that guy came across to me as being grossly over-confident, and rather insensitive, but perhaps he’s right about the comparison? Or maybe it was just a cheap and half-arsed comment? I’ll never know unless I read her.
‘Do the best consolations require indifference/ The moment red becomes runny, the moment runny becomes a query, the time everything thins into a single syllable/ When shadowless leaves soar the wet coat of the soul/ swells and oozes’ – ‘Sleeping Waters’
My interest in creative translation and translated literature has escalated quickly this year after reading one after another of brilliantly translated books (and this one was not any less impressive). Lee Soje recently spoke about translating Korean literature, and in particular – ‘Gender in Contemporary Korean Poetry’ in the podcast arranged and recorded by UCLA’s Center for Korean Studies. It’s about over an hour long, but if you’re interested in translated literature, I think it’s worth a listen (https://www.international.ucla.edu/cks/event/14996). Lee Soje is also a contributor/editor of ‘Chogwa’ (an e-zine of translated Korean poetry) which is such a fun one to check out (https://www.chogwa.com/).
‘Using K as a prefix can be positive, as in K-pop, but it’s also used for mockery. The K gets attached to extremely, uncannily Korean phenomena.’ – Lee Soho. (interviewed by Lee Soje, MBT)
In Lee Soho’s interview (by Lee Soje) from MPT (https://modernpoetryintranslation.com/if-my-poetry-is-like-a-gun-a-conversation-with-lee-soho-pt-i/), they discussed the translation of Korean memes, #sexviolenceklit, the ironic use of ‘Oppa’ w/ her relation to disappointing exes/men (sorry K-drama lovers), experimenting with the translation of her poems with the mobile app 'Papago' (which I personally use quite a bit of because of my suddenly-more-serious commitment to my studies of Korean language skills since the start of the fucking ‘plague’). They briefly covered ‘machine translation’ which is a thing that I feel both intrigued and unsure of. Lee Soje’s excitement about translated Latin American literature to Korean made me feel second-hand joy because Latin American literature is another thing that I’ve become very interested in this year. Having read and enjoyed Lee Hyemi’s poetry and Lee Sohe’s translations have only made me more excited and optimistic about the future of translated literature.
‘Writing about someone else’s life is exceptionally difficult. It requires more authorial ethics than any other matter. My brave confession can be a consolation to someone and a trigger to another; it could even cause secondary victimization. I always remind myself of that and tread very carefully.’ – Lee Soho. (interviewed by Lee Soje, MBT)
Overall, this was a very enjoyable read, and it certainly led me to many wonderful discoveries. I am excited, and I look forward to reading everything that Lee Soje has translated.
‘Oh odalisque, you apply rose-apple juice to your lips and forget how to speak./ Is it the holy day of almonds crunching as you clench your teeth?’ Despite having been estranged early in life and lost many cycles, the night becomes the domesticated animal of soft hums because there is a certain warp thread even on discontinuous days.’ – ‘Odalisque on Thursday’
midnightinkblot's review against another edition
4.0
Imagine the tinkling of bells and wind chimes. Now imagine it underwater. Now imagine you choking on your own bubbles. That's what unexpected vanilla is. 9.5/10.
Some of my favs:
"On nights I planted fog in every fingertip, I’d open the window like I was touching the foot of a drowned person" - Days of Humidity
LOSS OF LIGHT
On the day of the harvest ceremony I wanted to wash the bottom with melted snow and for my forehead to disappear forever
When I burned my lashes and offered the scent, dry bubbles rose inside my mouth, which was like experiencing the moon for the first time I believed that the day I sewed the wall with a needle tomorrow’s promise would be tied to the hand of the dead
There were four eyes looking at each other with black fabric between them
Inside a throat growing infinitely deeper
When I bury my face in the fading gaze, white birds flee to a thickening forest and my lover’s collar stains brightly Look at the gaze of the blind applause following me all the way into my dreams
I undo all my braids and let them get wet Until the eerie river flows and a ringing in someone’s ears echoes from elsewhere Until the frost fallen on my heart drips thick and dark
Some of my favs:
"On nights I planted fog in every fingertip, I’d open the window like I was touching the foot of a drowned person" - Days of Humidity
LOSS OF LIGHT
On the day of the harvest ceremony I wanted to wash the bottom with melted snow and for my forehead to disappear forever
When I burned my lashes and offered the scent, dry bubbles rose inside my mouth, which was like experiencing the moon for the first time I believed that the day I sewed the wall with a needle tomorrow’s promise would be tied to the hand of the dead
There were four eyes looking at each other with black fabric between them
Inside a throat growing infinitely deeper
When I bury my face in the fading gaze, white birds flee to a thickening forest and my lover’s collar stains brightly Look at the gaze of the blind applause following me all the way into my dreams
I undo all my braids and let them get wet Until the eerie river flows and a ringing in someone’s ears echoes from elsewhere Until the frost fallen on my heart drips thick and dark
nathansnook's review against another edition
dark
emotional
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
3.0
Erotic meets nature. The fear of blood boiling, of flowing too quickly, overflowing in the veins. Fear of clots or bursts, of veins twisting, of some kind of internal pressure that destroys from within and then out. Primal and visceral.
There's always this yearning for touch, to be held, to be kept safe. Nature meets erotic, but there is still fear. Fear from within, fear of the wilderness.
How we carve those fears out, how we deal with them in the solastic pieces of nature can we muster so-called strength to carry our body through thresholds.
There's always this yearning for touch, to be held, to be kept safe. Nature meets erotic, but there is still fear. Fear from within, fear of the wilderness.
How we carve those fears out, how we deal with them in the solastic pieces of nature can we muster so-called strength to carry our body through thresholds.
klopfer's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
mysterious
reflective
tense
slow-paced
3.5
lifeinpoetry's review against another edition
4.0
How does pain come to claim authority?
(from “A Boil on My Hand”)
Watching the abyss constantly be reborn
lightly, weakly, clearly
you erase your face
(from “World of Breaths”)
Where did we all hide our bodies,
having become detailed insensible inklings
I multiply as I am erased
(from “Trace”)
(from “A Boil on My Hand”)
Watching the abyss constantly be reborn
lightly, weakly, clearly
you erase your face
(from “World of Breaths”)
Where did we all hide our bodies,
having become detailed insensible inklings
I multiply as I am erased
(from “Trace”)