Korean Women--Poetry, Identity, Place: A Conversation with Kim Hye-sun

Kim Hye-sun (b. 1955) is a prominent contemporary South Korean poet, who is identified as one of the “women poets of the 1980s,” a group that also includes Ch'oe Sung-ja, Kim Sung-hui, and Yi Yon-ju. Kim Hye-sun and Ch'oe Sung-ja were the first women to be published in the prestigious journal Literature and Intellect. The year was 1979—the year when President Park Chung Hee's nearly two decades of authoritarian rule came to an end with his assassination. However, this political transition soon brought another coup and oppressive military rule that lasted until the late 1980s. Kim has steadily published since the 1980s. She has published seven collections of poems; her most recent book is a collection of essays about women and writing. In 2001, Kim received the prestigious So-wol Poetry Award. Her book of poems Seoul, My Upanishad (1994) was awarded the Kim Su-yong Contemporary Poetry Award in 2000. Kim teaches creative writing at Seoul Arts University, and most recently she has been appointed dean of the university's creative writing program. Her poetry has been translated into Spanish and German. Last year Kim was invited to give readings and talks in the United States at Harvard and the University of California at Los Angeles. English translations of her poems have recently appeared in Arts and Letters, Prairie Schooner, and the Literary Review.

I do not remember clearly how my conversation with Kim Hye-sun began or ended. I lost track of time because meeting her was all about finding my place again. A few days before, we decided on the phone to meet at a Starbucks in an arts district called Hyehwadong, so we could find each other easily. She told me she wore glasses and had short hair. I did not say I also wore glasses. Somehow it felt important that I find her first. Perhaps I thought that being able to find her first was part of the process of translating her poetry. I have been translating contemporary Korean women's poetry for the past three years, and it has allowed me to build a link back to South Korea—a place of my childhood, a place I had to leave as a child. I looked out of the automatic sliding glass door and watched a woman with short hair walk in. As soon as we made eye contact, Kim held out her hand to me. I bowed in return. We were both quiet. I focused on my fruit drink while she finished her latte. We decided to go to a restaurant and have lunch first. I felt overwhelmed by the noise around us—the air conditioning, conversations from other tables, and the clashing sounds of bowls and spoons. Then all the noise became a blur as Kim started to tell me how she had met her husband, Yi Kang-baek, a playwright, soon after the military coup led by General Chun Doo Hwan in 1980.

Kim Hye-sun: I had just graduated and was working as an editor for a publisher. I was in charge of Yi Kang-baek's play called Kaeppul [A dog's horn]. At that time the military government censored all publications. The newspapers were published with many sections and phrases blacked out by ink. The play came back to me completely blacked out except for the title and Yi's name. Despite much pressure from the government, Yi went ahead and directed the play. He managed to get around the censorship by putting on a silent play. I went to the opening night and watched the actors perform the entire play without speech. I was so moved that I couldn't help crying. That was when Yi came over to comfort me. It was really he who should have been comforted … Don't you think the play...