By Mattho Mandersloot
On Jan. 16, the world lost an incredible poet, thinker and, above all, human being. No amount of writing will suffice to sing her praises, but, as one of her translators, I will offer a few words here, in hopes of showing just how incredible she really was. I was privileged enough to make her acquaintance at a London event in 2018, after which we remained in touch. Words fail me to describe how fortunate I feel to have known her. Allow me to commit my impressions of her to memory.
When Choi and I first crossed paths, after the School of Oriental and African Studies invited her to give a reading, she forever changed my perception of poetry. Up until then, I had thought of poetry as a pursuit reserved for a select few, to whom it chose to present itself. Choi made me realize poetry is not only for everyone, it is also everywhere.
After reading some of her work, she candidly described her sources of inspiration for the poems in question, as she often uses personal experiences as her starting point. Her message was clear: you only need to look closely enough in order to find something poetic in the everyday. It was as though, from that day onwards, interacting with poetry became that much more manageable and, therefore, infinitely more rewarding. Poetry, I now know, is decidedly not reserved for a select few, but it is only a select few who are capable of bringing poetry to life to the point where it changes people's views. Choi was one of them.
From the very beginning of her career, Choi was a beloved poet among Korean authors and translators alike. Fellow poets, such as her close friend Lee Su-myeong, have expressed, time and time again, how important Choi was to them, both in terms of literary achievements as well as her unwavering friendship. Translators, such as Brother Anthony and Chung Eun-gwi, have always held her in high regard and, without fail, knew her as a pleasure to be around.
I dare speak for all readers of Korean literature when I say that Choi's passing is felt as an immense, insurmountable loss. If I had to name one thing Choi has left us with, it is her original way of thinking. Rarely have I encountered poetry at once so thought-provoking and so keenly phrased, catching the reader off guard before nudging them in places they never knew existed. How I wish she had been given the chance to keep writing for years to come, how I wish she had stayed with us.
When I moved from the United Kingdom to Korea in 2019, Choi was among the first people to whom I reached out. I was overwhelmed by her warm-hearted, compassionate response. Not only did she propose to continue meeting on a weekly basis ― a kind of "poetry exchange" ― she went above and beyond, providing me with a warmer welcome than I could ever have imagined. From something as practical as handing down to me her old tea cups, all the way to helping me find my feet in a more emotional sense: her kindness knew no limit.
Tuesday, the day of our weekly meeting, soon became my favourite day of the week. She would go over a selection of her favorite Korean poems with me and I would do my best to assist her with challenging passages taken from English language poetry she was reading at the time. Thinking back to our sessions, I can only marvel at the humor, joy and positivity she brought to the table. Even when, much later, she called me from the hospital, recovering from intensive treatment, I could hear the warmth in her voice. Starting today, with every sip of tea I take from one of her cups, I will remember her.
In a poem included in the last collection she wrote before her death, Choi talks about the exhausting battle she fought against her illness: "1 mg of anaesthetic put me to sleep / Sending me // Wandering across glaciers // Having to scale an iceberg" ― From "1 mg of Anaesthetic" translated by me. Please join me in hoping that, by now, she is wandering across the Elysian Fields of Korean poetry, in peace.
Mattho Mandersloot is a literary translator who won the Grand Prize in poetry at The Korea Times' 51st Modern Korean Literature Translation Award last year for his translations of Choi Jeong-rye's poems. He can be reached at matthomandersloot@gmail.com.
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| Poet Choi Jeong-rye |
When Choi and I first crossed paths, after the School of Oriental and African Studies invited her to give a reading, she forever changed my perception of poetry. Up until then, I had thought of poetry as a pursuit reserved for a select few, to whom it chose to present itself. Choi made me realize poetry is not only for everyone, it is also everywhere.
After reading some of her work, she candidly described her sources of inspiration for the poems in question, as she often uses personal experiences as her starting point. Her message was clear: you only need to look closely enough in order to find something poetic in the everyday. It was as though, from that day onwards, interacting with poetry became that much more manageable and, therefore, infinitely more rewarding. Poetry, I now know, is decidedly not reserved for a select few, but it is only a select few who are capable of bringing poetry to life to the point where it changes people's views. Choi was one of them.
From the very beginning of her career, Choi was a beloved poet among Korean authors and translators alike. Fellow poets, such as her close friend Lee Su-myeong, have expressed, time and time again, how important Choi was to them, both in terms of literary achievements as well as her unwavering friendship. Translators, such as Brother Anthony and Chung Eun-gwi, have always held her in high regard and, without fail, knew her as a pleasure to be around.
I dare speak for all readers of Korean literature when I say that Choi's passing is felt as an immense, insurmountable loss. If I had to name one thing Choi has left us with, it is her original way of thinking. Rarely have I encountered poetry at once so thought-provoking and so keenly phrased, catching the reader off guard before nudging them in places they never knew existed. How I wish she had been given the chance to keep writing for years to come, how I wish she had stayed with us.
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| Cover of Choi Jeong-rye's last poetry collection "Net of Light" / Courtesy of Changbi |
Tuesday, the day of our weekly meeting, soon became my favourite day of the week. She would go over a selection of her favorite Korean poems with me and I would do my best to assist her with challenging passages taken from English language poetry she was reading at the time. Thinking back to our sessions, I can only marvel at the humor, joy and positivity she brought to the table. Even when, much later, she called me from the hospital, recovering from intensive treatment, I could hear the warmth in her voice. Starting today, with every sip of tea I take from one of her cups, I will remember her.
In a poem included in the last collection she wrote before her death, Choi talks about the exhausting battle she fought against her illness: "1 mg of anaesthetic put me to sleep / Sending me // Wandering across glaciers // Having to scale an iceberg" ― From "1 mg of Anaesthetic" translated by me. Please join me in hoping that, by now, she is wandering across the Elysian Fields of Korean poetry, in peace.
Mattho Mandersloot is a literary translator who won the Grand Prize in poetry at The Korea Times' 51st Modern Korean Literature Translation Award last year for his translations of Choi Jeong-rye's poems. He can be reached at matthomandersloot@gmail.com.
