시집 <빛그물>에서

I’ve been translating Choi since I first came across her work at her 2018 reading in London, which left me enthralled. At the reading, hosted by the School of Oriental and African Studies, she forever changed my perception of poetry. Choi made me realize poetry is not only for everyone; it is also everywhere. As she often uses personal experiences as her starting point, her poetry seemed to say: you only need to look closely enough in order to find something poetic in the everyday.

Choi and I stayed in touch after her reading and when I moved from the UK to Korea in 2019, she was among the first people to whom I reached out. I was overwhelmed by her warm-hearted response. Not only did she propose to meet 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 teacups, all the way to helping me find my feet in a more emotional sense.

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 after being diagnosed with a rare blood disease, I could hear warmth in her voice. She wrote “1 mg of Anesthetic”, included here, from a hospital bed. It was her friend Lee Sumyeong who organized a memorial service after her death in 2021. I find it beautifully serendipitous that they should meet again in this issue.

I would like to thank the participants of my translation seminar last year at The Queen’s College, Oxford for their thoughts on “To Each Their Own Way”, which we workshopped together. I am also indebted to the National Centre for Writing for facilitating a translation residency in 2021, where I worked on these poems and George Szirtes for providing excellent guidance during the residency.