You may share the labors of the great, but you will not share the spoil.
When anger and sorrow overflow, sometimes it becomes poetry.
Women are foils to men in South Korea. It is hard for women to take a lead role even in NGOs for political resistance. Men think women should do trivial things on the margins. They think women should be merely a seasoning for a dish. I feel anger and sorrow seeing this.
We carve on our body what society teaches us and continue this task, not knowing the identity they force us to have. This identity is carved on our faces and our skins. Not knowing our bodies have become "the paper made of human meat," we stuff our bodies and make them a theater where cultural symbols or suppressed symbols play.
We have certain rules for traditional lyric poetry in Korea. I twist my body, confused by what to say and how to act, facing these rules. Confronting traditional lyricism, I speak with a bare body without the tattoos of culture on it.
Mother does not exist, like water that has given life to a flower and then disappeared. Mothers live somewhere after giving birth to us.
Once, I compared poetry to mothers in my book called To Write as a Woman, because my mother is someone who captures me in her body and gave birth to me out of her desire but washed her hands of me after giving birth to me as a poet.
The Scots are a very tough people. They have drive-by headbuttings. In Glasgow a sweatband is considered a silencer.
If you train yourself in memory work, you fearlessly attack and rearrange your material, for you can retain your original impression.
Deep down, I reckon the sweetest moment will come when it's finally all over. When, at last, I know that I can stop fighting. Of course it'll also be a little sad. The sweetest moments, y'know, always come with just a little sadness.
I never, my producer never, we never let myself just sing. We were always trying to get the perfect vocal.