Times like this are no good. They’re too distant from the root cause. I think I was a
weaver in a factory a hundred years ago. Maybe a handweaver for hire a thousand
years ago. I’m now weaving things that aren’t easily woven. Language? What
language? I fail each time. When I fail, I can feel a faint presence of the roots . . . .
From “Poet’s Note”
Lee Young-ju writes as a citizen and a poet, about what has happened and the pain that is ongoing; this peculiar blend of subjects and perspectives have become her means of finding certainty. She isn’t satisfied with recording the event and despair as-is; she excavates the brutality that lies within the “as-is,” while recognizing that no words can adequately describe what she sees.