창작과 비평

Since the new administration took office, it feels that the country has been put back in order at a rapid pace over the past few months. I sometimes recall the period when we had to watch endlessly the disgraceful spectacles produced by incompetent and malicious power holders, and I find myself newly relieved that those days have passed. Whatever one means by the oft invoked term “people’s livelihood” is of course a matter of definition; but there is at least a general sense of expectation that it will now improve, and the long standing practices that treat human life carelessly finally have emerged as urgent issues to be addressed.

As the president’s remarks that he has “poured in even his soul” suggests, the recent APEC summit and tariff negotiations with the United States are being judged as having gone reasonably well, under unfavorable conditions; above all, it seems important that one can sense how fully those who took on the work and those who supported them devoted themselves.

Buoyed by this trend, citizens who defended and advanced democracy, while shaking off the humiliation and shame inflicted by the previous administration’s conduct, as well as the anxiety that the country might be dragged back decades, or even collapse altogether, are in the process of recovering the self respect they deserve. A few public-facing moments from the current administration—most notably its open cabinet meetings and live streamed local town hall gatherings—have begun to shift the image of politics, even offering a kind of unexpected inspiration.

Although the bankruptcy of the elite cartel was exposed through the recent insurrection, its power is still far from negligible as shown in the protection of the insurrectionary forces by the opposition party and judiciary. The increasingly ferocious far right must also be watched carefully. So if we have managed to at least avert the imminent danger of social and political regression, does that mean all that remains is for us to move forward? The trouble with such a view is that today’s so called G2, the United States and China, can hardly serve as models, while for some time now Europe has seemed to stagger under the burden of keeping itself merely together. In this situation, in which no other region appears capable of stepping forward in any appreciable way—where exactly does this “ahead” lie that we are supposed to move toward? To put it another way, even if one wished to follow the guidance of a “global standard,” the present “global” seems to lack anything resembling a “standard.”

It is hardly a new observation: having entered modernity through a colonial gateway and then having endured war and military dictatorship in succession, we Koreans have tended to judge our temporal position by comparing it to the world’s. The problems with understanding history in such linear terms and ranking societies along a line—who’s ahead, who’s behind, etc.—are well known. Yet this has been not merely a matter of abstract ideas but the operating logic of the capitalist world—and for that reason it cannot be dismissed as simply a bad habit. Rather, only by squarely confronting that framework does the urgency of escaping it become clear—and from that urgency, breakthroughs in thought have sometimes emerged.

Consider, for instance, how “the world” functioned for the poet Kim Su young. As the many expressions he used—“the face of the world,” “a world level utterance,” “world problems”—make evident, “the world” was for him a keenly felt reference point. He often voiced his desire for thinking and poetry that would “keep pace with the advance of world history” (“Poetry Notes 2”). The moment when ‘the world’ ceased to function as the ever necessary big Other for him came with the April Revolution of 1960. In the process of thinking through the meaning of that revolution, more thoroughly than anyone, he felt that “no matter how excellent the papers written by foreigners, they now strike me as ‘well, nothing special’… In any case, I feel no sense of envy toward anything (“High Tide”).” He could also say, “Even when it comes to poetic subject-matter, it seems I need not covet what is global or cosmic. The domestic events of our own country already possess more than enough world-class quality (“Poetry Notes 2”).”

What Kim Su young sensed early on, through his sharp intuition and insight, is something most of us have come to feel acutely after the event now called the “Revolution of Light.” Taking up his phrase “even when it comes to poetic subject-matter,” we can now substitute “democracy,” or “literature,” or any number of other terms—and still acknowledge that they possess ample “world-class quality.” Reflecting on his words and sensibility also draws our attention to the difference between then and now. For him, “world-class quality” was what allowed him to stop lamenting a backwardness and to focus instead on a reality; for us, the phrase is something that must be newly created in the process of transforming our reality. The world no longer functions as a reference point for gauging our position or measuring the distance we must travel; instead, it feels like something broken, which we must step forward to tend. What the present world needs is not the next powerful hegemony, but the vision and capacity to address our “ontological” crisis. For that reason, the symbol known as “K” ought to carry not only the rising pride of the moment but also a weighty sense of responsibility.

From the climate crisis, considered by some to have already passed its tipping point, to the explosive development of AI technologies, which seem to herald an SF like future, we are surrounded by problems of such a scale that they exceed ordinary frameworks of human perception and thought, to the point that some call them “hyper-objects.”

At the same time, this is a world in which even the norms we believed were broadly agreed upon are easily discarded, and the peace we thought had finally taken root can be shattered without warning. If one must “pour in one’s soul” simply to avoid being swept away and carried off by a world without “standards,” how much more devotion and discipline of the soul will be required to renew the grammar of democracy and to establish criteria that go beyond the principles of capitalism? Yet, looking back, whether others saw us as a vassal state or we had become a full fledged colony, one consistent feature of Korean thought was that the more difficult the circumstances, the more intensely the country strove toward a deepened and universal vision. With conditions today incomparably improved, it is time to hone our will and practice in order to bring about a world different from the one we have known.

This issue’s special feature is organized around examining these concerns within the achievements of our poetry. In the first essay of the feature, “Poetic Creation and World-Making,” Song Jong won focuses on the idea that poetic creativity is above all a matter of altering the gaze with which we look at the world and history. Surveying contemporary poetry back to Yongdam Yusa, he discusses how the civic capacity to bring about the “ripening of the time” and poetry’s capacity to “set time on fire” and to declare the “moment” have continually illuminated one another.

If Song Jong won’s essay attends to “time,” then Sin Yong mok gently reminds us—who so often forget that we ourselves are beings of “place”—that poetry allows us to sense place as the body of the mind and of history, and doing so, in particular through poems that engage in the Daegu and Gyeongsangbuk-do region, long called “TK.”

Meanwhile, Choi Sunkyo’s essay boldly takes up the question of “spirituality,” which has been widely neglected and often suspected of having degenerated into escapism or commercialism, and reads young poets whose works capture the liberatory character of spirituality in the pursuit of truth and an imagining of the future.

The conversation “The Far Right Phenomenon: Does It Have Substance?” brings together Kim Naehoon, Lee Seung-won, and Hwang Hee Doo, moderated by Lee Tae ho, to examine the recent consolidation of far right forces that has caused widespread concern. Ranging from definitions of “far right,” and the reasons for its global spread, to the distinctive features of far right youth movements, and to appropriate strategies of response, the discussion seeks a balanced perspective on the situation, while reaffirming that the essential task is to overwhelm this “harsh thing” with the positive energy of solidarity aimed at a better world.

In the Articles section, the eighth installment of the ongoing series “In Search of K Discourse” features Park Buhm Soon’s essay on Cho Young rae’s human rights thought. Through concrete examples, it shows how Cho’s human rights philosophy was shaped through practices that altered historical currents in his work as an activist and a human rights lawyer—demonstrating that human rights thinking, often explained as an import from Western ideas, was in fact generated and deepened within the history of this place.

Suh Jae-jung’s essay analyzes the policies, driving forces, and implications for the Korean Peninsula and Northeast Asia of the second Trump administration, aiming for a structural and comprehensive understanding of “Trump Administration 2.0” in order to address the difficult question of how to respond to what many identify as a major source of today’s global disorder.

In correspondence with the preceding conversation, “On the Scene” features Han Chae min’s account of organizing and carrying out a counter protest in Daerim dong against an anti Chinese demonstration that could not be taken lightly. Vividly conveying how this gathering, organized with tremendous courage, became not only a fight against hatred but also the beginning of new friendships, the piece reaffirms the belief that places where people of diverse backgrounds come together are precisely where we can learn how to welcome one another.

Echoing the theme of the special feature, this issue’s creative writing section is likewise rich and varied. In the poetry section, new works by 12 poets, from Kim Nuiyeon to Hong Mija, shake up our senses and lead us to face the world through different eyes. Meanwhile, the fiction section includes the second installment of Baik Sou Linne’s serialized novel, which drew readers’ anticipation in the previous issue, along with new short stories by Kim Sehee, Lee Sunjin, Lee Ju Hye, and Cheon Woon-young, which open up pages of life we have not yet encountered.

In literary criticism, Seo Young in reads novels that, in our unprecedentedly hyper connected society, show how we are paradoxically losing our sense of continuity and connection, revealing that connection is a site of crisis and a danger, while, at the same time, touching the dignity of us all. And Song Hyun ji examines the recent ethical tendencies prominent in contemporary poetry through the lens of the flattened form of “the display of rightness,” while tracing poetic works that newly sense and represent ethics as a journey of enduring efforts and failures.

In the “Focus on Author,” Yang Kyung Eon meets poet Jang Chealmun, whose recent The Train Has No Dining Car has drawn attention. Together, they revisit several poems in which he leaps, with characteristic simplicity, across the gap between life and poetry, allowing us to feel that the poet who’s been sparing with both words and poems embodies the attitude of a “person made of poetry.” In the “Literature Focus” section, Nam Seung won and Kwon Young bin offer careful and thoughtful guidance that reaches into the intimate textures of new poetry collections and novels worth noting this season.

In the essay series “What Took Care of My Life,” the actor Park Jeong min unexpectedly recounts a harrowing history of shame, multiplying and reworking negative emotions that wound the soul into resources for caring for life. The Book Reviews section presents concise and distinctive pieces that introduce noteworthy new books across a range of fields, each adding its own line of thought.

The 40th Manhae Prize in Literature selected Kim Keum Hee’s novel Grand Greenhouse Repair Report for its main prize, and the Kim Dae jung’s Oral Memoirs, edited by Yonsei University’s Kim Dae jung Presidential Library and Museum, for the special prize. In addition, the 27th Baeksok Prize for Literature went to Jang Seoknam’s poetry collection Lies That I Loved. We offer our gratitude and wholehearted congratulations for these outstanding literary and intellectual achievements, which will serve as inspiration for a new world.

This was a year in which we watched with admiration the tireless efforts of sovereign citizens who, more than anyone, worried over and raced breathlessly to bring an end to the insurrection and to establish a new government. At a time when formidable challenges are piled high, beyond our borders as well, we must refine our thinking and cultivate greater wisdom to prepare the vision of the world where we meet again. Changbi has always held as its aim and aspiration to contribute incisively to such work. As we prepare with great care a number of new initiatives and projects for next year, the 60th anniversary of our founding, we ask for our readers’ warm encouragement and anticipation.

Hwang Jung-a