Korean transnational poetry and the negotiation of identity: Korean,English,and Konglish

Language, identity, and power

Language plays a crucial role in shaping both individual and collective identities, acting as a tool for self-expression, identification, and communication within societies. By examining specific linguistic practices within the Korean community, it is possible to observe how language becomes a vehicle for expressing one’s individuality or connectedness to the Korean cultural group. For instance, accent, fluency in English, knowledge of Korean vocabulary, the relative simplicity (i.e., streamlined syntax or standardized grammatical structure) of sentences, and the use of Konglish (a mixture of Korean and English) all reflect one’s affiliation with specific communities within the Korean diaspora and contribute to a sense of belonging (L. J. Choi, 2018, p. 1394).

Language not only allows people to express their perspectives, beliefs, and values but also enables them to construct and convey their identities; code-switching and borrowing become ways through which individuals assert their cultural heritage and share their personal experiences. Don Mee Choi explores this in her book, The Morning News is Exciting, in the section “Diary of a Translator,” addressing the theme of decolonization through fragmented and repetitive language. The content of the poem mirrors challenges faced by individuals striving to articulate their identities within the context of colonization and connects individual’s abilities to speak within oppressive systems:

The clock had a different response: The clock is mad. Who’s mad?

The clock is mad. Decolonized madness! Speak English! Only nation!

Translation is occupied. Who is colonial? Mad, mad, mad! It is one

in the morning. The clock is mad. Did I say theorize or colonize?

. . .

Undo madness.

Undo English. Mad, mad, mad! Colonial madness, you translate su-

preme

(D. M. Choi, 2010, p. 93)

In the poem, Choi addresses the process of decolonization by creating a sense of instability and disorientation within the fragmented language, showcasing the sentiments of those who want to express their identities but are unable to. The phrase “the clock is mad” is repeated several times throughout the poem, with the symbol of the clock serving as a representation of structure and conformity. However, by questioning the madness of this clock, Choi challenges the dominant power, suggesting that it is not as stable as it appears to be. The repetition of the word “mad” used consistently throughout the poem reinforces the pervasive theme of psychological upheaval and disorientation, accentuating the challenges faced by individuals trying to express their identities within the context of colonization. She calls for a dismantling of language structures when she wants to “Undo Madness. Undo English,” rejecting linguistic regularity and oppression. In asserting the importance of reclaiming linguistic agency, the phrase “Speak English! Only nation!” stands out not merely as a call to conformity but as an invocation of the monolingual nation-state, where “nation” has long been conflated with a single, official language (Hokenson & Munson, 2007, p. 1). By echoing and then unsettling this slogan, Choi exposes how the ideology of linguistic uniformity polices cultural difference and erases Korean heritage and cultural identity. By mixing languages and distorting syntax, Choi undoes both linguistic and cultural impositions by American neo-colonial forces.

Historical context reveals how marginalized communities have used language as a means of resistance, reclaiming their cultural heritage and challenging dominant languages. During the Japanese colonial period, authorities “attempted to change the cultural fabric of their colonial subjects” by banning Korean-language instruction and public use of Hangul (Caprio, 2009, p. 48), Despite this prohibition, Koreans defiantly held onto their mother tongue, turning language into a site of collective struggle and empowerment. Maintaining Korean speech required navigating a tricky balance between self-expression and self-preservation, since linguistic discrimination against those who failed to master Japanese was pervasive; Koreans had to be very careful in the ways they spoke or did not speak. In her poem, “Bell Theory,” Yoon (2019) gives an example of the ways that linguistic discrimination had detrimental effects on the Korean population:

Years ago, 1923 Japan, the phrase jugoen gojissen is used

to set apart Koreans: say 15 yen 50 sen. The colonized who use the chaos

of the Kanto Earthquake to poison waters, set fire: a cruelty special to

our species. (p. 37)

The Japanese phrase “jugoen gojissen” as a shibboleth to set apart the Koreans from the Japanese, with specific sounds and the ability to pronounce certain words being a distinguishing factor between the two nationalities. Since Koreans, whose language does not naturally include “dakuon . . . the muddy sounds of Japanese, including d, b, j, and g . . . the ‘untamed’ tongues of Koreans would utter them t, p, ch, and k” (Ryang, 2007, p. 1), making this linguistic difference a way to identify and divide, reinforcing the power dynamics of the colonizer and the colonized. The Kanto Massacre, in which the violent consequences of linguistic discrimination became starkly evident, was a tragic event following the 1923 Kanto Earthquakes; the systematic targeting and murdering of Koreans unfolded as they were perceived as a threat to public order after Koreans were rumored to have poisoned wells and local water sources (p. 4). Yoon addresses a readership not only fluent in English but also aware of East Asian colonial histories—scholars, members of the members of the diaspora, and any reader aware of Japan’s linguistic policing of Koreans. Her poetic references assume familiarity with historical shibboleths and their consequences, revealing the violence embedded in the linguistic discrimination that Koreans faced when language became a tool for division, as well as the ability to conform to the language of the colonizers became a matter of life and death. The poem captures the effects and the complex dynamics between language and power within this particular historical context, inviting readers to share in that cultural memory and witness how language itself can be a weapon.

Although the era of Japanese colonization has come to an end, members of the Korean diaspora still encounter linguistic prejudice, particularly from monolingual speakers in classrooms, workplaces, and public institutions of the countries they move to. In Yoon’s (2019) childhood recollection, “Bell Theory,” she shares the difficulties she had as a kid where “my throat[. . .]said ear when my ear said year and year after year[. . .]I’m in ESL” (p. 36). Her personal account of the challenges she faced highlights the disconnect between her pronunciation and the expected norms of the English language, providing a glimpse into the experiences that many individuals of the Korean diaspora encounter. Their accents or non-native fluency in the dominant language can result in prejudice, and this type of discrimination has negative effects on self-esteem, social integration, and relational opportunities, often leading to the unfair treatment or devaluation of them (Jang, 2021, p. 155). In the United States, where standardized English is often upheld as the unmarked norm, there is prestige and socioeconomic advantage to those who conform; individuals in positions of power often choose to wield language in order to assert their authority, controlling narratives and maintaining their privileged status. In her book, Hardly War, D. M. Choi (2016) employs a poetic technique that reflects a deliberate failure to use English “properly,” specifically in her poem “Are you OK, ROK?” where she utilizes both English and Korean in seemingly gibberish patterns while still getting the meaning of the poem across:

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas

Just like the ones I used to know, Sir!

무궁화, Sir!

White Horse, Sir!

Blue Dragon, Sir!

. . .

Search and destroy, said 수국

. . .

O dream—no face just a wide open belly

O fetus in the split womb

Oh cut off the baby cord

O war—breasts cut out and woman shot by ROK marines (Choi, 2016, p. 45)

Through the fragmented phrases and juxtaposition of unrelated words and concepts, Choi evokes a sense of disorientation and dislocation, deliberately mixing languages and cultural references. This blending of languages challenges the notions of linguistic purity and hierarchy, highlighting the fluidity and interconnectedness of diverse linguistic and cultural experiences. She uses disjointed patterns to disrupt traditional linguistic norms, inviting readers to question the social and cultural biases associated with language use. By doing so, Choi highlights the limitations of conventional language structures in capturing the complexities of human experiences and offers a powerful critique of the existing power dynamics embedded within language. She also taps into the power of language mutations—those deliberate disruptions of grammar and lexicon—to reconfigure linguistic hierarchies. As Grutman (2013) states in his “Beckett and Beyond,” such mutations are never neutral; they both reflect and contest the power relations encoded in dominant languages, which are inherently influenced by existing power structures (188). This gibberish, as exemplified in Choi’s poem, embodies a language of “perpetual foreignness,” residing beyond complete comprehension yet carrying profound political implications. Within the context of Korea, this intentional gibberish accentuates the prevailing dominance of colonial powers, which can also be seen in her poem, “Daddy’s Flower Bed”:

Daddy said to me

Let’s live together with flowers

but Big Kitty says to me

Translate me and I’ll kill you

아빠하고 나–하고 만든 꽃밭에

애들하고 재–밌게 뛰어놀다가

Rose moss blossoms

Red balsam blossoms

Me baby azalea

don’t want to live at all. (Choi, 2016, p. 45)

In the poem, the narrator’s words reinforce a sense of foreignness; the speaker’s father suggests living harmoniously with flowers, but the presence of “Big Kitty” can be read as an allegory for colonial or patriarchal authority demanding control over language. When Big Kitty threatens “Translate me and I’ll kill you,” the verb “translate” may imply not just linguistic conversion but also the act of decoding or exposing the hidden violence of polite discourse. This juxtaposition draws attention to communication and power dynamics, and the combination of English and Korean in the poem represents a clash of cultures and languages, illustrating the struggle of finding a place within these different linguistic realms. The lines, “me baby azalea / don’t want to live at all” carries deliberate ambiguity: while the speaker appears to speak for herself, the sudden reference to the baby azaleas blurs human and floral voices, possibly reading the plants as voicing despair under colonial violence or the speaker’s own fragile identity mirrored in the flowers’ precariousness. Furthermore, the use of flowers that are specific to Korea, like “rose moss blossoms,” “red balsam blossoms,” and “baby azalea,” situates the narrator in the country and also adds vivid imagery, creating a contrast between the beauty of nature and the narrator’s own feelings of not wanting to live at all. This conveys a sense of alienation and disconnection, echoing the theme of foreignness that permeates the poem and resonates with the broader exploration of linguistic power and subversion in Choi’s work.

In the exploration of language’s relationship with identity and power, the poetry of Choi provides a poignant lens through which to examine the complexities of these dynamics. For bilingual readers, the experience of reading Hardly War becomes a multi-tonal journey that underscores the richness that multilingualism brings to the exploration of identity and power dynamics, providing insight into the interplay between language and the construction of personal and collective identities.

The negotiation of identities

Multilingualism presents both challenges and advantages that significantly shape an individual’s experiences and identities, which can have particular benefits in the realm of poetry. By venturing beyond the confines of conventional language, Cathy Park Hong explores the fluidity of multilingual expression. She does this particularly well in her book, Translating Mo’Um, starting with the very first poem of the collection, “Zoo”:

Ga The fishy consonant,

Na The monkey vowel

Da The immigrant’s tongue

   as shrill or guttural.

Overture of my voice like the flash of bats.

The hyena babble and apish libretto.

Piscine skin, unblinking eyes.

Sideshow invites foreigner with the animal hide.

Alveolar tt, sibilant ss, and glottal hh

shi: poem

kkatchi: magpie

ayi: child. (Hong, 2002, p. 13)

The opening lines set the stage for a very diverse linguistic landscape as the phonetic representations that are in the poem evoke a sense of hybridity, especially with operatic references explicitly invoking Western high-art performance while overlapping non-European phonemes. This combination of opera terminology with immigrant speech sounds dramatizes how different linguistic registers converge into a single poetic “score,” reflecting hybridity in both sound and genre. This, alongside the mention of the “immigrants tongue” and the “babble” and “libretto” that follow, underscores the theme of linguistic diversity and adds an image of multilingualism, conveying the idea that languages can converge and create a space where different voices combine and intertwine. Furthermore, the inclusion of phonetic representations such as “Alveolar tt, sibilant ss, and glottal hh” highlights the specific pronunciations and the distinct sounds associated with different languages. The use of Korean words such as “shi” (poem), “kkatchi” (magpie), and “ayi” (child) exemplifies Hong’s exploration of multilingual expression, and these Korean words, integrated into the English text, serve as reminders of Hong’s linguistic heritage and her ability to incorporate diverse linguistic influences into her work.

Hong and Choi both pay homage to linguistic evolution while simultaneously carving out space for their own inventive contributions. One example where D. M. Choi (2020) does this is in “Mirror Words” in DMZ Colony, specifically in this poem:

Ruoy Ycnellecze, Erehw si Nuhc Oood-Nawh? Ruoy Ycnellecxe, Era Uoy Evila?

Si Huhc evila?

Laturb Noitan! Era uoy evila?

ㄱ – ㅏ – ㄱ – ㅎ – ㄱ – ㅖ – ㅇ – ㅓ – ㅁ – ㄹ –ㅕ – ㅇ – ㅇ – ㅣ – ㅂ – ㄴ –

ㅣ – ㄲ – ㅏ

(p. 105)

Here, the bolded “Laturb Noitan!” is Choi’s mirrored spelling of “Brutal Nation,” calling out the violence of monolingual nationalism. The following inverted English question (“Are you alive?”) implicate the reader in this act of linguistic inversion, showing how the nation-state’s demand for a single language can render other tongues invisible or even “un-alived.” By using these reversals, Choi not only invents new poetic forms but also dramatizes her refusal to submit to monolingual imperatives. In examining Choi’s presentation of “mirrored words” in English and Korean phrases in hangul without transliteration, there is the creation of a metonymic gap—the use of visual cues allows for a nuanced understanding of the poem’s overall mood even without complete comprehension of the text. The Korean phrases in their original hangul form, intentionally excluding transliterations, allow the phrases to retain their original power and resonance. This departure from transliteration serves multiple purposes, one of which is the refusal to dilute the Korean language, and the other, which is to emphasize cultural roots and resist the pressure to conform to linguistic norms that prioritize English. In addition, by taking this risk of utilizing Korean phrases, Choi challenges readers to engage with the text on a deeper level. Homi K Bhabha’s (1994) notion of cultural hybridity, in which “hybridity is the sign of the productivity of colonial power, its shifting forces and fixities; it is the name for the strategic reversal of the process of domination through disavowal” (p. 160), Choi uses Korean-English-Konglish in her poetry. While English speakers may not understand the literal meaning of the words in Korean or be able to internally and externally read them, she conveys the emotional and expressive power of the words through the context of the poem. In doing so, Choi encourages people to embrace and appreciate linguistic diversity and the evocative nature of language beyond mere comprehension, urging them to foster a fuller understanding of words that go beyond linguistic boundaries.

In Translating Mo’Um, Hong continues to delve deeper into the experiences of going beyond “normal” linguistic boundaries by focusing on the lives of second and third-generation immigrant Americans, shedding light on their linguistic identities and the challenges they face. Individuals of the diaspora often navigate the intricate terrain of “borderland” tongues, and Hong’s exploration of split identities and alienation from Anglo-American culture demonstrates the multifaceted nature of living in between languages, inviting readers into the inner conflicts and negotiations faced by those who live between multiple cultural contexts. Hong (2002) shows this in her poem, “Translating ‘Pagaji’”:

please fill all appropriate blanks with “pagaji.”

Angrily, she turned _______ but said nothing.

In the new country, she wore a Napoleonic jacket

and drank box wine. She was a ________ to

box wine and

By structuring the poem as a fill-in-the-blank exercise, Hong evokes the format of standardized language tests where form-filling measures one’s command of vocabulary. Here, the test motif satirizes how educational systems quantify minority speech, turning human stories into data points. The repeated blank lines thus critique the reduction of lived experiences; through her poetic choices and blanks in sentences and references that are specific to being Asian, Hong creates a space that embraces the irreducibility of meaning, the fluidity of identity, and the un-belonging experienced by individuals caught between languages and cultures. Her poetic language becomes a vehicle for capturing the nuances of hybrid identities, challenging societal expectations and inviting readers to reconsider conventional notions of linguistic and cultural belonging. She does this in her poem, “All the Aphrodisiacs,” in which she prefaces the fact that “you say it turns you on when I speak Korean.” The speaker says she whispers these types of household phrases to him:

– pae-go-p’a (I am hungry)

– ch’i-wa (Clean up)

– kae sekki (Son of a dog)

I breathe those words in your ear, which make you climax;

afterwards you ask me for their translations. I tell you it’s a secret.

gijek niin tigit rril—the recitation of the alphabet, guttural diphthong, gorgeous.

What are the objects that turn me on: words—(Hong, 2002, p. 37)

The erotic charge of Korean commands is directed at a presumably English-speaking lover who fetishizes “exotic” syllables, and by whispering these phrases, the speaker both indulges and upends the trope of the “submissive Asian woman.” When he begs for their translations, she withholds meaning as a form of power, emphasizing her affinity for language and her own linguistic agency. By identifying words as the objects of desire, Hong asserts the potency of language and its ability to shape relationships, identity, and intimacy. As a writer existing between languages, she also acknowledges the link between language and the body, unraveling the embodied experiences of language acquisition and expression. By intertwining linguistic elements with the physicality of the body, she explores how language becomes a lived experience, engaging not only the mind but also the senses. This approach addresses the tactile and sensory aspects of language, where words are not merely abstract symbols but tangible entities with the power to evoke emotions and bodily sensations. Hong’s poetic expressions unfold the visceral nature of language, going beyond linguistic boundaries to encompass the corporeal dimensions of communication. Through this exploration, she highlights the intimate relationship between language, the body, and belonging and identity. She further unveils the relations and tensions that arise when a person or a host country perceives the “foreign body” or language as an outsider, while outsiders grapple with the desire to assimilate and shed their old language in a bid to conform to societal expectations.

The exploration of multilingualism and linguistic hybridity is seen in the writing of Hong, Choi, and Yoon, giving readers an opportunity to reimagine the possibilities of language and the complexities of identity. Their inventive use of language, appreciation for linguistic diversity, and understanding of the nuanced relationship between language and culture shape their literary works into profound reflections on the human experience. By challenging societal perceptions and embracing the richness of linguistic evolution, Hong, Choi, and Yoon allow readers to gain a firsthand understanding of the experiences that shape transnational identities showing how linguistic diversity can be celebrated.

Language choice and multilingual competence

The dynamics of language choice and the perception of multilingual competence are crucial factors influencing how individuals are perceived. In Minor Feelings, Cathy Park Hong (2021) delves into the power dynamics embedded within the English language, stating that “to other English is to make audible the imperial power sewn into the language, to slit English open so its dark histories slide out” (p. 76). With this bold assertion, Hong draws attention to the historical complexities and oppressive elements within English. Through her exploration of language, she navigates and subverts these power dynamics, creating a space for alternative narratives and perspectives. Hong challenges the idea of linguistic purity as she explores the cultural translation that occurs within the immigrant experience when she is out “collecting bad English. I browse Engrish.com, a gag site that uploads photographs of mistranslated English from East Asian countries. . .I steal these lines and use them in my poetry.” For example, she takes the phrase “I feel a happiness when I eat him” and suggests that it has all the traits of a poetic line with a familiar yet unfamiliar sentiment where “chance has turned Error into Eros” (p. 96). Analyzing the unnecessary “a” in the phrase changes the tone of the sentence into a slightly strange one where the “a” forces a sense of uncertainty and creates a vaguely sinister pitch. In her exploration of language and her desire to expand English, she invents “Desert Creole” for her book Dance Dance Revolution, which is a made-up pidgin-English that immerses readers in a language that is only partially understandable. The poem’s title “The Importance of being English” could be seen as Hong (2008) reframing Oscar Wilde’s (1895) The Importance of Being Earnest and subverting “English” as the subject of stylistic performance by using Desert Creole to explain the story of how the speaker’s father came to learn English:

Mine gor-belly fadder a mout-rattla but soma-time

he plant poily bromide in me craina: pep gems dat echo

me mind chamber time y time—ahar, ahar,

him saith

. . .

Big booted potato finga’d giants cockim guns

en him ear cos tink he Commie spy. Big error

but all he kaim say? Ssalyu juseyo!

Gibberish to dim ears! (p. 45)

This blending of languages reflects the backgrounds of the immigrant experience, and in the poem, the speaker states that her father was perceived as a potential threat due to miscommunication or a lack of ability to properly communicate. The line “Ssalyu juseyo!” is the Korean phrase for “Help me!” but translated more directly, it means “Let me live!” However, the speaker explains that it was “gibberish to dim ears,” since the “big booted potato finga’d giants” did not understand him. The poem ends with a message from the speaker’s father to the speaker. He says:

You can be the best talker but no point if you can’t

speak the other man’s tongue. You can’t chisel, con, plead,

seduce, beg for your life, you can’t do anything, because you

know not their language. So learn them all. (p. 46).

This rhetorical shift, with the italicized and elevated register, mimics Victorian speech, underscoring how “standard” English itself is a cultivated performance that can exude non-native speakers from full social participation. The poem embodies the concept of Desert Creole and showcases the necessities of language acquisition. The father’s emphasis on the importance of speaking “the other man’s tongue” to navigate difficult situations and the urgency to learn multiple languages reflect the speaker’s understanding of the significance of language in shaping experiences and opportunities. Through the use of inventive language and inclusion of different cultural references in the context of a nuanced exploration of linguistic identity, Hong invites the readers to glimpse the struggles and resilience of individuals navigating language barriers and societal expectations in a new linguistic and cultural landscape.

Language, as Hong demonstrates through her exploration of Desert Creole in Dance Dance Revolution, goes beyond mere communication and holds immense historical, personal, and emotional significance. In a similar manner, Yoon, in her chapbook Ordinary Misfortunes, intertwines personal narratives with those of past survivors of Japan’s “comfort women” system.” By connecting different narratives and histories through the medium of two languages, Yoon (2017) not only amplifies marginalized voices but also challenges the limitations of conventional expression:

Okamoto condoms are number one in Korea The 001 series. The 002, 003. . .On Okamoto’s website: SKINLESS SKIN: a popular condom since postwar (which war?). No mention of Totsugeki Ichiban: meaning: Charge Number One, Assault Number One, Attack Number One. . .In comfort stations, there weren’t enough Number Ones. Attack and Blast, rinse, attack, and blast, repeat. The girls’ skinless skin. Blasted, postwar (which war?): gyokusai: meaning: shattered jade: better a broken jewel than an unbroken tile. . .erase any evidence: the girls’ skinless skin. Blast more holes into their bodies. 000. (p. 17)

In this poem, “An Ordinary Misfortune,” Yoon chooses to incorporate both English and Japanese, adding layers of meaning and emphasizing the significance of language in conveying the complexity of these narratives. The poem begins with a seemingly unrelated reference to condoms, subtly highlighting the commodification and objectification of women within the comfort stations. The numbering system of the condom series serves as a juxtaposition to the dehumanization and lack of agency experienced by the women; through this, Yoon challenges the notion of “number one” in the context of pleasure while implying the harsh reality faced by the comfort women. She shifts the focus to the lack of acknowledgment and erasure of these women’s experiences, and the repetition of words like “blast” and “attack” showcase the abuse and violence that these women had to endure. Phrases like “the girls’ skinless skin” evoke a haunting image, further emphasizing the physical and emotional damage that the victims were subjected to. Using Japanese terms like “gyokusai” and explaining that it means “shattered jade,” implies that the women were expendable and disposable to Japan. Yoon’s deliberate incorporation of Japanese terms authentically captures and provides a linguistic lens that pierces through historical erasure and portrays the silenced voices of the marginalized. Through her poetic exploration, Yoon amplifies the women’s voices while challenging the limitations of conventional expression.

Moreover, her mastery of intertwined languages and her deep understanding of the Korean diaspora give her an opportunity to write poetry within a modern context. She does this particularly well in her poem, “News,” where she addresses the 2014 MV Sewol incident in which over 250 students and eleven teachers drowned in a ferry accident:

. . . I am eating a pear and thinking

pear in Korean is a homonym for ship or boat

and stomach, how MV Sewol sank, how Sewol

means beyond the world and is homonymous with

the passing time or life. It carried mostly young students

on a school trip, told to wait in the stomach of Sewol while

the captain and crew fled . . . (Yoon, 2017, p. 3)

This linguistic play highlights the profound connection between language and tragedy, as the poem captures the unsettling juxtaposition of young students told to wait in the “stomach” of the ship while the captain and crew abandoned their duty. In writing “News” in English, Yoon both memorializes a Korean national tragedy and invites other audiences into its emotional terrain. The poem’s play with homonyms foregrounds how multilingual competence enables layered meanings that can travel across languages and cultures. By addressing anglophone readers directly, she destabilizes any single-nation reading of the ferry disaster, turning it into a site of transnational witness and accountability.

While language can evoke a profound sense of intimacy and connection, it can also carry the weight of painful memories and unresolved emotions. This can be seen in “to listen,” a poem from Hong’s (2002) poetic sequence, “To Collage a Beginning”:

Chapsuseyo: beef slats clothed in lettuce, griddled

vowels, hostess puckered thank you in a breath

(how do you bow, how do you

say eat formally)—winding spiral stairs

lead to ears that lead

to verbs tiered for a higher

and wider

The vivid imagery at the beginning of this poem evokes a sense of familiarity and nostalgia tied to cultural heritage through the medium of food with the phrase “griddled vowels,” suggesting the act of speaking, as well as the unique sounds and rhythms of Korean. As the poem progresses, the speaker mentions the hostess puckering a thank you, highlighting the cultural formalities associated with communication. The lines in parentheses about bowing, voiced by a hypothetical interlocutor, adds in ritualized politeness encoded into Korean honorifics and gestures, showcasing respect with hierarchical social orders by setting them apart using punctuation marks. The image of the winding stairs symbolizes a journey of understanding and connecting through language, but in mentioning that the verbs are tiered, the speaker suggests that there are different levels of meaning in the richness that the language holds. The second part of the poem reflects a sense of exile and feeling disconnected from the table, which metaphorically represents the space between communication and connection. In the poem, the speaker states that she has already left, implying that there is a separation from the familiar and that she struggles to reconcile the past with the present. Hong’s poem, through the speaker’s introspection and grappling with her relationship to the Korean language, encapsulates this yearning and desire of transnational individuals to be understood and to understand others, highlighting the challenges that come with navigating multiple cultural identities.

Hong’s poem explores the yearning for connection and understanding, as well as communication, across cultural boundaries. She sheds light on the importance of language in bridging gaps that exist. Similarly, Yoon’s poetry delves into the power of language to preserve cultural nuances and explore societal norms, transcending temporal and cultural boundaries. By uncovering the expansive potential of words and their meanings, she shows how language, culture, and the natural world are interconnected. Yoon (2019) explores this concept in “Time, in Whales”:

. . . I think of beached whales, the arcs in their bellies

   clean and gleaming. . .

You study Korean, whispering, murorŭda, murorŭda,

meaning, literally, water rises, but really meaning, to improve

or to rise in sap. . .

. . . Murorŭda. Water rises. Whales die in this year’s hot winter. . .

You rise now

whispering murollida, murollida. Meaning, literally, to raise water,

but really meaning to bring water to a boil (pp. 66–67).

The poem opens with the poignant image of beached whales, evoking a profound sense of displacement and a yearning for connection. The whales in this poem can be seen as literal or metaphorical whales that symbolize people in their migratory nature. Introducing the Korean phrase “murorŭda,” meaning “water rises,” the speaker expands the scope of language beyond mere translation; instead, Yoon reveals how language carries connotations and layers of meaning, enabling growth and transformation. By delving into the subtle nuances of words, she showcases language’s ability to go beyond temporal and cultural boundaries, forging connections between people and ideas across time and space; in this instance, the phrase “murorŭda” highlights the expansive potential of Korean morphology and the limits of non-Korean readership. Only those familiar with Korean can fully access the verb’s full meaning, so the poem simultaneously crosses and polices boundaries, offering readers of Korean an intimate and generative moment. The repetition of “murorŭda” throughout the poem creates a mesmerizing rhythm, underscoring its significance and transformative nature. Furthermore, the mention of whales dying in the winter amplifies the fragility and interconnectedness of all living beings, emphasizing the urgent need to preserve and cherish the natural world and serving as metaphors for the connections between languages and cultures.

As the poem concludes, the speaker’s partner rises and softly utters “murollida,” signifying “to raise water” while metaphorically suggesting the act of boiling. This moment captures the poem’s exploration of language, culture, and connection, and as a rallying call to action, compels readers to utilize the power of language to effect change and instigate transformation. Yoon prompts readers to actively engage with language through second-person addressing, direct questions, and interrupted syntax that forces readers to fill in semantic gaps. This urges people to harness the transformative power of language to dismantle barriers, foster understanding, and ignite positive change within communities and in the broader global context. In this poem, she exemplifies her ability to illuminate the significance of language in bridging cultural divides, showcasing her understanding of the expansive potential of words to transcend time and culture.

As Hong and Yoon provide insights into the empowering nature of language and its role in reclaiming agency, they offer insights into a broader discussion on how multilingual individuals navigate boundaries, negotiate identities, and strategically invest in their multilingual practices to assert their legitimacy while distancing themselves from negative perceptions. Their exploration of language choice and multilingual competence illuminates the interplay between language, perception, and identity, highlighting the nature of these aspects in shaping individuals’ experiences. By embracing their linguistic hybridity and pushing the boundaries of language, authors like Choi, Hong, and Yoon expand traditional notions of linguistic competence, incorporating diverse literary influences and amplifying marginalized voices.

However, the increasing complexity of global migration and mobility has raised questions of authenticity in multilingualism. In the context of nation-based notions of belonging, where citizenship and identity have been traditionally tied to a single “national” tongue (Hokenson & Munson, 2007, p. 2), multilingual individuals may be unjustly perceived as impostors or inauthentic. Global migration challenges established norms, often triggering misinterpretations of multilingual practices as attempts to mimic others or conform to contemporary notions of modernity, placing bilingual individuals in a vulnerable position within societal expectations and traditional conceptions of identity (L. J. Choi, 2018, p. 1395). This damaging association with multilingualism and transnationalism places bilingual individuals in a vulnerable position (p. 1396), underscoring the impact that language has on self-perception, highlighting the emotional weight carried by other individuals who navigate cultural and linguistic boundaries.

It is essential to recognize that scholarly perspectives on language have evolved; over the past several decades, there have been various ways to capture the dynamics of multilingual competence, created by the multilingual community (L. J. Choi, 2018). While sociolinguists increasingly praise multilingual repertoires as cognitive and cultural assets, public attitudes and media discourses still privilege English-only or monocultural norms. Even within academic circles, certain language combinations (e.g., European lingua francas) are deemed more “marketable” than non-Western ones like Korean-English pairings. In this sense, multilingual individuals still often produce language in ways that are “ideologically situated and produced, limiting their bilingual flexibility and creativity” (Choi, 2018, p. 1395). Specifically within the realm of Korean-English bilingualism, the interplay between these two languages provides a unique context for exploring the dynamics of multilingualism, especially with its distinct negotiation of two divergent language systems, including morphology, syntax, and orthography. These structural contrasts intensify identity work, as writers must reconcile radically different writing systems and cultural logics, producing a hybridity that feels less seamless than more closely related languages, such as German to English. Because of this, the juxtaposition of Korean and English within individual language repertoires gives rise to complex negotiations of identity, cultural belonging, and linguistic expression. Understanding the intricacies of Korean-English bilingualism shows how individuals navigate between two linguistic and cultural systems, shaping their sense of self and their interactions within diverse social contexts.

Individuals who speak both Korean and English play an active role in what is considered “real bilingualism,” and they make very deliberate choices in “distancing themselves from particular types of language registers and language competences” (L. J. Choi, 2018, p. 1396). For example, with Choi’s Konglish neologisms, Hong’s “Desert Creole,” and Yoon’s translingual play with homonyms, each of them are able to showcase how they distance themselves from monolithic registers. Their poetic experiments map community-specific competencies as well, showing how bilingual legitimacy is claimed through stylistic choices that are rooted in lived experiences. Feelings of being an imposter have become increasingly prevalent in the globalized context of today’s world, and since multilingual practice and performance are not simply about employing different linguistic features or crossing linguistic boundaries, individuals need to carefully navigate and monitor socially constructed boundaries and meanings associated with languages, linguistic features, and practices (p. 1406). The calculated approach of displaying bilingual competences specific to a community minimizes the risk of being framed as an imposter and enables them to claim their legitimacy (p. 1396). The complexities of bilingualism and the juxtaposition between who may or may not be a “real bilingual” are two of the main struggles when it comes to language choice and multilingual competence.

Multilingualism/translingualism in literature

The recent exploration of multilingualism and translingualism within literature represents a paradigm shift that goes beyond language capability, investigating the layers of cultural identity, power dynamics, and transnational identity. Rooted in critical theories of postcolonialism and globalization, these concepts emerge as tools that help redefine literary expression and challenge pre-existing norms. In order to have a better understanding of these concepts, it is necessary to establish baseline definitions of the terms.

Linguist Suresh Canagarajah (2009) describes multilingualism as a state where “meanings and grammars are always emergent” (p. 18), and multilingual writers assert their presence in literature by reclaiming and reinventing dominant languages. In this sense, multilingualism, which can be seen as a reflection of cultural and linguistic diversity, finds its resonance within literature as a form of resistance against dominant, singular linguistic narratives and perspectives (Duff, 2015, p. 75). Many poets do this by using more than one language in their works, as this act of linguistic appropriation challenges the hierarchies that exist within colonial literature, redefining cultural narratives and inviting people to navigate the interconnectedness of languages and histories (Walkowitz, 2020, p. 324).

An example of the use of multilingualism can be seen in D. M. Choi’s (2020) “Ahn Hak-sop #4,” in which a section of the poem transitions from English to Korean and back to English:

then I heard the vowels from my own mouth

O E

A E

I E

E E E

이 이 이

. . .

이 Mercury

이 Venus

이 Earth

(p. 32)

The poem’s structure embodies the interconnectedness of languages and histories by alternating sequences of Latin vowels and Hangul syllables. Choi materializes a dialogue between two phonetic spheres, and this structural weaving dramatizes translingual resonance with each writing system generating different meanings at their intersection through a multilayered linguistic tapestry; this aligns with how multilingualism can redefine cultural narratives and conventional linguistic boundaries.

However, this poem can also be seen as embodying the concept of translingualism, especially since it goes beyond simply using two languages side by side, shaping one another to form different meanings (Zapata & Laman, 2016, p. 367). Choi’s poem, rather than merely consisting of two separate languages, involves a full interplay between Korean and English, blurring the boundaries between them and creating different linguistic and cultural meanings. The transition between the languages shows a deeper engagement with language beyond a surface-level translation, reflecting the translingual approach where the two languages interact and influence each other as a form of linguistic fusion. Translingualism, building upon the foundations of multilingualism, further blurs the lines between languages, reimagining the structure of literary expression and resonating with the theories of linguistic hybridity by highlighting the fluidity of cultures and languages (Lazzari, 2023, p. 316). According to Zapata and Laman (2016), the “translingual orientation recognizes the multidirectional influences of the language resources[. . .]and how those resources are, thus, always in contact” (p. 367). In that sense, translingual poets have the power to intricately weave multiple languages, infusing the text with an intercultural vibrancy that goes beyond translation, and this dynamic engagement with language is what underscores the evolving nature of literary expression.

Translingualism goes hand in hand with the “metonymic gap,” as discussed by Ashcroft et al. (2002), in that there is a “cultural gap formed when appropriations of a colonial language insert unglossed words, phrases or passages from a first language, or concepts, allusions or references that may be unknown to the reader.” This insertion serves as a representation of the colonized culture within the text, emphasizing the inherent resistance to full interpretation and constructing a gap between the writer’s cultural context of the colonial power. When a translingual writer strategically uses a colonial language to convey their world to a wider audience (including the colonizers themselves), the writer is essentially saying that they are using that language so others will understand their world but also show that the colonizers cannot share in their experience of moving between languages. This approach aligns with the idea that translingual writers aim to communicate their experiences and worldviews while simultaneously emphasizing the limitations of linguistic assimilation. By creating tension between understanding and divergence, the writer uses colonial language for comprehension while introducing variations that highlight the accessibility of shared experiences, blending languages to convey a desire to communicate feelings that are better captured in Korean. Ashcroft et al. suggest that translingual poets use diverse linguistic strategies to navigate this metonymic gap, including “syntactic fusion; neologisms; code switching; untranslated words” (p. 137), with each of these techniques helping contribute to the construction of a translingual space. As a result, translingualism in literature embodies a multifaceted negotiation between languages, cultures, and identities, in which inserted languages can serve as symbolic representation of the writer’s culture, resisting full assimilation and interpretation while facilitating cross-cultural communication and understanding.

Sometimes there are connections to specific cultural aspects, inviting readers to think about language beyond direct translation. These symbolic representations of culture serve as a demonstration of how translingual techniques can create dynamic engagement within language, underscoring the nature of literary expression and challenging traditional notions of linguistic purity while offering a space for the convergence of diverse linguistic influences. Conversely, Hong (2002), in her poem “Androgynous Pronoun,” chooses to translate specific words from Korean to English (and vice versa) while still creating a translingual space where multiple languages intersect:

(ko) I inherited my father’s nose. (ku’rum) also his walk.

(want) pronounced won-ha-da. won-ha-da wooed

a flat-chested woman. her arms enfolded.

Hers puddled between her legs. His streamed past twenty fences.

(She said she was a man. He challenged her to a piss) (p. 57)

In this poem, Hong explores the concept of gender and identity within a translingual framework, highlighting the complexities that arise when languages intersect. By presenting translated words such as “ko” and “ku’rum,” Hong navigates the metonymic gap through linguistic interpretation, showcasing the potential for communication across two languages while still retaining the essence of the original concepts. This reflects the dynamic interaction between languages and cultures as the poem’s interplay of Korean and English words creates a space in which each linguistic element can influence the other.

Multilingualism and translingualism serve as vehicles for decolonizing literary landscapes as they not only challenge the colonial legacies but also give voice to marginalized communities whose languages and cultures have been suppressed. As these concepts resonate with post-coloniality and decoloniality, they call for the dismantling of colonial structures so that writers can engage in cultural reclamation while redefining literary boundaries. These concepts challenge conventional norms within literature while also celebrating the complexity of communication and creating a space of empowerment and resistance where languages can converge and intersect, giving newfound opportunities of understanding and appreciation.