Korean-American poet, nationally acclaimed, queer. You don’t see these labels intersect too often. Living as an Asian in a country still split on race means there are hurdles and barriers to overcome. Living as an Asian in a literary world means often facing rejection from your own people, being called “pointless” and “broke.” When I stumbled upon a poster promoting Franny Choi’s poetry reading, the familiar Korean last name and an unorthodox portrait drew me in. It seemed like a rare and special occasion to see Korean representation in the literary world, yet frankly, I didn’t expect much other than an entertaining Friday evening activity. Yet what I heard that night completely revolutionized my world of Korean identity, humanities, and advocacy that I’ve familiarized myself with for so long. With increasing focus on hyperefficiency, humanities tend to be less sought out, but Choi’s readings helped people realize the beauty of collectively embracing the slower moments.
After the reading, I asked Choi what role the humanities, specifically poetry, can play in a world where machine-like efficiency is considered the top product. With the introduction of Artificial Intelligence in the market, humanity has shifted to prioritize pumping out the next revolutionary startup, with slower disciplines like the humanities losing interest from the public. In answering this question, Choi focused on the necessity of slower, zoomed-out moments in our lives. She answered that, akin to movie scenes in which the protagonist zooms out of the scene, thoughtful and slow moments are needed in our lives. As an aspiring philosophy student, Choi gave me hope that people will eventually seek for slow moments, as we have over the centuries of existence. Amidst the hypercompetitive, on-the-go lifestyle that taints the modern generations, poems, novels, and philosophical texts can provide a necessary pause that helps us reset and consider the purpose behind our hectic lives. This is exactly what Choi’s readings offered to me that night. I gazed upon my life and had space to ponder who I am and what I am here for. When all the focus is on beating the next number in line, Choi and all the writers like her remind us of the beauty of slowness.
Furthermore, despite her impressive accolades, such as being named the Poet Laureate of Northampton, Massachusetts, Choi didn’t present herself as a greater mind. She didn’t speak like a poet trapped in an ivory tower, looking down upon a herd of intellectual peasants. Sitting in the front row, I initially expected a long lecture with tints of intellectual superiority, the “I-know-more-about-the-world-so-listen” type of reading. However, Choi immediately eased the atmosphere with her friendly and approachable presence. She chose to be vulnerable with the anguish she felt about the world when she wrote the poems, putting all the students on the same plane of intellect and maturity. Choi’s poems were born out of a piercing distress with the status quo and touched many readers who have felt the same way in the past. This accessibility of the emotions contained in her poems gave me hope for the future of the humanities—that words can have an impact on people and tell a culturally significant story.
Choi’s poems further presented the possibility of the humanities to unite people of all identities by presenting the bigger picture. Notably, Choi’s poems don’t merely represent the Asian American experience, but also touch on broader problems that our world faces, including police brutality, racial discrimination, and sexism. After the reading, one student asked Choi how she gained interest in a broad scheme of issues, including African Americans. She answered that, belonging in a literary community, she always found the Asian and African American solidarity important, a belief that melted into her poems by representing people of all identities. This answer shifted my perspective on representation. As an international Korean, I have been overly fixated on belonging in AAPI spaces, speaking up for Korean culture. While catching up with the latest trends and social cues, it is easy for people to trap themselves in identity-based bubble that prevent cross-cultural experiences. Choi asks us to take a step back, to realize that the world exists beyond our lives, and to appreciate the diversity of the people all around. In this way, she presents the unique ability of the humanities to intentionally embrace the beauty of the whole.
There are a couple of moments in your life that challenge your world of experiences. And Franny Choi’s reading was that moment for me. Seeing a successful Asian American figure in the humanities made me realize that the life I intend to pursue can be deeply meaningful and impactful. That I don’t need to attend to the machinery-style life to adhere to the modern standard of success, that emotions often sing louder than numbers. That I can still grasp onto the glimmer of hope that the world can become a better place. Or, as Franny Choi puts it, “given that the future is unknown, that we can’t predict it, then there’s work to do. If it could go either way, then the things that we do actually matter. That is where hope comes from.
