Culture Bandit

Ishle Yi Park has been on the poetry circuit for years, enticing us with the warmth of her down-home Korean flavor and around-the-way girl spunk. In 2003, she was named the Poet Laureate of Queens, an honor granted to those who have succeeded in the arts movement by an independent panel of judges comprised of professionals from the literary community. During her three-year post as Poet Laureate, she’s published her first novel, The Temperature of Water and graced the stage with the Tony-award winning cast of Russell Simmons Presents: HBO’s Def Poetry Jam. Through her work, Park celebrates womanhood outside of racial boundaries, the art of love amidst war and epitomizes the awakening of small acts leading to revolutionary changes.

SM: Are you ever afraid that your poetry would offend a particular audience or do you just say ‘to hell with it’ and perform anyway?

IP: Some people might take my poems the wrong way, but I think the responsibility really lies with me to deliver them with honesty, clarity, truth, and light. If I am heartfelt, open, and express my poems with love, then I think they can translate to any audience. I make a special effort to pray and ask my ancestors for strength, humility, and guidance before I perform in front of an all-black audience, because I know the reality is that African-American and Korean relations are still strained in America.

We don’t know enough about each other’s cultures, histories and struggles in general to truly respect and understand each other as people. I believe that part of my mission in this life is to be a bridge between communities, to bring people together so we can see each other’s common humanity, respect each other’s struggles, and come together to make life as bearable for each other in this country as we can.

SM: When I saw you on the third season of “Def Poetry,” I was surprised to see your performance of “Pussy” because although the word is vulgar to some, the content of your poem was raw and honest. When you walked onto the stage, you looked so innocent (which was obviously an optical illusion!). When you perform, do you think that’s what audience members expect–the “demure” Asian woman and not someone as feisty and humorous as yourself?

IP: Yes, I think everyone has stereotypes of people until they get to know them, and that’s what I love about performing. I can’t hide who I am, so people see the real me, past the stereotypes, past their preconceived notions of what an Asian American woman “should” be, to the truth of who I am as a human being.

SM: What’s the most offensive stereotype about Asian women that makes your blood boil when you hear or read about it?

IP: I’m annoyed at the stereotype of Asian women being submissive and docile because I was raised by women who are all strong fighters, survivors, mothers, and healers. There is more than one way to fight; some methods are more subversive. I think I address this by simply paying tribute to Korean women in so many of my poems, from the Chejudo women who sustain the economy of their island by deep-sea-diving; to my poem about Queen Min Bi, the last empress of Korea; to my tribute to the Korean mothers who raised us here in America in “Ode to the Picnic Singers.”

SM: Do you ever fear that your life as a poet may waver and eventually you’ll have to settle for a 9 to 5?

IP: Actually, I did settle for a 9 to 5 job when I moved to New Zealand. It was an incredibly humbling experience for me, because I went from being the Poet Laureate of Queens with a graduate degree to not being able to get a job at Real Groovy, a popular music shop in Auckland! They said I was too qualified. So basically, I experienced what it is like to lose money, status, and identity as an immigrant. It was a struggle—emotionally and financially. I had to rebuild myself from the bottom up as an artist, as a human being, as a spirit, and I couldn’t rest on any laurels whatsoever. They were like, ‘Queens? What’s that?’

It was a painful, but amazing experience because it made me a much stronger person—from the inside out—and it made me appreciate, understand, and have a much greater respect for my parents and the unbelievable hardship and struggle they experienced as immigrants in America. It’s not an easy thing—moving your whole life, leaving your friends and family for something completely unknown on pure hope and faith that life might be better somewhere else. Anyway, I ended up getting a job as a hostess for a Japanese restaurant that had flashing animes of sexy pigtailed girls in bobby socks and such. It was ridiculous. I felt like I was selling my soul to the devil. But I had to survive. I had to pay rent. The experience made me value the privilege I have in the United States of being a working artist who can make a living off what I do. And it made me even more determined to sing and write—no matter what—because if I don’t, I realize that I die inside. My soul withers. I need to do it to live and to feel happy, which is gratifying to know. I know now that I won’t stop just because the money’s not coming in. I’m doing it for a much deeper, spiritual purpose which is to make myself feel alive, vibrant, and necessary in this world. And no one can touch that.

My final thought though, to be honest, is that working at this sushi restaurant was a great reminder that it doesn’t matter what you do—it matters who you are. I met some incredible people at this random job. These are people who I will remember for the rest of my life, for their smiles, for their sadness, for their small beauties. And no matter what you do in this world—if you do it with grace, kindness, and love—I think you can be an incredible person and affect change in your own small universe.

SM: Some people thought the age of the neo-soul, finger-snapping poetry days would die after “Love Jones” left the theatres and everyone realized that Erykah‘s dreads weren‘t real after the head wrap came off. But since the inception of “Def Poetry Jam,” a lot of artists have made a successful venture out of performing—especially in these times–by speaking out against our current political state. Do you think liberal artistry fluctuates with the changes of our political climate (when it’s good, there’s a sense of contentment, but when it’s bad, EVERYONE has an opinion)?

IP: In troubling times, there is a need for poets, musicians, and artists to step up and speak the truth about what is going on, because if they don’t, who will? In saying this, though, I do believe there is a difference between art and a harangue. To paraphrase Toni Morrison, all art is political. Our job, as artists, is to make the work unquestionably political and irrevocably beautiful.