Poetry (2010)
“To write poetry, you must see well. The most important thing in life is seeing,” a teacher tells his beginning poetry class of mostly middle aged to elderly folks.
“When you really see something, you can feel it naturally […] You should prepare paper and a pencil and wait for that moment to come,” he continues.
“Empty white paper… A world of pure potential.”
Are the things the teacher says profound? Or are they vacuous? Is he a real poet or a complete hack? I’m still not sure.
But his class becomes inspired and begin sharing their own stories. About the beauty of a first time childbirth: “this fiery hot mass, like the sun, slipping out.” And the pain of a love that cannot be because both are married. One man even poignantly (hilariously? again, I’m not sure) admits, “I don’t have any beautiful memories.”
This is the first thing we see Mija, the film’s lead, write in her notebook:
The sound of birds singing
What are they singing?
You’re never quite certain of much. A lot happens off camera and we’re always left on the anxious line between knowing and waiting to find out (and occasionally being somewhat lost). This is only possible because Lee Chang-dong is so precise with his writing, so in tune with the dialogue, and so trusting of his audience. An impressive balancing act of letting us in and keeping us out.
Like any writer, Mija gets stuck. She wants to be a better poet but isn’t sure how, so she seeks the advice of more seasoned writers at a local poetry night. We get the sense they are equally lost, only better at manufacturing inspiration. But isn’t that just a part of the game? We’re all amateur people—trying to get better so we can fit in.
While Mija walks around outdoors for inspiration, a gust throws her hat into the river. There is an odd sense of relief and she reaches some kind of epiphany. She lets go.
She later pulls out her notebook to start writing again, but before she can start, a drop of rain falls on the page. The splatter on the paper darkens as the water soaks in. Then, another drop. The entire page is covered within seconds and the rain becomes the ink on her page.
By the end of Poetry (which I thought was one of 2011’s best), we’re left with a lot to chew on. Was Mija the one to call the police on her grandson? Who is the girl on the bridge? Do we see a retelling of past events or the imagination of a remorseful poet? Or is she the one who (presumably) jumps?
Lee provides the paper and the only thing left for us to do is write.
The apricot throws itself to the ground.
It is crushed and trampled for its next life.
