‘My Dear Yeast’ – An Interview with Poet Melanie Hyo-In Han

My Dear Yeast (2024), the debut poetry collection from Melanie Hyo-In Han, is an unapologetically authentic journey depicting displacement and trauma alongside growing self-awareness. Han binds these pieces with a thread of third culture identity and questions what it means to belong. Grief, anger, joy, and the often difficult but inextricable truth are laid forth in plain view with her powerful and beautiful words.

In this interview with Iona McHaney Marcellino, a fellow third culture kid (TCK), Han shares the importance of honesty within identity and the recognition of loss—past and present.

---

Iona McHaney Marcellino: Validation is an important aspect of being creative, but sometimes it can be elusive, both for the creative individual and for a third culture kid. What has been one of the most validating moments for you in writing this collection and as a TCK?

Melanie Hyo-In Han: Validation for me as a TCK poet came when I received messages from readers who not only resonated with my experiences but also found solace in the shared emotions within my poetry. Knowing that my words had the power to create connections and understanding among those who have grappled with displacement was profoundly affirming. These moments extended beyond the realm of personal creativity, transcending the boundaries of individual stories. They underscored the collective importance of our narratives, emphasizing that, as TCKs, our diverse experiences contribute to a broader tapestry of humanity. These instances reminded me of the significance of our voices and the unity of our varied journeys.

Throughout My Dear Yeast, you seamlessly cover many aspects of this shared humanity. There is an awareness of grief, of change, of self-discovery, of growth, of loss, and of hope. Have you always had this awareness of the world and of yourself? Is it a trait that grew with your poetry?

The awareness depicted in my poetry has been a lifelong journey. For me, writing functions as a reflective mirror – it captures the nuances of my evolving understanding of the world and of myself. It becomes a means of expression and an ongoing dialogue through which I can articulate and share the layers of awareness that unfold within me. This interplay between my own life experiences and my creative processes have helped me foster connections with readers who also navigate the complexities of their own lives. 

Read “On Their Home, Not Mine”

Names and languages are an important part of our complex, individual identity. Often, TCKs are forced to relinquish pieces of themselves for the comfort of others. You explore the loss of your name, the difficulty of holding onto your grandmother’s language, and the pressure to minimize yourself. How have you found your voice and your identity as a poet in the third culture space? What would you say to other TCKs searching for a way to stake the claim to their own identity?

Finding my voice and identity as a poet within the third culture space has been a transformative process, one that has involved reclaiming elements of myself that were, at times, sacrificed for the comfort of others. My journey has taught me that embracing my name, language, and culture is a powerful way to be authentically myself, and that’s what I’d encourage other TCKs to try to do. Through my poetry, I hope to illustrate the richness of individual identity that lies in the unapologetic celebration of self. 

It is refreshing that you do not translate the Swahili or the Korean words. These are authentic parts of your story and you have given them their proper recognition. Was it a conscious decision to say not everything gets to be catered for the Western ear? What led to your choice to omit a glossary or other translation aid?

Omitting translations for Swahili or Korean words and phrases was a conscious decision, driven by my desire to preserve the authenticity of my experiences and emphasize the importance of recognizing and appreciating linguistic diversity. The decision was not taken lightly; in fact, the first few drafts of my manuscript included a glossary. However, as I reflected on my work, I ultimately made the decision to remove it due to my belief that not everything should be catered to a Western audience. I wanted to invite readers to the complexities of language and cultural nuances inherent in my poems without the filter of translation or explanation, especially since not everything can (or should) be translated. 

Read “Letters to You”

Considering your current PhD work on Japanese colonialism and its devastating effect on Korean literature and poetry, how does it feel to reclaim the language that was taken, both from you and from others?

Being able to utilize poetry as a way of reclaiming the language taken from me and others due to Japanese colonization has been a poignant and empowering process. It has been a way of asserting control over a narrative that was once manipulated, and I feel like my poetry and my PhD research have been giving me the opportunity to contribute to marginalized narratives. My ongoing work has not only been a personal journey of rediscovery but also a collective restoration of voices silenced by historical injustices.

You reclaim this narrative of artful expression not only through your words but also the structure of your poems. Some were reminiscent of ee cummings, who you mention as a poet you enjoy (one of my personal favorites, as well – I wonder if the disjointed form appeals to displaced people) Do you have any other inspirations from poetry, literature, or nature that inspire this free form?

Yes, definitely! It is my hope that the intentional designs in my poems create a deeper visual and emotional impact for the audience. There are other poets who use similar techniques of mise-en-page to amplify feelings of disjointedness and fragmentation that often characterize the TCK experience. I often find inspiration from Emily Jungmin Yoon, Ocean Vuong, and Cathy Park Hong, who utilize visual elements to mirror the multifaceted aspects of identity. 

Read “‘Corona, Corona’: In the Cycle of Grief”

Your poems on East Africa and boarding school brought up bittersweet memories. I enjoyed reading about fried flying ants and red dirt-stained soles. It’s a shared experience, but with the passing of time and places seems to be archived in personal mythology. Do you find some memories and experiences can only be described in the language in which they were lived? How have you made peace with the fact that some experiences will never be shared with others? 

Thank you so much. I do think certain memories and experiences are deeply embedded in the language(s) in which they were lived. By choosing to convey these experiences in their original linguistic form, I aim to preserve the unique emotions tied to those moments as a way of safeguarding the essence of the memories and ensuring they aren’t diluted or lost in translation. However, I also acknowledge the bittersweet reality that not every experience can be fully shared and that some things remain inherently personal and untranslatable. Navigating the tension between the desire to share and the acceptance that certain things will remain elusive – that’s something with which I’m still learning to come to terms.

Which poem in this collection did you find the most restorative to write? Or, is there one that has become a ‘best reflection’ of your current identity?
That’s a great question! Though each poem in My Dear Yeast holds a special place in my heart, if I had to choose one as the most restorative, it would be “My Dear Yeast,” the namesake of the book. Writing it allowed me to delve into years of reflection on language and culture. It served as a poignant exploration of my past, providing closure and marking a significant step in my ongoing journey of self-discovery.