An American soldier fucked a Vietnamese farmgirl. The son of refugees from the Vietnam War, Vuong investigates the generational effects of warfare by writing about his grandmother’s trauma in a tender yet harrowing way. TPCASTT Poetry Analysis. Lyrical, expansive, sexual, provocative, he sings of the Vietnamese body and of Vietnamese history." He was born in Saigon Connections and Compassion It is very difficult to read the poetry of Ocean Vuong: he gets inside the marrow and hides there for even a few moldy moments of memories that we've tried to erase. Some poems ring with fear, some with sorrow, some with the point blank horror of napalm burnings. While near Lan’s village of Go Cong, Little Dog wakes in the night to the sounds of music and laughter. Your arms cleaving little wounds, in the wind. OCEAN VUONG. “Kissing in Vietnamese” by Ocean Vuong. The opening poem was subtle, as the closing poem is subtle. Kissing in Vietnamese ~ Ocean Vuong My grandmother kisses as if bombs are bursting in the backyard, where mint and jasmine lace their perfumes through the kitchen window, as if somewhere, a body is falling apart and flames are making their way back through the intricacies of a young boy’s thigh, as if to walk out the door, your torso brown gook crumbles under John Wayne’s M16, Vietnamburning on the screen, let it slide through their ears, clean, like a promise, before piercing the posterof Michael Jackson glistening over the couch, into, the supermarket where a Hapa woman is readyto believe every white man possessing her nose, is her father, may it sing, briefly, inside her mouth,before laying her down between jars of tomato, & blue boxes of pasta, the deep-red apple rollingfrom her palm, then into the prison cell, where her husband sits staring at the moonuntil he’s convinced it’s the last wafer, god refused him, let it hit his jaw like a kisswe’ve forgotten how to give one another, hissing, back to ’68, Ha Long Bay: the sky replacedwith fire, the sky only the dead. His poems appear in Boston Review, Kenyon Review, The Nation, New Republic, The New Yorker, Poetry, Tri-Quarterly, and American Poetry Review, which awarded him the 2012 Stanley Kunitz Prize for Younger Poets. Rather than being filled with the innocent warmth of a stereotypical grandma, Vuong’s memories of his own elder is scarred by her fear of bombs, exit wounds, and violence. Ocean, don’t be afraid. You can be nothing, The Quarry: A Social Justice Poetry Database. Viet Cong soldiers going into battle near Hue during the Vietnam War, circa 1968. & you want someone to say. 2. He was a featured poet at Split This Rock Poetry Festival in 2016. Vuong is a recipient of the 2014 Ruth Lilly/Sargent Rosenberg fellowship from the Poetry Foundation , a 2016 Whiting Award , and the 2017 T.S. open_in_newwww.poets.org. It was July 3rd, and Vuong was in town giving a series of readings as part of La Milanesiana festival on the occasion of the translation of last year’s Night Sky with Exit Wounds into Cielo notturno con fori d’uscita . Kissing in Vietnamese. – Ocean Vuong. Sep 15, 2020 - Kissing in Vietnamese - My grandmother kisses where mint and jasmine lace their perfumes That makes three this year. Color Scheme. You want someone to say all thisis long ago. How you can love the worlduntil there’s nothing left to love, but yourself. through the kitchen window, as if somewhere, a body is falling apart. As Vuong explains in his 2016 poetry collection, “Night Sky With Exit Wounds,” his grandfather was a U.S. soldier who found a farm girl in Vietnam. Ocean Vuong creates and poses alternate universes within these poems. Question: Ocean Vuong Poemanalysis. It speaks about generational trauma passed down from his grandmother who lived through the Vietnam War. through the intricacies of a young boy’s thigh, – Ocean Vuong. Peter Bienkowski. Born in Saigon, Vietnam, he lives in New York City. no flashy smooching, no western music. Filter by: Special Poem Collections . He was awarded the 2016 Whiting Award, and the 2017 T.S. Home; My grandmother kisses as if bombs are bursting in the backyard, … Which means if you open your eyes, you’ll be back. so that your scent is relearned -Ocean Vuong. in that house, beneath a blanket printed with yellow sailboats. My grandmother kissesas if bombs are bursting in the backyard,where mint and jasmine lace their perfumesthrough the kitchen window,as if somewhere, a body is falling apartand flames are making their way backthrough the intricacies of a young boy’s thigh,as if to walk out the door, your torsowould dance from exit wounds.When my grandmother kisses, there would beno flashy smooching, no western musicof pursed lips, she kisses as if to breatheyou inside her, nose pressed to cheekso that your scent is relearnedand your sweat pearls into drops of goldinside her lungs, as if while she holds youdeath also, is clutching your wrist.My grandmother kisses as if historynever ended, as if somewherea body is stillfalling apart. would dance from exit wounds. He was born in Saigon Connections and Compassion It is very difficult to read the poetry of Ocean Vuong: he gets inside the marrow and hides there for even a few moldy moments of memories that we've tried to erase. with your favorite paperback & your mother’s .45, that the surest shelter was always the thoughts, above your head. and flames are making their way back. The following interview took place in the café’s sunny window seat during a brief break between Ocean’s teaching commitments around the corner at NYU. Your mother’s boyfriend, his bald head ringed with redhair, like a planet on fire, kneeling, by your bed again. You are something made. Bravo! Project the poem “Kissing in Vietnamese” by Ocean Vuong. His spilled-ink hand, on your chest. Twenty years after I grew into your lives. 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