Read Nov 27 I’m haunted by the idea of snow and that white Christmas we say we dream of in the U.S., but in South Vietnam, it’s different: “Snow shredded / with gunfire. In a way, I was collaborating with this — with my grandmother beyond her life. She is saying            something neither of them can hear. Nov 27 My son, tell them the body is a blade that sharpens by cutting.". Their shadows, two wicks. I say I like this, but I mean I am haunted by it. But I digress. –Ocean Vuong, from Night Sky with Exit Wounds (Copper Canyon Press, 2016). I come from a long line of poets. If you have read Ocean Vuong’s 2016 collection of poems, you’d probably expect that I’d write about “Ode to Masturbation,” and believe me, it’s tempting. That is — the facts and the truths of what it means to be an American, is to be involved in this, and that perhaps — it's seemingly so strange that a war in Vietnam and an American soldier would bring cause to a poet like me, a Vietnamese-American poet. A military truck speeds through the intersection, children shrieking inside. I’m dreaming…                                                            to hear sleigh bells in the snow…, In the square below: a nun, on fire,                                            runs silently toward her god—. In Vietnam, there's much dependency on the body. Its hind legs                                                                             crushed into the shine                                                       of a white Christmas. The bed a field of ice. When the dust rises, a black dog lies panting in the road, its hind legs crushed into the shine of a white Christmas.". When my grandmother would tell me about the collapse of Saigon, she would say, "Saigon, this sounds very strange, but I remember it fell during the snow song." When we immigrated to America, all she had were these songs and poems. May all your Christmases be white as the traffic guard unstraps his holster, his fingers running the hem of her white dress. by Grant Blume. Nov 27 The treetops glisten and children listen, the chief of police                                facedown in a pool of Coca-Cola. ... Aubade with Burning City Lyrics. A single candle. Thank you. In a sense, all Vietnamese farmers were poets, because while they were working, they sang, and the songs helped the rhythm of the harvesting and the seeding of the fields. Strong language and evocative words are in the foreground of Ocean Vuong’s full-length debut, while the larger themes are deep within Vuong’s carefully chosen words. In the poem "Aubade with Burning City," I took Irving Berlin's "White Christmas," the lyrics, and wove it through a scene about the collapse of Saigon. When the dust rises, a black dog                            lies panting in the road. But this poem, “Aubade with Burning City,” is what I have been thinking about, over and over, in the two years since I first read Night Sky with Exit Wounds. Tonight, Ocean Vuong, recently chosen for the prestigious Whiting Award. Notwithstanding his youth, by the time Night Sky with Exit Wounds was published in early 2016, Ocean Vuong was already well-known as a exciting new poet, with poems in American Poetry Review, Gulf Coast, The New Yorker, The Poetry Review and other prominent poetry journals. 6 U.S. Citgo executives convicted and sentenced to prison in Venezuela, Read The song moving through the city like a widow. https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/vietnamese-american-poet-contemplates-his-personal-ties-to-the-war, Double your gift now with our Year-End Match, Relatives of Western jihadist fighters go public, hoping to stop others, Secretary John King on raising education standards and changing the college admissions caste system, Hoosier primary results could shape the rest of the White House race, U.S. court rejects Trump appeal over Pennsylvania race, I’m a COVID-19 long-hauler and an epidemiologist – here’s how it feels when symptoms last for months, 6 U.S. Citgo executives convicted and sentenced to prison in Venezuela, How the Cherokee Nation has curtailed the pandemic, Trump administration moves forward with gutting bird protections, Iran scientist linked to military nuclear program killed, A poem that extends a hand in our lonely times. My grandmother, she was a rice farmer. I could write a lot more about all of the other haunting lines, but I’m out of practice. She opens. A white…A white…I’m dreaming of a curtain of snow. His fingers running the hemof  her white dress. So it was with much anticipation that I read this book. Their shadows: two wicks. By Ocean Vuong. • Night Sky with Exit Wounds by Ocean Vuong is published by Jonathan Cape (£10). Outside, a soldier spits out            his cigarette as footsteps fill the square like stones                                                                         fallen from the sky. I think you should read the poem to yourself over and over, not concentrating on knowing exactly what’s happening in every line but trying to let it sink in anyway. Ocean Vuong’s Night Sky With Exit Wounds is of the subtle kind. Red sky. Please check your inbox to confirm. How the Cherokee Nation has curtailed the pandemic, Read And I say, I'm not the first poet. The hotel rocks                        beneath them. 5. 6. I’ve been busy writing my memoir and publishing essays, and in a week and a day–god willing and the creek don’t rise–I’ll be defending my dissertation so you can call me Dr. Hazelwood. We've been around since 2011. A bicycle hurled            through a store window. Subscribe to ‘Here's the Deal,’ our politics newsletter. U.S. court rejects Trump appeal over Pennsylvania race, Read And the poem "The Gift" is very interesting because she only knew A, B, C, three letters. Open, he says. One needs to have the body — in a way, the body is a book, that one needs the body to remember the poem, sing the poems and pass them along. Summary. And she made it her goal to teach me how to write. Read it again. Atlantic Noir Theme created by Style Hatch | Powered by Tumblr. What I really like about this poem is its juxtaposition of happy American lives who listen to Irving Berlin’s “White Christmas” with “the first shell flashes” as Americans pulled out of South Vietnam. Some poems provide more clear meanings and ideas, while others are more elusive or subtle in their emotions and purposes.

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