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mozbolt's review against another edition
4.0
This one had a few poems that really stood out to me as unique and expressive. So glad I had to read this for a class!
spenkevich's review against another edition
5.0
What makes poetry so gorgeous are often the ways it overcomes you by surprise. Lines burst out from unexpected angles of emotional insight, language becomes malleable and adapts surprising shapes, a poem arrives at an unforeseen destination, and the astonishing resonance from a pairing of words can leave you staggering in beauty. I also find with poetry a uniqueness that you can never tell what will be your favorite poems until far later. A poem may strike you deeply in the moment but I’m often surprised to see which ones linger long in the heart, which ones you turn to in times of need, which grow roots into your soul so that their lines become aphorisms that alway appear in the mind like a mantra or a prayer. Ocean Vuong’s debut collection, Night Sky With Exit Wounds is a volume of poetry that has remained deeply nestled in my heart and one I frequently return to. Accessible and highly quotable without sacrificing depth, the poems in this collection have a lasting power as Vuong crafts words like ancient gods of old crafting the cosmos. These poems are ablaze in emotion as Vuong’s luminous language and imagery shine on themes of desire, family, violence, self-acceptance among others in this impressive debut that may not be without its faults but, nearly a decade later, it certainly deserves to stand tall in the hallowed history of poetry.
Dear God, if you are a season, let it be the one I passed through
to get here.
Here. That's all I wanted to be.
This is such a crisp yet bountiful collection of poetry that showcases the magnificent possibilities of language to access and honor the past or oneself, and cast words into the hearts of others to share the beauty of existence and the emotions we pass through. This is such a highly quotable collection with imagery that really bursts with vivid, poetic intensity. Take the snow in Devotion for instance:
Fresh snow
crackling on the window,
each flake a letter
from an alphabet
I've shut out for good.
Ideas of language are omnipresent in these poems. Vuong, who was born in Saigon and moved to the US, credits literature for his learning to speak and read, often referencing the works of poet [a:Frank O'Hara|80892|Frank O'Hara|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1498162125p2/80892.jpg] as a teacher of sorts. He has a lovely and inimitable style. As Daniel Wegner wrote in a profile on Vuong for the New Yorker:
One of my favorites in the collection is indebted to O’Hara, with “after Frank O’Hara” credited after the title. Many of my favorite lines come from this poem, many I quote often and are never far from my mind. So here it is in it’s entirely:
Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong
Ocean, don’t be afraid.
The end of the road is so far ahead
it is already behind us.
Don’t worry. Your father is only your father
until one of you forgets. Like how the spine
won’t remember its wings
no matter how many times our knees
kiss the pavement. Ocean,
are you listening? The most beautiful part
of your body is wherever
your mother's shadow falls.
Here's the house with childhood
whittled down to a single red trip wire.
Don't worry. Just call it horizon
& you'll never reach it.
Here's today. Jump. I promise it's not
a lifeboat. Here's the man
whose arms are wide enough to gather
your leaving. & here the moment,
just after the lights go out, when you can still see
the faint torch between his legs.
How you use it again & again
to find your own hands.
You asked for a second chance
& are given a mouth to empty out of.
Don't be afraid, the gunfire
is only the sound of people
trying to live a little longer
& failing. Ocean. Ocean —
get up. The most beautiful part of your body
is where it's headed. & remember,
loneliness is still time spent
with the world. Here's
the room with everyone in it.
Your dead friends passing
through you like wind
through a wind chime. Here's a desk
with the gimp leg & a brick
to make it last. Yes, here's a room
so warm & blood-close,
I swear, you will wake —
& mistake these walls
for skin.
This is such a marvelous collection and I love it so much. There are such great lines about desire such as ‘Don’t we touch each other just to prove we are still here? Queer love rings out so proudly yet aware of the dangers of being out and open in a culture that is less than welcoming and violence and desire often come paired in the imagery. There is a glorious transcendence of emotion in these poems that often borders on the epic—many poem titles channel greek mythology to further this effect—and one cannot help but be overtaken by the imagery.
O minute hand, teach me
how to hold a man the way thirst
holds water. Let every river envy
our mouths. Let every kiss hit the body
like a season.
(from A little closer to the edge)
Violence is never far from this collection. There are reflections of war that tore apart his family back home and also the violence from an abusive father. His parents find their ways into many of these poems, and once again we often see how expressions of love come hand in hand with images of violence such as in A Little Closer to the Edge:
Young enough to believe nothing
will change them, they step, hand in hand,
into the bomb crater.
Family is very central in this collection as well as his larger reach of work across now two volumes of poetry and one novel, [b:On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous|41880609|On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous|Ocean Vuong|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1615580168l/41880609._SX50_.jpg|61665003], a fantastic and poetic book that focuses primarily on his mother. The title for the novel is taken from a poem in this collection, another favorite of mine, that contains such startling lines like:
‘Tell me it was for the hunger
& nothing less. For hunger is to give
the body what it knows
It cannot keep.’
Ocean Vuong’s Night Sky With Exit Wounds is a marvelous debut and a collection of poems that has certainly stuck with me. There are lines here that are always at hand in my mind. I always know I like a poem when I feel compelled to do a painting with it:
[Image: poem with lines from Into the Breach]
I want to leave
no one behind
to keep
& be kept
the way a field
turns its secrets
into peonies
the way light
keeps its shadow
by swallowing it
So do yourself a favor and check out Night Sky With Exit Wounds. It is a lovely collection and began an already impressive career from Ocean Vuong. It is also probably my favorite of all his works. I hope some of these lines can become a comfort that sticks by you as well as they have for me.
5/5
Use it to prove how the stars
were always what we knew
they were the exit wounds
of every
misfired word.
Dear God, if you are a season, let it be the one I passed through
to get here.
Here. That's all I wanted to be.
This is such a crisp yet bountiful collection of poetry that showcases the magnificent possibilities of language to access and honor the past or oneself, and cast words into the hearts of others to share the beauty of existence and the emotions we pass through. This is such a highly quotable collection with imagery that really bursts with vivid, poetic intensity. Take the snow in Devotion for instance:
Fresh snow
crackling on the window,
each flake a letter
from an alphabet
I've shut out for good.
Ideas of language are omnipresent in these poems. Vuong, who was born in Saigon and moved to the US, credits literature for his learning to speak and read, often referencing the works of poet [a:Frank O'Hara|80892|Frank O'Hara|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1498162125p2/80892.jpg] as a teacher of sorts. He has a lovely and inimitable style. As Daniel Wegner wrote in a profile on Vuong for the New Yorker:
‘His lines are both long and short, his pose narrative and lyric, his diction formal and insouciant. From the outside, Vuong has fashioned a poetry of inclusion.’
One of my favorites in the collection is indebted to O’Hara, with “after Frank O’Hara” credited after the title. Many of my favorite lines come from this poem, many I quote often and are never far from my mind. So here it is in it’s entirely:
Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong
Ocean, don’t be afraid.
The end of the road is so far ahead
it is already behind us.
Don’t worry. Your father is only your father
until one of you forgets. Like how the spine
won’t remember its wings
no matter how many times our knees
kiss the pavement. Ocean,
are you listening? The most beautiful part
of your body is wherever
your mother's shadow falls.
Here's the house with childhood
whittled down to a single red trip wire.
Don't worry. Just call it horizon
& you'll never reach it.
Here's today. Jump. I promise it's not
a lifeboat. Here's the man
whose arms are wide enough to gather
your leaving. & here the moment,
just after the lights go out, when you can still see
the faint torch between his legs.
How you use it again & again
to find your own hands.
You asked for a second chance
& are given a mouth to empty out of.
Don't be afraid, the gunfire
is only the sound of people
trying to live a little longer
& failing. Ocean. Ocean —
get up. The most beautiful part of your body
is where it's headed. & remember,
loneliness is still time spent
with the world. Here's
the room with everyone in it.
Your dead friends passing
through you like wind
through a wind chime. Here's a desk
with the gimp leg & a brick
to make it last. Yes, here's a room
so warm & blood-close,
I swear, you will wake —
& mistake these walls
for skin.
This is such a marvelous collection and I love it so much. There are such great lines about desire such as ‘Don’t we touch each other just to prove we are still here? Queer love rings out so proudly yet aware of the dangers of being out and open in a culture that is less than welcoming and violence and desire often come paired in the imagery. There is a glorious transcendence of emotion in these poems that often borders on the epic—many poem titles channel greek mythology to further this effect—and one cannot help but be overtaken by the imagery.
O minute hand, teach me
how to hold a man the way thirst
holds water. Let every river envy
our mouths. Let every kiss hit the body
like a season.
(from A little closer to the edge)
Violence is never far from this collection. There are reflections of war that tore apart his family back home and also the violence from an abusive father. His parents find their ways into many of these poems, and once again we often see how expressions of love come hand in hand with images of violence such as in A Little Closer to the Edge:
Young enough to believe nothing
will change them, they step, hand in hand,
into the bomb crater.
Family is very central in this collection as well as his larger reach of work across now two volumes of poetry and one novel, [b:On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous|41880609|On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous|Ocean Vuong|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1615580168l/41880609._SX50_.jpg|61665003], a fantastic and poetic book that focuses primarily on his mother. The title for the novel is taken from a poem in this collection, another favorite of mine, that contains such startling lines like:
‘Tell me it was for the hunger
& nothing less. For hunger is to give
the body what it knows
It cannot keep.’
Ocean Vuong’s Night Sky With Exit Wounds is a marvelous debut and a collection of poems that has certainly stuck with me. There are lines here that are always at hand in my mind. I always know I like a poem when I feel compelled to do a painting with it:
[Image: poem with lines from Into the Breach]
I want to leave
no one behind
to keep
& be kept
the way a field
turns its secrets
into peonies
the way light
keeps its shadow
by swallowing it
So do yourself a favor and check out Night Sky With Exit Wounds. It is a lovely collection and began an already impressive career from Ocean Vuong. It is also probably my favorite of all his works. I hope some of these lines can become a comfort that sticks by you as well as they have for me.
5/5
Use it to prove how the stars
were always what we knew
they were the exit wounds
of every
misfired word.