Ocean Vuong

#OceanVuong (October 14, 1988 – ): A poet, Vuong was born in #HoChiMinhCity, #Vietnam and came to the United States as a refugee at the age of two. His mother renamed him “Ocean” after learning the definition of the word in English and the connection the Pacific Ocean has in joining the United States with Vietnam. He received his B.A. in English from #BrooklynCollege, and then followed up with his M.F.A. in poetry from #NYU. His poems and essays have been published in a variety of literary magazines and publications. He has earned numerous awards for his literary works and in 2019 was awarded the #MacArthurGeniusGrant. In 2019, he published his first novel, #OnEarthWereBrieflyGorgeous, and in 2020 he became the seventh writer to contribute to the #FutureLibrary project (which compiles original work from multiple writers each year from 2014 until 2114, which will remain unread until the completed 100 works are published in 2114). He currently lives in Northampton, Massachusetts, and is an associate professor in the MFA Program for Writers at the #UMassAmherst. Here is his work #SomedayIllLoveOceanVuong, published in the the New Yorker in May 2015:

“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.”

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