Sep 8, 2014
5 Min read time
Share:
Congratulations to Ocean Vuong, 2014 recipient of a Ruth Lilly Poetry Fellowship. Read "Ode to Masturbation" and "Into the Breach" below.
I met Ocean Vuong through the poems he read one night at Manhattan’s Bureau of General Services–Queer Division. While Vuong’s words struck me as delicate, even simple, their impact was gut-clenching, soul-piercing. His lines are like careful calipers opening us, each to each, as he bears out a heaviness meant not to hold us down but to unveil the magma underlying the presumption of life: just as light is both particle and wave, or as the human body is composed of more microbes than human cells, that which animates isn’t just one thing, it isn’t simply a life force—it is also decay. We are elements in motion that are not-us.
Vuong distills ideas. We steep in them. This is one way to open the world. Digging down in the dirt of it reveals that the heat emitted by rot is the engine of living’s mechanisms. “Ode to Masturbation” exemplifies a sensual unearthing that permits us slow-motion glances at the currents at work, holding us together as political (“lips like money / laramie jasper / & sanford towns”), desirous (“every rib / humming / the desperation / of unstruck / piano keys”), historical (“hard facts / gathering / the memory of rust”), spiritual (“the lord cut you / here / to remind us / where he came from”), and elemental (“you scrape the salt / off the cunt-cock / & call it / daylight”). We are nothing if not everything resonating, distant and unified by distance, the primordial soup of Vuong’s cum shot as “an articulation / of chewed stars.” This type of blasphemy illuminates “the if under every / utterance” that will save us from our certainties and enable us toward what we thought was elsewhere in the universe—like the light of dead stars emerging from ourselves.
—Amy King
Ode to Masturbation
because you
were never holy
only beautiful
enough
to be found
with a hook
in your mouth
water shook
like sparks
as they pulled
you up
& sometimes
your hand
is all you have
to hold
yourself
to this world
because it’s
the sound
not the prayer
that enters
the thunder not
the lightning
that wakes you
in lonely midnight
sheets holy
water smeared
between your thighs
where no man
ever drowned
from too much
thirst & when
is the cumshot not
an articulation
of chewed stars
go ahead—lift
the sugar-
crusted thumb
& teach
the tongue
of unbridled
nourishment
to be lost in
an image
is to find within it
a door so close
your eyes
& open reach
down with every rib
humming
the desperation
of unstruck
piano keys
down with every rib
humming
the desperation
of unstruck
piano keys
some call this being
human some call this
walking but
you already know
it’s the briefest form
of flight yes even
the saints
remember this
the if under every
utterance
beneath
the breath brimmed
like cherry blossoms
foaming into no one’s
springtime
how often these lines
resemble claw marks
of your brothers
being dragged
away from you
you whose name
not heard
by the ear
but the smallest bones
in the graves you
who ignite the april air
with all your petals’
here here here who
twist through
human some call this
walking but
you already know
it’s the briefest form
of flight yes even
the saints
remember this
the if under every
utterance
beneath
the breath brimmed
like cherry blossoms
foaming into no one’s
springtime
how often these lines
resemble claw marks
of your brothers
being dragged
away from you
you whose name
not heard
by the ear
but the smallest bones
in the graves you
who ignite the april air
with all your petals’
here here here who
twist through
barbedwired light
despite knowing
how color beckons
decapitation
i reach down
looking for you
in american dirt
in towns with names
like hope
celebration
success & sweet
lips like money
laramie jasper
& sanford towns
whose trees know
the weight of history
can bend their branches
to breaking
lines whose roots burrow
through stones
& hard facts
gathering
the memory of rust
& iron
mandibles
& amethyst yes
touch yourself
like this part
the softest wound’s
unhealable
hunger
after all
the lord cut you
here
to remind us
despite knowing
how color beckons
decapitation
i reach down
looking for you
in american dirt
in towns with names
like hope
celebration
success & sweet
lips like money
laramie jasper
& sanford towns
whose trees know
the weight of history
can bend their branches
to breaking
lines whose roots burrow
through stones
& hard facts
gathering
the memory of rust
& iron
mandibles
& amethyst yes
touch yourself
like this part
the softest wound’s
unhealable
hunger
after all
the lord cut you
here
to remind us
where he came from
pin this antlered
body back
to earth
cry out
pin this antlered
body back
to earth
cry out
until the dark fluents
each faceless
beast banished
from the ark
as you scrape the salt
off the cunt-cock
& call it
each faceless
beast banished
from the ark
as you scrape the salt
off the cunt-cock
& call it
daylight
don’t
don’t
be afraid
to be this
illuminated
to be so bright
& empty
the bullets pass
right through
to be this
illuminated
to be so bright
& empty
the bullets pass
right through
you
thinking
they have reached
the sky
as you press
your hand
to a blood-warm
body
like a word
thinking
they have reached
the sky
as you press
your hand
to a blood-warm
body
like a word
being nailed
to its meaning
& lives
to its meaning
& lives
Into the Breach
The only motive that there ever was was to . . . . keep them with me as long as possible, even if it meant just keeping a part of them.
—Jeffrey Dahmer
I pull into the field, cut the engine.
It’s simple: I just don’t know
how to love a man
gently. Tenderness
a thing to be beaten
into. Fireflies strung
through sapphired dusk.
You’re so quiet you’re almost
tomorrow.
The body made soft
to keep us
from loneliness.
You said that
as if the car was filling
with river water.
Don’t worry.
There’s no water.
Only your eyes
closing.
My tongue
in the crux of your chest.
Little black hairs
like the legs
of vanished insects.
I never wanted
the flesh.
How it never fails
to fail
so accurately.
But what if I broke through
the skin’s thin page
anyway
& found the heart
not the size of a fist
but your mouth opening
to the width
of Jerusalem. What then?
What hunger submits
to no border. To love
another man
is to leave no one behind
to forgive me.
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.
While we have you...
...we need your help. You might have noticed the absence of paywalls at Boston Review. We are committed to staying free for all our readers. Now we are going one step further to become completely ad-free. This means you will always be able to read us without roadblocks or barriers to entry. It also means that we count on you, our readers, for support. If you like what you read here, help us keep it free for everyone by making a donation. No amount is too small. You will be helping us cultivate a public sphere that honors pluralism of thought for a diverse and discerning public.
September 08, 2014
5 Min read time
