Ocean Vuong

Ocean Vuong is a poet and writer. Born in Saigon, Vietnam, Vuong resettled in Connecticut where he grew up among a working class family and community. At age 11, he became the first member of his family to learn how to read. Language and literacy feature prominently in his critically acclaimed book, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous. His poetry and prose explore questions of sexuality, refugee memory, and kinship. Read more about Ocean Vuong here.

“In Vietnamese, the word for missing someone and remembering them is the same: nhớ. Sometimes, when you ask me over the phone, Có nhớ mẹ không? I flinch, thinking you meant, Do you remember me?


I miss you more than I remember you.”

~On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous, 2019

"Momma and Son" by Nguyen Dai Giang

painting, 37.25 x 29 inches, Veronique Saunier "Still Lives" collection

The Waterstones interview with Ocean Vuong, 2019

Listen to Ocean Vuong share insights on his writing, especially related to sex and language.

"My old village, my homeland" by Unknown Artist

painting, 18 x 22 inches, Project Ngoc Records

Remembering the past, a loved one, a place--these are individual and collective acts occurring within intricate webs of history and affect. Ocean Vuong tells us that to miss (long for) and to remember are interwoven concepts. Yet, despite sharing the same word in the Vietnamese language, missing and remembering are actually nuanced and disparate processes. How much of the painful past did Vuong have to forget so that they might miss their mother? To long for or miss a person, time, or place (as Vietnamese Americans have longed for and missed South Vietnam) is to shore up nostalgia and create near-fictive imaginings of the good times. Remembering, however, requires confrontations with the good, the bad, and the irresolutions; a process to reclaim the past for present and future ends.

The duality of nhớ as signifying either to miss or to remember must be conceptualized on both individual and social scales. Verne Harris suggests that discerning the difference between remembrancing (instrument of power) and remembering (complex, incomplete) might enable ways to understand the politics of memory keeping. “Remembrancing” is akin to Vuong’s notion of missing his mother, a desire that often succumbs to romanticism and nostalgia, yet “remembering” is to recall her in her complexity as a flawed and whole human being.

For those displaced by war and who have experienced various forms of violence (domestic, racial, sexual), Ocean Vuong's evocative exploration of memory and forgetting can simultaneously be a balm and a relentless trigger. On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous is a letter to the women who nurtured Ocean, but it also addresses all of us, inviting us to delve into a more nuanced engagement with refugee subjectivity.

Children lining up for school operated and funded by the French Voluntary Agency, Marshall (Brigitte) Files on Southeast Asian Refugees


a painting, a poem, an elegy



The backdrop for Ocean Vuong's poem, "Toy Boat," is a painting by Ha Quan from the Paul Tran files on Southeast Asian Refugees. The painting is titled "Farewell" and shows the back of a female figure waving to boats in the horizon. There is another person sitting in a fetal position against the rocks. The mood is somber. Created between 1989-1991 by a refugee artist (just a year or so after Ocean Vuong's birth), the painting's message of goodbye is serving as a companion to a poem that may be read as an elegy of sorts for Tamir Rice, a 12-year old boy killed by Cleveland police in 2014. Tamir was holding a toy gun when he was fatally shot. The final line, "by their own names," reminds us of the power to be remembered in this way.

  • Burnings (2010)

  • No (2013)

  • Night Sky with Exit Wounds (2016)

  • On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous (2019)

  • Time Is a Mother (2022)


The novel insists that there is power, and with it, agency, in survival—which includes the interracial tensions you speak of—because trauma is still an integral reality for queer folks. But these bodies do know joy, and they know it by acknowledging and honoring the tribulations they outlived. We often think of survival as something that merely happens to us, that we are perhaps lucky to have. But I like to think of survival as a result of active self-knowledge, and even more so, a creative force.


~from "Survival as a Creative Force: An Interview with Ocean Vuong"

LEARNING RESOURCES

LGBTQ Asian and Pacific Islander Youth Report, 2019

“I am a Queer Vietnamese American, But Not Always in that Order” (article, 2019)

Asian Pride Project is an online space for family and friends of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) Asian & Pacific Islander (API) people

The National Queer Asian Pacific Islander Alliance ​​​​​​ is a network of Asian, South Asian, Southeast Asian, and Pacific Islander LGBTQ organizations.

Breathing Fire: Remembering Asian Pacific American Activism in Queer History