Poetry competition CLOSED 1st September 2020 5:37pm
WINNER
PoetsRevenge
PoetsRevenge
RUNNER-UP:
Calamityofgin
On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous
Poetry Contest Description
The Classic Corner : Ocean Vuong tribute
Co-Hosts - Ahavati & JohnnyBlaze
Part XXXII in an ongoing series introducing serious writers of DUP to the most well-known poets, both classical and modern.
Ocean Vuong ( born Vương Quốc Vinh October 14, 1988 ) is a Vietnamese American poet, essayist and novelist. He is a recipient of the 2014 Ruth Lilly/Sargent Rosenberg fellowship from the Poetry Foundation, a 2016 Whiting Award, and the 2017 T.S. Eliot Prize for his poetry. His debut novel, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous, was published in 2019. He received a MacArthur Grant the same year.
His grandmother grew up in the countryside while his grandfather was a white American soldier in the Navy originally from Michigan. Vuong, who is openly gay, describes himself as being raised by women after his father abandoned the family.
His mother, a manicurist, renamed him "Ocean", which largely came about after her difficulty pronouncing the word "Beach" without it sounding like "Bitch".
Born in Saigon, Vietnam, he lives in Northampton, Massachusetts, where he serves as an Assistant Professor in the MFA Program for Poets and Writers at UMass-Amherst.
For more information regarding Vuong, please visit the Poetry Foundation:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/ocean-vuong
Vuong also has a website:
https://www.oceanvuong.com
Guidelines
Write a new Poem honoring Vuong inspired by any one of his poems.
While you are allowed a maximum of 2 entries, only the best of your entries is considered viable for the trophy.
Do your best to make us feel as though we are reading poems by Vuong. The more we feel you "capturing his essence" in "your own words" , the higher you will score. This will involve choice of wording, delivery, subject material, formatting, target audience - a wide range of factors.
The Rules
1. Two entries per DUP persona.
2. No erotica; this is open to all ages and can't be viewed with an ECW ( Extreme Content Warning ).
3. No exact word limit; however, attempt to keep it no more than 250 - 300 ( UNLESS the inspirational poem is longer ).
4. Any form is acceptable ( but studying the poet is advised ). This includes visual and spoken word pieces.
5. You must tag your entries with the theme #OceanVuong before this comp expires in order to qualify for the trophy ( if the theme is not currently available, you may have to return at a later date to add the theme ).
6. In your poem's Author Notes box, provide a link and a title to the very poem by Vuong that inspired yours. Without such, we have no way of determining if you were truly inspired by Vuong or simply swapped fresh words into his existing poetry ( which is a form of plagiarism ). This is a requirement regardless if you include a copy of the inspiration poem along with your entry.
Comp will be judged by Ahavati & JohnnyBlaze. As in the past and in the event there is a tie, we will call in third ( and possibly fourth ) judge.
You have one month; best of luck to all entrants!
It was White
A white ... A white ... I’m dreaming of a curtain of snow
falling from her shoulders.
Snow crackling against the window. Snow shredded
with gunfire. Red sky.
Ocean Vuong
Aubade with Burning City
There lay war. Tyranny’s serial
Killer... heat abroad
The moon was white
Degrees of yellow
White lines laced with bliss ... much ado without implication
He ate the meat as if
A canine without teeth ... and she
tossed her smile carelessly
She held a sparrow in the palm of her gentle
White... and trembling hand...
White and trembling
She ate a plum and let the juices run...
Ran down her chin upturned ...
run down it
And dripped red juices to the floor....
Let it drip and he lapped like a dog
As on airways nostalgia comforted
On all fours he licked red drops
And once over
Melancholic
He would forever be.
Reduced to that taste....
orgasmically
And in torture....
his mind in torture
Wind whips the sparrow lost...
she mourns her seat
Of an un gloved
Pearl white hand
Un gloved and so delicate there....
The morning makes it hard to build a nest
falling from her shoulders.
Snow crackling against the window. Snow shredded
with gunfire. Red sky.
Ocean Vuong
Aubade with Burning City
There lay war. Tyranny’s serial
Killer... heat abroad
The moon was white
Degrees of yellow
White lines laced with bliss ... much ado without implication
He ate the meat as if
A canine without teeth ... and she
tossed her smile carelessly
She held a sparrow in the palm of her gentle
White... and trembling hand...
White and trembling
She ate a plum and let the juices run...
Ran down her chin upturned ...
run down it
And dripped red juices to the floor....
Let it drip and he lapped like a dog
As on airways nostalgia comforted
On all fours he licked red drops
And once over
Melancholic
He would forever be.
Reduced to that taste....
orgasmically
And in torture....
his mind in torture
Wind whips the sparrow lost...
she mourns her seat
Of an un gloved
Pearl white hand
Un gloved and so delicate there....
The morning makes it hard to build a nest
Written by Calamityofgin
Go To Page
Ocean Vuong - Kissing in Vietnamese...
I wake up to the sound of the devil
laughing and hurling death to the
corners of my room. I scream for my family.
I’m forced to observe normalcy
through a fractured pane that used
to be a window. My grandmother
reaches out from the world of torment,
her arms bleeding, her heart broken.
I long for the comfort of old when her
embrace eased my pain which she
absorbed to herself. A bubble formed
protecting me from the violence and
horrors of dying cries and limbs in trees,
from the smell of napalm and burning flesh.
My mind sees the mayhem and carnage
but my heart, though bleeding, feels her
touch and brings me back to that feeling of love.
laughing and hurling death to the
corners of my room. I scream for my family.
I’m forced to observe normalcy
through a fractured pane that used
to be a window. My grandmother
reaches out from the world of torment,
her arms bleeding, her heart broken.
I long for the comfort of old when her
embrace eased my pain which she
absorbed to herself. A bubble formed
protecting me from the violence and
horrors of dying cries and limbs in trees,
from the smell of napalm and burning flesh.
My mind sees the mayhem and carnage
but my heart, though bleeding, feels her
touch and brings me back to that feeling of love.
Written by anvinvil
(Anvillan)
Go To Page
[ CC ] Gay Say
Because I said so!
And I know
because is not
an answer
I honestly don't
have anyway,
but what else
is there to say
in its stead?
That maurading
Murder Hornet
effects done decapitated
thoraxed solar plexus
causes from my
prevailing cooler head?
Found out the hard
exoskeletoned way
I couldn't bee
anything more than
a hive of one
fun guy loving
guy on guy
gayness.
Not long meant
for this world of
Queen ass kissing
servitude, I was.
Dude!
After I tasted
tabooness of drone
honey, It was too late!
Baby, I was long
gone, Gone, GONE
---an outcasted
expiation; atonement
expelled from Colony's
status quo lungs
like so much
Ho Chi Minh
city sin
fem phlegm.
Well, Tạm biệt,
bitches.
Written by JohnnyBlaze
Go To Page
non-entry entry
Three quarter moon
It's full to be achieved- brashness
some craters still concealed
in life we weave, sun shine upon our seed
as a parent seeks affection
all gleam without the dark
pit's and imperfection
the rind upon the pork
decadence, fatherhood, light the road
reflect on all that's loss
wishes; hold such scant regard
a child's first cry slit between the curtains
moonbeams refreshment, afterbirth covered- falling on chaos
cradled sweet perfection and argument rages to call a spade a spade
the cherub that was laid. hurled pot of supplication
the breast and nipple bleed
domestic conflict drown! duvet drawn in self defence
monosyllables; the rays of eloquence!
small flicker, a prayer to heaven precede
three quarter moon, a tarnished silver spoon
waxing, the glory of conception
wind in the trees that shudders
eyes. roller blinds closing, aftermath
fondling- white chalk, loves ghost
locket strands -wisp's of autumn
the breezed caress, buttocks mounds
reside in indentation
yearning's reach, fathomless
dark quarter, unseen, obscured
passion: starve or gorge
Jack rabbit goes to ground
The hemispheres turn on
#on earth we were briefly gorgeous
some craters still concealed
in life we weave, sun shine upon our seed
as a parent seeks affection
all gleam without the dark
pit's and imperfection
the rind upon the pork
decadence, fatherhood, light the road
reflect on all that's loss
wishes; hold such scant regard
a child's first cry slit between the curtains
moonbeams refreshment, afterbirth covered- falling on chaos
cradled sweet perfection and argument rages to call a spade a spade
the cherub that was laid. hurled pot of supplication
the breast and nipple bleed
domestic conflict drown! duvet drawn in self defence
monosyllables; the rays of eloquence!
small flicker, a prayer to heaven precede
three quarter moon, a tarnished silver spoon
waxing, the glory of conception
wind in the trees that shudders
eyes. roller blinds closing, aftermath
fondling- white chalk, loves ghost
locket strands -wisp's of autumn
the breezed caress, buttocks mounds
reside in indentation
yearning's reach, fathomless
dark quarter, unseen, obscured
passion: starve or gorge
Jack rabbit goes to ground
The hemispheres turn on
#on earth we were briefly gorgeous
Written by slipalong
Go To Page
On Earth We Are Briefly Gorgeous.... Ocean Vuong intpretation
My spirit wonders, yearns
a quest without a destination,
a trip without a map,
clouds block the stars,
the moon hides.
I survive on my loneliness
my pity is fed by my needs,
the need to feel, the need to know.
I’ll drag myself to the forge,
I will hammer out a creation,
perhaps, ever becoming, with
each blow of the hammer.
The anvil will sing the story
of my efforts and the stars
will hear and the clouds
will part.
From the fire of the forge,
from the agony of my soul comes
my creation unique to all.
To me, another pilgrim, wandering
searching for the non existent.
What have I done?
I’m swept with a wave of regret
and bashed against the
rocks of doubt. I bleed, I scream,
I ask why... the moon peeks out
from behind the clouds and answers,
“ you didn’t want to be alone”.
Written by anvinvil
(Anvillan)
Go To Page
SPARED
my disease was loneliness
bubbling up from
a chasm tucked under the ribs
a skeletal soul
repugnant
draped across the wire
as though waiting for redemption
still, the angels
did their best for me
circling my boat
keeping me anchored
praying the gods to blow their storms
to distant places
where harder faces bore their wrath,
fought the good fight
and took their losses
mike and phillip
luke and lisa
all broken by circumstance
ruined or dead
and me left here
to wonder
bubbling up from
a chasm tucked under the ribs
a skeletal soul
repugnant
draped across the wire
as though waiting for redemption
still, the angels
did their best for me
circling my boat
keeping me anchored
praying the gods to blow their storms
to distant places
where harder faces bore their wrath,
fought the good fight
and took their losses
mike and phillip
luke and lisa
all broken by circumstance
ruined or dead
and me left here
to wonder
Written by javalini
Go To Page
Words like Chopper Blades
( After Ocean Vuong, and my father )
. . .once [ the war ] enters you,
it never leaves—but merely echoes. . .*
The war is never over for a soldier.**
Vietnam, 1957
Your eyes, still echoing wide with boy
at 17, resonating violently inside
their soft-shelled socket, your
tripwire tongue severing a moan
buried in her cartilage'd throat, waiting
to explode as a Bouncing Betty
above the surface. Prostitution, makeshift
war-wife, Lucky Strikes, napalm
mornings, spreading like olive thighs
over stained linen, choking the reality
of back-home family, gestating as seeds
to sprout normalcy. Lien, her name
pronounced Lynn—my elder sister's namesake
as dictated in your letter. O Father—
your words like chopper blades—machetes
through the jungle of my mother's heart
years beyond Lynn's tragic death—
another casualty of war ingested by earth.
While today, sewn somewhere in the cusp
of a country embattled by loss, lives you
O Brother—a mere egg that fought as a soldier
to be born—to flower from death as color;
your eyes, wide with boy—or, perhaps not;
O Brother, the war entered us both
through our father's sperm, and will echo
until one of us releases their ghosts—
which one remains unknown—maybe
I am already alone, waiting to join you all;
a soul-family of gestated seeds sprouting
normalcy in rich orchards of ripened love
~
* Ocean Vuong
On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
** My Father
Post Vietnam war
. . .once [ the war ] enters you,
it never leaves—but merely echoes. . .*
The war is never over for a soldier.**
Vietnam, 1957
Your eyes, still echoing wide with boy
at 17, resonating violently inside
their soft-shelled socket, your
tripwire tongue severing a moan
buried in her cartilage'd throat, waiting
to explode as a Bouncing Betty
above the surface. Prostitution, makeshift
war-wife, Lucky Strikes, napalm
mornings, spreading like olive thighs
over stained linen, choking the reality
of back-home family, gestating as seeds
to sprout normalcy. Lien, her name
pronounced Lynn—my elder sister's namesake
as dictated in your letter. O Father—
your words like chopper blades—machetes
through the jungle of my mother's heart
years beyond Lynn's tragic death—
another casualty of war ingested by earth.
While today, sewn somewhere in the cusp
of a country embattled by loss, lives you
O Brother—a mere egg that fought as a soldier
to be born—to flower from death as color;
your eyes, wide with boy—or, perhaps not;
O Brother, the war entered us both
through our father's sperm, and will echo
until one of us releases their ghosts—
which one remains unknown—maybe
I am already alone, waiting to join you all;
a soul-family of gestated seeds sprouting
normalcy in rich orchards of ripened love
~
* Ocean Vuong
On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
** My Father
Post Vietnam war
Written by Ahavati
Go To Page
Beautiful Memories (Ocean Vuong Tribute)
I see the lust and hunger in your eyes,
green like the meadows we spend our
summers trampling through as children.
Home… Who would have thought we
would come back to the place where we
began and started. Memories filter in like
all the times we sat on the front porch
waiting and watching. Or when we laid
down on the soft grass and we would
see the stars shatter and break like
bullets going straight for the heart.
Did you know how many times I saw
you cry and how I wished I could do
something about it? I never saw such
beauty until I saw you pray for miracles
in the middle of every disaster you faced.
I wish we could go back to where we were
most beautiful with your hair as a tangled
mess and feeling your heat through my shirt.
Your heartbeat was my favorite sound as
the silence was so loud. Your feet on the
dashboard as we would follow the moon
everywhere. Your laughter and meaningful
conversations that kept us up all night until
we saw the sunlight bleeding on the horizon.
I never knew love until I saw your eyes
change from lust and hunger to love and
adventure. I wanted to spend all my days
with you by my side as the world has so
much beauty. In between your fingertips
I see the real you that no one else knows.
So let me know you as beautiful and
imperfect. Sunshine and rain. Whole
and incomplete like a puzzle. Autumn
and winter. Spring and summer. I just
want to know what you would look like
with wrinkles yet still having that sparkle
in your eyes like you never truly aged
at all. I would love you even more.
green like the meadows we spend our
summers trampling through as children.
Home… Who would have thought we
would come back to the place where we
began and started. Memories filter in like
all the times we sat on the front porch
waiting and watching. Or when we laid
down on the soft grass and we would
see the stars shatter and break like
bullets going straight for the heart.
Did you know how many times I saw
you cry and how I wished I could do
something about it? I never saw such
beauty until I saw you pray for miracles
in the middle of every disaster you faced.
I wish we could go back to where we were
most beautiful with your hair as a tangled
mess and feeling your heat through my shirt.
Your heartbeat was my favorite sound as
the silence was so loud. Your feet on the
dashboard as we would follow the moon
everywhere. Your laughter and meaningful
conversations that kept us up all night until
we saw the sunlight bleeding on the horizon.
I never knew love until I saw your eyes
change from lust and hunger to love and
adventure. I wanted to spend all my days
with you by my side as the world has so
much beauty. In between your fingertips
I see the real you that no one else knows.
So let me know you as beautiful and
imperfect. Sunshine and rain. Whole
and incomplete like a puzzle. Autumn
and winter. Spring and summer. I just
want to know what you would look like
with wrinkles yet still having that sparkle
in your eyes like you never truly aged
at all. I would love you even more.
Written by eswaller
Go To Page
Bumping this to let everyone know that the guidelines of our CCComps have been updated. Please review them to ensure you are familiar with what is and isn't allowed, as well as what is necessary to qualify for the Trophee or placements.
Vuong makes the headlines; think of this as poetry in a Time Capsule.
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/aug/19/ocean-vuong-2114-book-future-library-norway
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/aug/19/ocean-vuong-2114-book-future-library-norway
[ CC ] For What It's Worth They Were Briefly Gorgeous
Perks of youth. If only I had
sense enough to take a picture---
they'd have lasted longer. I came in
all sMiley C's like a pair of wrecking
balls. Nursing and gravity ruled
the ring in a tag-team knocked-up
dragged-out fight-clubbing. Swing
away at these speed bags?
Count. me. out.
Written by MaryWalker
Go To Page
non-entry entry
Aubade With Burning City (No Exit)
' How something that lives only to fall can be nothing but sweet'
- Ocean Vuong
Say exit, and I won't look down.
Say we will all fall together, laughing.
Say this is a dream that we will wake up from,
never intending this, never walking toward it.
Falling, falling
drifting like snow does in sideways patterns
with random destinations, unknown, unpredicted --
these are the remaining pieces of a way of life.
I was with you before all this
and in the wake of yesterday before it began to snow.
We never imagined how things could change
in instants of terror.
Everything fell in tiny droplets;
words, letters, minutiae,
it was like a grey Christmas except in reverse --
We fell, us.
The gifts stayed behind and burned into a cloud of dust
The streets are empty
and we are on the verge of something like a New Year.
We can rise like the dust of this city after it fell,
we can be as high as its wounded ghost
or a great falling star.
Be my night sky, I'll be yours; the backdrop to our playground.
It went silent after shrilly crying for everyone's mother
to return looking for us, for it,
not looking up as it met their bare skin.
Just hold my hand, don't look down.
I won't jump, if you will.
.....
- Ocean Vuong
Say exit, and I won't look down.
Say we will all fall together, laughing.
Say this is a dream that we will wake up from,
never intending this, never walking toward it.
Falling, falling
drifting like snow does in sideways patterns
with random destinations, unknown, unpredicted --
these are the remaining pieces of a way of life.
I was with you before all this
and in the wake of yesterday before it began to snow.
We never imagined how things could change
in instants of terror.
Everything fell in tiny droplets;
words, letters, minutiae,
it was like a grey Christmas except in reverse --
We fell, us.
The gifts stayed behind and burned into a cloud of dust
The streets are empty
and we are on the verge of something like a New Year.
We can rise like the dust of this city after it fell,
we can be as high as its wounded ghost
or a great falling star.
Be my night sky, I'll be yours; the backdrop to our playground.
It went silent after shrilly crying for everyone's mother
to return looking for us, for it,
not looking up as it met their bare skin.
Just hold my hand, don't look down.
I won't jump, if you will.
.....
Written by PoetsRevenge
Go To Page
