![]() ![]() It’s a fitting introduction to a book that at its core is about losing oneself in the process of observing human catastrophes. Yet in this clandestine act, the speaker still coaxes his readers in with him to watch water like “guitar strings snapping/over his globed shoulder.” It’s not until we turn the page that we learn the cost of looking “was to lose/your way back” with “eyes/wide open.” The poems ends almost abruptly, the couplets giving way to a single-lined stanza. ![]() ![]() In the opening poem (“Threshold”), the speaker watches “through the keyhole/not the man showering, but the rain/falling through him” It’s a secret moment, a taboo one perhaps, as he holds his “clutched breath” behind the door, watching and waiting. Night Sky With Exit Wounds, Ocean Vuong’s much anticipated and already lauded debut collection, starts quietly. DiaCRITIC Eric Nguyen reviews Ocean Vuong’s debut poetry collection, Night Sky with Exit Wounds. ![]()
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