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"There are seagulls above us. There are hands fluttering between the constellations, trying to hold on....

"Everyone can forget us -- as long as you remember."

-Ocean Vuong, from "Immigrant Haibun"

...

I admire Vuong's use of repetition, of theme and variation, in poems like "Threshold" and "." While I often gravitate toward more traditionally structured, more metrically restricted verse than Vuong's, I concede that it is exactly his preference for unmetered lines that allows him to use repetition to utmost effect: unlike in a traditionally structured poem like a villanelle, you never know in advance when -- or if -- a motif in a Vuong poem will recur, and it's this element of surprise, this element of organic timing, that enchants.

In addition to the poems I've already named, poems in this collection that positively surprised me include "Daily Bread" (I totally did not see the risky ending of this poem approaching).

Reading this book feels like being loved. Unlike some poems out there, Vuong's poems aren't mere defiances ("This is what I've lived, this is the way I see things, and I defy you to gainsay this, to hate this, to pick up the gauntlet I've dropped"), nor are they mere demonstrations of strength, of wit, of skill. Rather, they're full-blown interactive cinematic experiences that connect with you, the Reader; they let you in; they embrace. I think this is because this poet lives by surrounding himself with people he loves, and writing for people he loves. Reading his poems, you don't get the sense that he is one of those poets of fiction who lives alone in a lair, squinting at the world outside as though it were a sea-monster and poking at it from time to time with a long stick. Reading these poems makes me want to live a more loving life.