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Sông I Sing
When it feels like no one
lets you live
at your own volume
You sing.
Dynamic and eye-opening, this debut by a National Poetry Slam finalist critiques an America sleepwalking through its days and explores the contradictions of race and class in America.
Bao Phi has been a National Poetry Slam finalist and appeared on HBO's Def Poetry. His poems and essays are widely published in numerous publications including 2006 Best American Poetry. Phi lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and works at the Loft Literary Center.
lets you live
at your own volume
You sing.
Dynamic and eye-opening, this debut by a National Poetry Slam finalist critiques an America sleepwalking through its days and explores the contradictions of race and class in America.
Bao Phi has been a National Poetry Slam finalist and appeared on HBO's Def Poetry. His poems and essays are widely published in numerous publications including 2006 Best American Poetry. Phi lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and works at the Loft Literary Center.
- GenresPoetryAsian Literature
113 pages, Paperback
First published September 20, 2011
About the author
Bao Phi
15 books96 followersBao Phi is a Vietnamese-American spoken word artist,[1][2] writer and community activist living in Minnesota. Bao Phi's collection of poems, Sông I Sing, was published in 2011[3] and, Thousand Star Hotel, was published in 2017[4] by Coffee House Press. He has written three children’s books published by Capstone Press. First book, A Different Pond received multiple awards, including the Caldecott Award,[5] Charlotte Zolotow Award,[6] the Asian/Pacific American Awards for Literature for best picture book, the Minnesota Book Award for picture books.[7]
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July 4, 2015Bao Phi has been a major presence on the U.S. performance poetry scene for many years, known for his dynamic crowd-rousing performances. His Song I Sing is an important book, with a lot of important truths to tell, expressed with necessary anger and passion, as well as a shimmering volubility and breadth of creative imagination that can sometimes be exhilarating.
---
One poem that seized my interest early on was "The Nguyen Twins Find Adoration in the Poetry World." As I interpret it, this poem paints satirical portraits of two different imaginary Vietnamese-American poets. One of them, "Joan Nguyen," is described as having achieved acclaim in the academic poetry world by writing "safe" poems that prettify her tragic cultural heritage so as to garner the insincere praise of self-styled liberal white American readers. Joan is described as being in an interracial relationship with a white man with whom she shares "a fine/but modest house." The other of the two imaginary poets described in the poem, "Jesus Nguyen," has achieved acclaim in the slam poetry milieu by flaunting his political credentials despite "mispronouncing almost every Vietnamese word/that he uses in his poetry (all three of them)." As yet, I don't fully understand what this poem is doing. I think interracial relationships, such as those that are common between Asian-American women and white men, are a topic that could potentially give rise to a lot of profound discussion, but in this poem they seem just to be used as a shorthand for conventionality/conventional-mindedness, which I find a bit unsettling. I also find it a bit troubling that "safeness" and femaleness seem to be portrayed as going hand in hand in this poem -- why is the "safe" academic poet in this poem female while the fiery radical poet is male (it could be accidental, of course, but nonetheless this is a detail that struck me on my first reading of the poem)? Likewise, I don't as yet fully grasp the meaning of the apparently satirical "calling-out" of the fictional Jesus Nguyen's inability to pronounce Vietnamese words correctly. A lot of second-generation and third-generation Asian-Americans are not fluent in their ancestors' language, but to satirize them or to suggest that they are less authentic because of this seems, at first glance, to run counter to the message of inclusiveness ("there are a lot of different kinds of Asian-Americans and that's OK") that other poems in this book seem to embrace. A lot to think about here. I'll be revisiting this one over and over, for sure. (This rambling should not be taken as a criticism of the poem, but more as just a recording of my preliminary responses to it.)
---
I think Song I Sing would be a great "companion book" to teach alongside Claudia Rankine's Citizen. Both books revolve around themes of racial identity and racism, with significant portions of each book being devoted to the topic of racially-tinged incidents of police violence. "8 (9)," a poem in Phi's book that was inspired by the 2006 police killing of Hmong-American teen Fong Lee, has a lot of resonances with the sections in Rankine's book that deal with the recent killings of Trayvon Martin and Mark Duggan, for example. There are also similarities in the ways that Phi and Rankine criticize the media coverage of Hurricane Katrina through their verse (here's a quote from "And the Waves," Phi's prose poem about Vietnamese-Americans living in New Orleans who were affected by Katrina: "Why weren't we on the news? Not even after they wanted to build a garbage dump smack dab in the middle of our community?//It's like this country only allows us one grief at a time. Your people, you had that war thing. That's all you get. Shut. The fuck. Up.").
The parallels between Phi and Rankine become particularly striking in the closing pages of their respective books. "Race," the last poem in Song I Sing and a Best American Poetry 2006 honoree (selected for inclusion in the prestigious anthology by poet-editor Billy Collins), is a sort of fantasy/wish-fulfillment poem about a trio of fictional Vietnamese-American youths (a straight man, a straight woman, and a queer man) who agree to a street-racing competition with an antagonist named Todd Landers who, ludicrously, sports "kanji tattoos on his arms he thought said/Strength in love but really said something more like/Unreliable delivery service." After squarely defeating Landers, one of the triumphant youths turns to Landers and utters the final words in the book: "...in case you haven't noticed/this was all a/Race/and you lost."
Compare this with the hauntingly-similar-yet-different last section of Rankine's book, in which the protagonist, a Black woman, comes home from a session of tennis. At home, she is accosted by her partner: "Did you win? he asks.//It wasn't a match, I say. It was a lesson."
Are these moments of our lives races, or are they lessons? Arguably, it's some of each. Like Rankine's Citizen, Bao Phi's Song I Sing will leave you thinking about this, and much more.
---
One poem that seized my interest early on was "The Nguyen Twins Find Adoration in the Poetry World." As I interpret it, this poem paints satirical portraits of two different imaginary Vietnamese-American poets. One of them, "Joan Nguyen," is described as having achieved acclaim in the academic poetry world by writing "safe" poems that prettify her tragic cultural heritage so as to garner the insincere praise of self-styled liberal white American readers. Joan is described as being in an interracial relationship with a white man with whom she shares "a fine/but modest house." The other of the two imaginary poets described in the poem, "Jesus Nguyen," has achieved acclaim in the slam poetry milieu by flaunting his political credentials despite "mispronouncing almost every Vietnamese word/that he uses in his poetry (all three of them)." As yet, I don't fully understand what this poem is doing. I think interracial relationships, such as those that are common between Asian-American women and white men, are a topic that could potentially give rise to a lot of profound discussion, but in this poem they seem just to be used as a shorthand for conventionality/conventional-mindedness, which I find a bit unsettling. I also find it a bit troubling that "safeness" and femaleness seem to be portrayed as going hand in hand in this poem -- why is the "safe" academic poet in this poem female while the fiery radical poet is male (it could be accidental, of course, but nonetheless this is a detail that struck me on my first reading of the poem)? Likewise, I don't as yet fully grasp the meaning of the apparently satirical "calling-out" of the fictional Jesus Nguyen's inability to pronounce Vietnamese words correctly. A lot of second-generation and third-generation Asian-Americans are not fluent in their ancestors' language, but to satirize them or to suggest that they are less authentic because of this seems, at first glance, to run counter to the message of inclusiveness ("there are a lot of different kinds of Asian-Americans and that's OK") that other poems in this book seem to embrace. A lot to think about here. I'll be revisiting this one over and over, for sure. (This rambling should not be taken as a criticism of the poem, but more as just a recording of my preliminary responses to it.)
---
I think Song I Sing would be a great "companion book" to teach alongside Claudia Rankine's Citizen. Both books revolve around themes of racial identity and racism, with significant portions of each book being devoted to the topic of racially-tinged incidents of police violence. "8 (9)," a poem in Phi's book that was inspired by the 2006 police killing of Hmong-American teen Fong Lee, has a lot of resonances with the sections in Rankine's book that deal with the recent killings of Trayvon Martin and Mark Duggan, for example. There are also similarities in the ways that Phi and Rankine criticize the media coverage of Hurricane Katrina through their verse (here's a quote from "And the Waves," Phi's prose poem about Vietnamese-Americans living in New Orleans who were affected by Katrina: "Why weren't we on the news? Not even after they wanted to build a garbage dump smack dab in the middle of our community?//It's like this country only allows us one grief at a time. Your people, you had that war thing. That's all you get. Shut. The fuck. Up.").
The parallels between Phi and Rankine become particularly striking in the closing pages of their respective books. "Race," the last poem in Song I Sing and a Best American Poetry 2006 honoree (selected for inclusion in the prestigious anthology by poet-editor Billy Collins), is a sort of fantasy/wish-fulfillment poem about a trio of fictional Vietnamese-American youths (a straight man, a straight woman, and a queer man) who agree to a street-racing competition with an antagonist named Todd Landers who, ludicrously, sports "kanji tattoos on his arms he thought said/Strength in love but really said something more like/Unreliable delivery service." After squarely defeating Landers, one of the triumphant youths turns to Landers and utters the final words in the book: "...in case you haven't noticed/this was all a/Race/and you lost."
Compare this with the hauntingly-similar-yet-different last section of Rankine's book, in which the protagonist, a Black woman, comes home from a session of tennis. At home, she is accosted by her partner: "Did you win? he asks.//It wasn't a match, I say. It was a lesson."
Are these moments of our lives races, or are they lessons? Arguably, it's some of each. Like Rankine's Citizen, Bao Phi's Song I Sing will leave you thinking about this, and much more.
November 29, 2011
born in viet nam, but raised and currently residing in minneapolis, bao phi is a slam poet and spoken word artist. after considerable success on the slam circuit (two-time minnesota grand slam champion, two-time slam winner at the famed nuyorican poets cafe, and national poetry slam finalist), comes bao phi's first proper collection of poetry, sông i sing. divided into four parts, sông i sing is an audacious work full of courage, effrontery, outrage, compassion, pride, hope, and, perhaps most surprisingly, ample humor. bao phi's poems are stark and unabashed, informed as much by his vietnamese heritage as by his evident hip hop sensibilities. with sharp and penetrating language, bao phi confronts the ugly legacy of racism, war, violence, imperialism, and cultural reappropriation.
many of the poems that make up sông i sing are powerful rejoinders to the ongoing indifference (as well as animosity, objectification, and exploitation) so abundant in american culture today. the revulsion and enmity that shape some of these poems are not masquerading as an outlet for misdirected anger, but rather as a testament to the spirit and soul of so many who have suffered from decades of violence (in its many manifestations), alienation, and disregard. bao phi invokes many of the stereotypes often employed to dehumanize persons of vietnamese or southeast asian ancestry throughout his writing to great effect, allowing them to resonate in all of their obvious absurdity.
the book's second part, "the nguyễns," features a series of 14 poems about presumably fictive vietnamese americans (all sharing the common surname) living in cities scattered throughout the country. in what may well be the collection's most poignant and affecting poems, bao phi relates the frustrations, provocations, humiliations, defiances, and hardships these men and women endure in their daily lives. because these poems are so personal, they so easily solicit empathy, reverberating with intimate candor and sensitivity,
sông i sing is, quite simply, a remarkable collection of poems; one made all the more exceptional on account of it being a debut. bao phi's singular voice and well-defined style are arresting on both visceral and intellectual levels. despairing, and at times devastating, the poems within sông i sing will undoubtedly leave an indelible impression on all who venture within its pages. be sure to check out the many videos of bao phi's readings easily found on the internet.
many of the poems that make up sông i sing are powerful rejoinders to the ongoing indifference (as well as animosity, objectification, and exploitation) so abundant in american culture today. the revulsion and enmity that shape some of these poems are not masquerading as an outlet for misdirected anger, but rather as a testament to the spirit and soul of so many who have suffered from decades of violence (in its many manifestations), alienation, and disregard. bao phi invokes many of the stereotypes often employed to dehumanize persons of vietnamese or southeast asian ancestry throughout his writing to great effect, allowing them to resonate in all of their obvious absurdity.
the book's second part, "the nguyễns," features a series of 14 poems about presumably fictive vietnamese americans (all sharing the common surname) living in cities scattered throughout the country. in what may well be the collection's most poignant and affecting poems, bao phi relates the frustrations, provocations, humiliations, defiances, and hardships these men and women endure in their daily lives. because these poems are so personal, they so easily solicit empathy, reverberating with intimate candor and sensitivity,
sông i sing is, quite simply, a remarkable collection of poems; one made all the more exceptional on account of it being a debut. bao phi's singular voice and well-defined style are arresting on both visceral and intellectual levels. despairing, and at times devastating, the poems within sông i sing will undoubtedly leave an indelible impression on all who venture within its pages. be sure to check out the many videos of bao phi's readings easily found on the internet.
Mercy (excerpt)
Nguyễn, John - ROTC, Iraq
Let them know that I mean the first Persian Gulf,
let them know I mean Viet Nam, and Korea,
and the bombs that made blossoms of Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
let them know I mean every man that will call me gook
every man that will slap my sister behind a closed door
let them know I mean police beating down Cambodian kids
in the park
and people who make fun of my mother using welfare checks
at the supermarket
let them know I mean my father screaming in nightmares
and ghetto neighbors who call my parents gook
when walking by their front yard
Let them know I mean my uncles drinking themselves to death
and aunties losing life savings at blackjack and
white hunters killing Hmong in Wisconsin
and yes, let them know I mean this, here, now, Iraq,
when I say
Fuck this war.
May 8, 2019
“Reverse Racism,” is very good. And the last poem was smart. Liked how he did what he did.
His writing can be violent, but there's a reason: he's trying to elicit a response from the reader, and he's encouraging the reader to see, to understand, that this is how minorities experience a majority society, especially in a majority society where there is a long and brutal history of racial/ethnic oppression. It is provocative, but that's the point. To provoke thought.
He's saying, "This is what we feel, violence in our past, violence in our present, and we're afraid of violence in our future, so this is our anger, fleshed out, written in bloody violence. Do you really think we could feel this much anger for no reason? Wake up!"
His writing can be violent, but there's a reason: he's trying to elicit a response from the reader, and he's encouraging the reader to see, to understand, that this is how minorities experience a majority society, especially in a majority society where there is a long and brutal history of racial/ethnic oppression. It is provocative, but that's the point. To provoke thought.
He's saying, "This is what we feel, violence in our past, violence in our present, and we're afraid of violence in our future, so this is our anger, fleshed out, written in bloody violence. Do you really think we could feel this much anger for no reason? Wake up!"
August 18, 2013
I read this book for my Multicultural Resources for Diverse Communities class.
Phi, B. (2011). Sông I sing: poems. Minneapolis: Coffeehouse Press.
Paperback | $16 | ISBN-13: 978-1-56689-279-7| 113 pages | A Poetry
What does it mean to be invisible? What does it feel like to have one’s life experiences go unrecognized in a country one calls home? For Vietnamese Americans such as Bao Phi, these questions are not theoretical; they are a reality.
Bao Phi is a spoken word artist who has won the Minnesota Grand Spam twice and whose poetry has been included in several anthologies. For his first book, Sông I sing, Phi presents the complexity of Vietnamese American life through poetry. Each poem tells its own story. Some poems, such as the ones in the section entitled “The Nguyễns,” represent the stories of particular people across America. The voices portrayed in these poems are so clear and individually unique to each represented life that it does not matter whether the people portrayed in the poem are real or whether they’re simply examples Phi has composed. From a Katrina survivor who dreams of feeding the fellow victims who ignore her presence (Phi, 2011, p. 39) to the bodybuilder who longs to beat up his childhood tormentor (p. 20-22), Phi covers the range of human emotions. In the introductory poem to this section Phi writes that “they’re more related than any of them will ever know” (p. 17), yet the lack of a single Vietnamese American story is immediately clear as each consecutive poem shows a different side of life, sometimes contradicting the sentiments expressed in the previous poem. Anger and sadness are recurring emotions throughout the poems.
While the entire book is politically charged, many poems speak directly to the political situation in America. Several poems are reactions to real events such as John McCain’s comments about “gooks” in 2000 and the murder and framing of a Hmong American by a police officer. For these poems, Phi quotes or describes the situations and follows these descriptions by his poetic responses. In other poems, such as “FOBulous” and “Reverse Racism,” Phi parodies the general atmosphere of life in America.
In the first poem of the book, Phi writes that this book “is for us, my people” (p. 1). Sông I sing is a place where Vietnamese Americans can finally see their experiences recognized. However, this book is also a valuable asset for non-Vietnamese Americans. In presenting the variety of experiences and lives normally left unrecognized in American culture, Sông I sing gives insight into the lives of others. For anyone who believes discrimination against Asian Americans does not exist in this country, this book is a wake-up call. It presents not only the realities but also the emotional impact that discrimination has on people.
Sông I sing is not appropriate for a young audience because some of the poems utilize vulgar language and sexual imagery. However, this book would be an excellent selection for an adult Asian American History Month or multicultural display. Individual poems could be used for a teen or adult library program on writing and identity, followed by an exercise in which participants write their own identity-related poetry. Those including this book in programming or classes might also consider showing the recording of Bao Phi performing “You Bring Out the Vietnamese in Me” featured on Coffeehouse Press’s website or any of the Bao Phi recordings on YouTube.
(n.d.) Sông I sing. Coffeehouse Press. Retrieved from http://coffeehousepress.org/shop/song....
Phi, B. (2011). Sông I sing: poems. Minneapolis: Coffeehouse Press.
Paperback | $16 | ISBN-13: 978-1-56689-279-7| 113 pages | A Poetry
What does it mean to be invisible? What does it feel like to have one’s life experiences go unrecognized in a country one calls home? For Vietnamese Americans such as Bao Phi, these questions are not theoretical; they are a reality.
Bao Phi is a spoken word artist who has won the Minnesota Grand Spam twice and whose poetry has been included in several anthologies. For his first book, Sông I sing, Phi presents the complexity of Vietnamese American life through poetry. Each poem tells its own story. Some poems, such as the ones in the section entitled “The Nguyễns,” represent the stories of particular people across America. The voices portrayed in these poems are so clear and individually unique to each represented life that it does not matter whether the people portrayed in the poem are real or whether they’re simply examples Phi has composed. From a Katrina survivor who dreams of feeding the fellow victims who ignore her presence (Phi, 2011, p. 39) to the bodybuilder who longs to beat up his childhood tormentor (p. 20-22), Phi covers the range of human emotions. In the introductory poem to this section Phi writes that “they’re more related than any of them will ever know” (p. 17), yet the lack of a single Vietnamese American story is immediately clear as each consecutive poem shows a different side of life, sometimes contradicting the sentiments expressed in the previous poem. Anger and sadness are recurring emotions throughout the poems.
While the entire book is politically charged, many poems speak directly to the political situation in America. Several poems are reactions to real events such as John McCain’s comments about “gooks” in 2000 and the murder and framing of a Hmong American by a police officer. For these poems, Phi quotes or describes the situations and follows these descriptions by his poetic responses. In other poems, such as “FOBulous” and “Reverse Racism,” Phi parodies the general atmosphere of life in America.
In the first poem of the book, Phi writes that this book “is for us, my people” (p. 1). Sông I sing is a place where Vietnamese Americans can finally see their experiences recognized. However, this book is also a valuable asset for non-Vietnamese Americans. In presenting the variety of experiences and lives normally left unrecognized in American culture, Sông I sing gives insight into the lives of others. For anyone who believes discrimination against Asian Americans does not exist in this country, this book is a wake-up call. It presents not only the realities but also the emotional impact that discrimination has on people.
Sông I sing is not appropriate for a young audience because some of the poems utilize vulgar language and sexual imagery. However, this book would be an excellent selection for an adult Asian American History Month or multicultural display. Individual poems could be used for a teen or adult library program on writing and identity, followed by an exercise in which participants write their own identity-related poetry. Those including this book in programming or classes might also consider showing the recording of Bao Phi performing “You Bring Out the Vietnamese in Me” featured on Coffeehouse Press’s website or any of the Bao Phi recordings on YouTube.
(n.d.) Sông I sing. Coffeehouse Press. Retrieved from http://coffeehousepress.org/shop/song....
Read
June 30, 2020Two poetry collections I read over the past couple months were After We Lost Our Way by David Mura and Sông I Sing by Bao Phi. Both of these collections are written by local Minnesota men of color, 1.5 or 3rd generation Americans, struggling to reconcile their ethnic, national, and racial identities in the aftermath of a war.
Mura's poems reflect much of the devastation of Japanese internment camps and the aftermath of the second World War. He also reflects a lot on queerness, adultery, and forbidden love. He writes poems dedicated to his family, who had suffered through the internment camps and poems dedicated to people he met along the way.
Phi’s diasporic poems hit a little closer to home for me. My parents also arrived in the U.S. just after the end of the Vietnam War, a little lost after refugee camps. His poems reflect an agonizing anger that I find relatable and that I’m sure, many of youth of color that I work with, will as well.
It’s interesting to see almost a cyclic pattern in these two poetry collections. Mura, Japanese American, writing about the inequality after the second war and the effect of the internment camps on Japanese Americans like him. Phi, Vietnamese American, writing about the frustrations of his culture being taken away, about being forced to assimilate. They each have their own unique experiences, but there were also similar experiences shared between the two men. It makes me wonder if there’s already a collection of poems written by a Hmong American out there. Or Karen American.
These two poetry collections gave insight to the struggles of men of color in a post-war world, allowing them to reconcile their identities, how the privileged world reacts to their sense of self, and how they choose to revolutionize. I’m not sure if this is the right term for it, but I feel like these books best fit into the trauma literature genre.
I am particularly attached to “Fusion,” one of Bao Phi’s poems. I’ll share it with anyone who wants to read it, but would like to take some space to reflect on it.
It makes me think about the role of food in culture and how important it is. It makes me think about how others perceive “weird” or “strange” food, foods normally not accustomed to them. It reminds me of the first time I had Western food, reminds me of how I thought hash browns looked disgusting and how it looked like crumpled boogers. I'm sure there are plenty of others like me who thought the same.
My dad used to eat out a lot and his food of choice was phở because it was good and it was cheap. And despite taking endless hours to brew the broth to the right depth of taste, and despite choosing the best cuts of beef and rice noodles, it was cheap because the culinary world said so. Until they decided it was good enough to make it into their five-star restaurants. And then my dad stopped eating phở as much because it was no longer feasible to.
Another poem that I felt fit the people we're working with is called "Giving My Neighbor a Ride to Her Job" also by Bao Phi. It briefly touches on gentrification, diaspora, similar experiences, and the idealization of whiteness.
"Giving My Neighbor a Ride to Her Job"
I emerge from 103 at the same time she does from 106.
The hallways full of blondes
whitewashing the walls.
We’ve never seen this many white people in the building before.
Has gentrification already hit this side of Dale?
Did someone plant a bomb
that exploded with blonde people while we slept?
One of them tells me it’s the U of M women’s rowing team,
volunteering.
My neighbor asks me for a ride to work, usually her husband
comes home around when she has to leave,
but today he is stranded with a grumpy alternator.
She is Somali. I am Vietnamese. How long have you been here?
Between us this is not offensive. Five years. You? Twenty-six.
She speaks English like my mother.
Her son will speak English like me.
She likes Minnesota.
I don’t have the heart to tell her that her son
probably won’t.
We don’t use the word refugee. Somalia, Viet Nam,
both far away, both missed.
In the theaters, Black Hawk Down and We Were Soldiers play
across whitewashed screens.
One day she will have to tell her son he doesn’t have to be like Joshua Hartnett
to be a hero.
If I ever have a daughter I will have to tell her
that she does not have to love someone the same color as Mel Gibson
to be beautiful.
Words fill my car.
Laughter untranslated.
Languages beautiful.
Together here, we are not broken.
Mura's poems reflect much of the devastation of Japanese internment camps and the aftermath of the second World War. He also reflects a lot on queerness, adultery, and forbidden love. He writes poems dedicated to his family, who had suffered through the internment camps and poems dedicated to people he met along the way.
Phi’s diasporic poems hit a little closer to home for me. My parents also arrived in the U.S. just after the end of the Vietnam War, a little lost after refugee camps. His poems reflect an agonizing anger that I find relatable and that I’m sure, many of youth of color that I work with, will as well.
It’s interesting to see almost a cyclic pattern in these two poetry collections. Mura, Japanese American, writing about the inequality after the second war and the effect of the internment camps on Japanese Americans like him. Phi, Vietnamese American, writing about the frustrations of his culture being taken away, about being forced to assimilate. They each have their own unique experiences, but there were also similar experiences shared between the two men. It makes me wonder if there’s already a collection of poems written by a Hmong American out there. Or Karen American.
These two poetry collections gave insight to the struggles of men of color in a post-war world, allowing them to reconcile their identities, how the privileged world reacts to their sense of self, and how they choose to revolutionize. I’m not sure if this is the right term for it, but I feel like these books best fit into the trauma literature genre.
I am particularly attached to “Fusion,” one of Bao Phi’s poems. I’ll share it with anyone who wants to read it, but would like to take some space to reflect on it.
It makes me think about the role of food in culture and how important it is. It makes me think about how others perceive “weird” or “strange” food, foods normally not accustomed to them. It reminds me of the first time I had Western food, reminds me of how I thought hash browns looked disgusting and how it looked like crumpled boogers. I'm sure there are plenty of others like me who thought the same.
My dad used to eat out a lot and his food of choice was phở because it was good and it was cheap. And despite taking endless hours to brew the broth to the right depth of taste, and despite choosing the best cuts of beef and rice noodles, it was cheap because the culinary world said so. Until they decided it was good enough to make it into their five-star restaurants. And then my dad stopped eating phở as much because it was no longer feasible to.
Another poem that I felt fit the people we're working with is called "Giving My Neighbor a Ride to Her Job" also by Bao Phi. It briefly touches on gentrification, diaspora, similar experiences, and the idealization of whiteness.
"Giving My Neighbor a Ride to Her Job"
I emerge from 103 at the same time she does from 106.
The hallways full of blondes
whitewashing the walls.
We’ve never seen this many white people in the building before.
Has gentrification already hit this side of Dale?
Did someone plant a bomb
that exploded with blonde people while we slept?
One of them tells me it’s the U of M women’s rowing team,
volunteering.
My neighbor asks me for a ride to work, usually her husband
comes home around when she has to leave,
but today he is stranded with a grumpy alternator.
She is Somali. I am Vietnamese. How long have you been here?
Between us this is not offensive. Five years. You? Twenty-six.
She speaks English like my mother.
Her son will speak English like me.
She likes Minnesota.
I don’t have the heart to tell her that her son
probably won’t.
We don’t use the word refugee. Somalia, Viet Nam,
both far away, both missed.
In the theaters, Black Hawk Down and We Were Soldiers play
across whitewashed screens.
One day she will have to tell her son he doesn’t have to be like Joshua Hartnett
to be a hero.
If I ever have a daughter I will have to tell her
that she does not have to love someone the same color as Mel Gibson
to be beautiful.
Words fill my car.
Laughter untranslated.
Languages beautiful.
Together here, we are not broken.
June 1, 2019
Truth. I'd love to see Bao Phi perform live!
Notable lines (too many, but here's some):
"This is for you, taught to believe in magic / Just not our own."
"so that I can ask, finally, / why the world is always ready for your kind of hate / but never mine?"
"It's like this country only allows us one grief at a time. Your people, you / had that war thing. That's all you get. Shut. The fuck. Up."
"When it feels like no one /lets you live / at your own volume / You sing."
"One of the devil's greatest powers / is to force you to take a deal / that he himself would never take."
The entire "Reverse Racism" poem!!
Notable lines (too many, but here's some):
"This is for you, taught to believe in magic / Just not our own."
"so that I can ask, finally, / why the world is always ready for your kind of hate / but never mine?"
"It's like this country only allows us one grief at a time. Your people, you / had that war thing. That's all you get. Shut. The fuck. Up."
"When it feels like no one /lets you live / at your own volume / You sing."
"One of the devil's greatest powers / is to force you to take a deal / that he himself would never take."
The entire "Reverse Racism" poem!!
August 18, 2022
Holy utterly shocking shit. A remarkable, memorable, athletic, razor-sharp book of poems loosely informed by Vietnamese-American experiences. Wicked smart. Best of its intense, invocational style since Ginsberg (kid you not: better than Galway Kinnell, smarter than O'Hara, more immediate and suggestive than Whitman, more acrobatic and at the same time accessible than Ashbery.)
Not every poem in the book is brilliant, but I who am jaded beyond belief after a lifetime of studying and mimicking poetry confess that I cried five times over different lines in this 112 page book in the space of this one August morning. Best book of poetry I have read in a decade or more. A treasure!
Not every poem in the book is brilliant, but I who am jaded beyond belief after a lifetime of studying and mimicking poetry confess that I cried five times over different lines in this 112 page book in the space of this one August morning. Best book of poetry I have read in a decade or more. A treasure!
March 11, 2019
I was recommended “Song I Sing” by my instructor, Professor Fajilan, and I’m so glad I read this entire book. This is a collection of poems/stories from different Vietnamese Americans primarily about racism and poverty. I admire how some of the pieces are bilingual (Vietnamese mixed into English). I would recommend this book to anyone who wants more Vietnamese visibility but also don’t mind reading anything with sexually graphic, triggering, reactionary content, or profane writing. My favourite pieces in this are FOBulous, Mercy, Reverse Racism, No offense, 8(9), and Everyday people.
April 24, 2022
This was an intense read-- no punches were pulled, and I would recommend that everyone read it. Section 2, The Nguyens was very good, reverse racism was intense and honest, and Giving my neighbor a ride to her job was gentle.
Really enjoyed this collection, and I'll be honest, it was at times very uncomfortable, but I also think that is one of the values of poetry
Really enjoyed this collection, and I'll be honest, it was at times very uncomfortable, but I also think that is one of the values of poetry
May 23, 2020
I’m working on always having a book of poems on my bedside. This collection was a gift from a friend.
There were nights I was humbled, shocked, amused, horrified— but always struck by these powerful words.
A good collection.
There were nights I was humbled, shocked, amused, horrified— but always struck by these powerful words.
A good collection.
August 28, 2020
This book is like that cool cousin, that one that is a shade older but just enough to be more hip because they had the time and the resources to get there before you. You might feel envy (and I do), you might feel challenged (and I do), but you are better for having them in your life.
September 16, 2017
While I admire the poet's technique, the subject matter is overwhelmingly depressing and the imagery violent. Did he truly have nothing positive in his life?
May 11, 2018
"A Prince Among Men" and "And the Waves" are my favorites.
May 9, 2020
Beautiful book of Vietnamese poetry. Going on my classroom shelf for my kiddos
June 1, 2021
Poems on being Asian in America.
War, food, Asian women.
Liked:
Reverse Racism, p. 59.
FOBulous, p. 6
Fusion, p. 24
For Us, p. 1
War, food, Asian women.
Liked:
Reverse Racism, p. 59.
FOBulous, p. 6
Fusion, p. 24
For Us, p. 1
December 24, 2022
I read one poem, For Us, from the book for my Asian American Literature class.
My heart is still not ok after reading this one poem.
My heart is still not ok after reading this one poem.
August 21, 2013
Bao Phi's collection of poetry is:
Raw, rebellious, sweet, funny; Flopping on the deck of a boat, can't catch, so just watch it glisten; Remembering, never forgetting and memory alighting anew; Renewal, refusal...
It is wise! It is time! To read these poems!
Especially:
Dotty Nguyễn's Plea upon the Day Her Mother Accused Her of Being a Commie and Kicked Her Out of the Family
Prince among Men
Reverse Racism
Giving My Neighbor a Ride to Her Job
Nguyễn in the Promised Land
&
Everyday People
Raw, rebellious, sweet, funny; Flopping on the deck of a boat, can't catch, so just watch it glisten; Remembering, never forgetting and memory alighting anew; Renewal, refusal...
It is wise! It is time! To read these poems!
Especially:
Dotty Nguyễn's Plea upon the Day Her Mother Accused Her of Being a Commie and Kicked Her Out of the Family
Prince among Men
Reverse Racism
Giving My Neighbor a Ride to Her Job
Nguyễn in the Promised Land
&
Everyday People
March 23, 2018
Full review at Little Book Jockey. Poetry about race is always hard to read. I was actually supposed to read this back in December 2015 for an Asian-American lit class but got sick and missed those classes. I think I would have gotten more out of it had I been there for the discussions. Still, it’s a good collection full of powerful poems.
October 27, 2012
A book that is honest about living, being Asian in this country. Part 2 was excellent, " let me not pull the trigger on his story." " so that I can ask, finally, why the world is always ready for your kind of hate but never mine?" powerful. My favorite poems to name a few, Untitled, No Offense, Everyday People, and Bread and Glass. Read this book of poems.
Read
January 17, 2014811.54 P543s 2011
January 17, 2016
Minneapolis talent! Favorite poem in this collection: "Reverse Racism."
November 1, 2016
Fantastic. Living, poignant, striking words and imagery that captured both my imagination and many of the experiences I've lived or am familiar with as a Viet-American. Highly recommend.
January 11, 2022
literally iconic. bao phi has been and always will be legendary for this piece.
November 21, 2021
Although I don’t always agree with the politics of this book, the poetry was full of imagery and language that transported me. Absolutely gorgeous to be read out loud.
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