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When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities
Goodreads Choice Award
Nominee for Readers' Favorite Poetry (2017)In this ferocious and tender debut, Chen Chen investigates inherited forms of love and family—the strained relationship between a mother and son, the cost of necessary goodbyes—all from Asian American, immigrant, and queer perspectives. Holding all accountable, this collection fully embraces the loss, grief, and abundant joy that come with charting one’s own path in identity, life, and love.
In the Hospital
My mother was in the hospital & everyone wanted to be my friend.
But I was busy making a list: good dog, bad citizen, short
skeleton, tall mocha. Typical Tuesday.
My mother was in the hospital & no one wanted to be her friend.
Everyone wanted to be soft cooing sympathies. Very reasonable
pigeons. No one had the time & our solution to it
was to buy shinier watches. We were enamored with
what our wrists could declare. My mother was in the hospital
& I didn’t want to be her friend. Typical son. Tall latte, short tale,
bad plot, great wifi in the atypical café. My mother was in the hospital
& she didn’t want to be her friend. She wanted to be the family
grocery list. Low-fat yogurt, firm tofu. She didn’t trust my father
to be it. You always forget something, she said, even when
I do the list for you. Even then.
In the Hospital
My mother was in the hospital & everyone wanted to be my friend.
But I was busy making a list: good dog, bad citizen, short
skeleton, tall mocha. Typical Tuesday.
My mother was in the hospital & no one wanted to be her friend.
Everyone wanted to be soft cooing sympathies. Very reasonable
pigeons. No one had the time & our solution to it
was to buy shinier watches. We were enamored with
what our wrists could declare. My mother was in the hospital
& I didn’t want to be her friend. Typical son. Tall latte, short tale,
bad plot, great wifi in the atypical café. My mother was in the hospital
& she didn’t want to be her friend. She wanted to be the family
grocery list. Low-fat yogurt, firm tofu. She didn’t trust my father
to be it. You always forget something, she said, even when
I do the list for you. Even then.
96 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2017
260 people are currently reading
11875 people want to read
About the author
Chen Chen
33 books148 followersChen Chen is the author of two books of poetry, Your Emergency Contact Has Experienced an Emergency (2022) and When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities (2017), both published by BOA Editions and by Bloodaxe Books in the UK. His latest chapbook is Explodingly Yours (Ghost City Press, 2023). A Kundiman community member, his honors include the Thom Gunn Award, two Pushcart Prizes, the National Book Award longlist, and fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts and United States Artists. His work appears in many publications, including three editions of The Best American Poetry and two editions of The Forward Book of Poetry. He teaches for the l0w-residency MFA programs at New England College, Stonecoast, and Antioch. He edits the online poetry journals, Underblong and the lickety~split. He holds an MFA from Syracuse University and a PhD from Texas Tech University. He lives in Rochester, NY with his partner, Jeff Gilbert, and their pug, Mr. Rupert Giles.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 710 reviews
July 23, 2018
Excellent poetry collection. The third section is the strongest and the title poem is unforgettable. Lots to admire here in terms of imagery, energy, really, the whole poetic package.
September 13, 2019
#3 on the recent attempt at TBR books that Turned Out to be Okay But Not Amazing
Asthetics were totally pleasing and tempting. Love the cover, love the formatting of the poetry, love the repetition of the name. And that title! How could I not give it a try?
Along with a 'Foreword,' it contains an introduction, three sections and an afterword. In the foreword, Jericho Brown writes, "a speaker whose obsessive and curious nature is that of an adult who refuses to give up seeing through the eyes of an adolescent, one who believes that the world is a malleable place and that asking the right questions changes its form."
I don't know about the later bit, but I would agree that the feel of these poems is that of an young person, though through collegiate age more than 'adolescent.' In fact, I was highly reminded of my own college years and discussions with non-American born friends. This, I suppose, a testament to a strength and weakness of the collection. Most of it was about identity (gay, Chinese, immigrant, young), and the not unexpected issues that come with that time period. Relationships are particularly important, particularly with parents and God (or lack thereof), along with themes of sexuality, race, parental illness and love.
'In the Hospital'
My mother was in the hospital & everyone wanted to be my friend.
but I was busy making a list: good dog, bad citizen, short
skeleton, tall mocha. Typical Tuesday.
My mother was in the hospital & no one wanted to be her friend.
Everyone wanted to be soft cooing sympathies. Very reasonable
pigeons. No one had the time & our solution to it
was to buy shiner watches. We were enamored with
what our wrists could declare. My mother was in the hospital
& I didn't want to be her friend. Typical son. Tall latte, short tale
bad plot, great wifi in the atypical cafe. My mother was in the hospital
& she didn't want to be her friend. she wanted to be the family
grocery list. Low-fat yogurt, firm tofu. She didn't trust my father
to be it. You always forget something, she said, even when
I do the list for you. Even then.'
Warning: he tends to talk a lot about his mother.
Style is usually free-form, with a lyricism that reminds me of Adrienne Rich and usually works for me. Occasionally he is capable of sublime description:
'The reader's face is a child's rapt face. The book is her latest
soul, disguised as a more or less acceptable concrete object.
The child is happy. The afternoon a novel.'
--from 'In Search of the Least Abandoned Constellation
There's also some playful, lyrical bits:
'i pledge allegiance to the already fallen snow
& to the snow now falling. to the old snow & the new.
to foot & paw & tire prints in the snow both young & aging,
the deep & shallow marks left on cold streets, our long
misbegotten manuscripts. i pledge allegiance to the weather
report that promises more snow, plus freezing rain.
though i would minus the pluvial & plus the multitude
of messages pressed muddy into the perfectly
mutable snow, i have faith in the report that goes on to read:
by the end of the week, there will be an increased storm-related
illegibility of the asphalt & concrete & brick. for i pledge'
--from 'For I Will Do/Undo What Was Done/Undone To Me
Interestingly, though it reminded me in many ways, both stylistically and thematically of The Dream of a Common Language,** the poetry was more temporal and culturally defined, and thus didn't transcend as well. Here, in 2019, I can read Dream and empathize. Chen mentions Starbucks, reality tv, Journey to the West, Monkey King's quest, Power Rangers, Cheney (as in Dick), and Harry Potter (at least twice). Which is fine--don't get me wrong--but I think that is part of what feels both adolescent and specific about this collection.
It also feels like Chen occasionally works too hard to mash some of his images together (see above list). Along those lines, the poems seem to occasionally lack a consistent finish, despite many of them seeming to tell a story. The above poem that ostensibly talks about snow, streets and writing concludes with a stanza about the listener forgetting a suitcase as they fly to another country "& the weather where your true love is/ governed by principles or persons you can't name" which just seems abrupt from everything that went before.
Still, there's a lot to like here. I think it will resonate more fully if one is finding themselves struggling with similar issues or in a similar age period.
'Self Portrait As So Much Potential
Dreaming of one day being as fearless as a mango.
As friendly as a tomato. Merciless to chin & shirtfront.
Realizing I hate the word "sip."
But that's all I do.
I drink. So slowly.
& say I'm tasting it. When I'm just bad at taking in liquid.'
I agree; so much potential. I'd like to read his work again in five years.
Better formatting at my blog: https://clsiewert.wordpress.com/2019/...
**
Asthetics were totally pleasing and tempting. Love the cover, love the formatting of the poetry, love the repetition of the name. And that title! How could I not give it a try?
Along with a 'Foreword,' it contains an introduction, three sections and an afterword. In the foreword, Jericho Brown writes, "a speaker whose obsessive and curious nature is that of an adult who refuses to give up seeing through the eyes of an adolescent, one who believes that the world is a malleable place and that asking the right questions changes its form."
I don't know about the later bit, but I would agree that the feel of these poems is that of an young person, though through collegiate age more than 'adolescent.' In fact, I was highly reminded of my own college years and discussions with non-American born friends. This, I suppose, a testament to a strength and weakness of the collection. Most of it was about identity (gay, Chinese, immigrant, young), and the not unexpected issues that come with that time period. Relationships are particularly important, particularly with parents and God (or lack thereof), along with themes of sexuality, race, parental illness and love.
'In the Hospital'
My mother was in the hospital & everyone wanted to be my friend.
but I was busy making a list: good dog, bad citizen, short
skeleton, tall mocha. Typical Tuesday.
My mother was in the hospital & no one wanted to be her friend.
Everyone wanted to be soft cooing sympathies. Very reasonable
pigeons. No one had the time & our solution to it
was to buy shiner watches. We were enamored with
what our wrists could declare. My mother was in the hospital
& I didn't want to be her friend. Typical son. Tall latte, short tale
bad plot, great wifi in the atypical cafe. My mother was in the hospital
& she didn't want to be her friend. she wanted to be the family
grocery list. Low-fat yogurt, firm tofu. She didn't trust my father
to be it. You always forget something, she said, even when
I do the list for you. Even then.'
Warning: he tends to talk a lot about his mother.
Style is usually free-form, with a lyricism that reminds me of Adrienne Rich and usually works for me. Occasionally he is capable of sublime description:
'The reader's face is a child's rapt face. The book is her latest
soul, disguised as a more or less acceptable concrete object.
The child is happy. The afternoon a novel.'
--from 'In Search of the Least Abandoned Constellation
There's also some playful, lyrical bits:
'i pledge allegiance to the already fallen snow
& to the snow now falling. to the old snow & the new.
to foot & paw & tire prints in the snow both young & aging,
the deep & shallow marks left on cold streets, our long
misbegotten manuscripts. i pledge allegiance to the weather
report that promises more snow, plus freezing rain.
though i would minus the pluvial & plus the multitude
of messages pressed muddy into the perfectly
mutable snow, i have faith in the report that goes on to read:
by the end of the week, there will be an increased storm-related
illegibility of the asphalt & concrete & brick. for i pledge'
--from 'For I Will Do/Undo What Was Done/Undone To Me
Interestingly, though it reminded me in many ways, both stylistically and thematically of The Dream of a Common Language,** the poetry was more temporal and culturally defined, and thus didn't transcend as well. Here, in 2019, I can read Dream and empathize. Chen mentions Starbucks, reality tv, Journey to the West, Monkey King's quest, Power Rangers, Cheney (as in Dick), and Harry Potter (at least twice). Which is fine--don't get me wrong--but I think that is part of what feels both adolescent and specific about this collection.
It also feels like Chen occasionally works too hard to mash some of his images together (see above list). Along those lines, the poems seem to occasionally lack a consistent finish, despite many of them seeming to tell a story. The above poem that ostensibly talks about snow, streets and writing concludes with a stanza about the listener forgetting a suitcase as they fly to another country "& the weather where your true love is/ governed by principles or persons you can't name" which just seems abrupt from everything that went before.
Still, there's a lot to like here. I think it will resonate more fully if one is finding themselves struggling with similar issues or in a similar age period.
'Self Portrait As So Much Potential
Dreaming of one day being as fearless as a mango.
As friendly as a tomato. Merciless to chin & shirtfront.
Realizing I hate the word "sip."
But that's all I do.
I drink. So slowly.
& say I'm tasting it. When I'm just bad at taking in liquid.'
I agree; so much potential. I'd like to read his work again in five years.
Better formatting at my blog: https://clsiewert.wordpress.com/2019/...
**
March 4, 2022
“Aren’t all great love stories, at their core, great mistakes?”
When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities ~~ Chen Chen
This is a brilliant debut for Chen Chen. It is one of my favorite poetry books of all time. Never have I felt that a poet has written his poems based upon my life like I have with Chen. These poems are smart, funny, and heartbreaking. Chen has faced so much pain and rejection in his life, most of it caused by his parents. That his spirit has survived, and thrived, is a testament to his inner strength, and ability to forgive.
Rather than my babbling on, read this poem by Chen Chen, & then, buy this book. It is an amazing debut.
Self-Portrait as So Much Potential
BY CHEN CHEN
Dreaming of one day being as fearless as a mango.
As friendly as a tomato. Merciless to chin & shirtfront.
Realizing I hate the word “sip.”
But that’s all I do.
I drink. So slowly.
& say I’m tasting it. When I’m just bad at taking in liquid.
I’m no mango or tomato. I’m a rusty yawn in a rumored year. I’m an arctic attic.
Come able & ampersand in the slippery polar clutter.
I am not the heterosexual neat freak my mother raised me to be.
I am a gay sipper, & my mother has placed what’s left of her hope on my brothers.
She wants them to gulp up the world, spit out solid degrees, responsible grandchildren ready to gobble.
They will be better than mangoes, my brothers.
Though I have trouble imagining what that could be.
Flying mangoes, perhaps. Flying mango-tomato hybrids. Beautiful sons.
When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities ~~ Chen Chen
This is a brilliant debut for Chen Chen. It is one of my favorite poetry books of all time. Never have I felt that a poet has written his poems based upon my life like I have with Chen. These poems are smart, funny, and heartbreaking. Chen has faced so much pain and rejection in his life, most of it caused by his parents. That his spirit has survived, and thrived, is a testament to his inner strength, and ability to forgive.
Rather than my babbling on, read this poem by Chen Chen, & then, buy this book. It is an amazing debut.
Self-Portrait as So Much Potential
BY CHEN CHEN
Dreaming of one day being as fearless as a mango.
As friendly as a tomato. Merciless to chin & shirtfront.
Realizing I hate the word “sip.”
But that’s all I do.
I drink. So slowly.
& say I’m tasting it. When I’m just bad at taking in liquid.
I’m no mango or tomato. I’m a rusty yawn in a rumored year. I’m an arctic attic.
Come able & ampersand in the slippery polar clutter.
I am not the heterosexual neat freak my mother raised me to be.
I am a gay sipper, & my mother has placed what’s left of her hope on my brothers.
She wants them to gulp up the world, spit out solid degrees, responsible grandchildren ready to gobble.
They will be better than mangoes, my brothers.
Though I have trouble imagining what that could be.
Flying mangoes, perhaps. Flying mango-tomato hybrids. Beautiful sons.
December 28, 2017
3.5 stars
I dislike the glorification of straight, white, male poets, and I feel so grateful to Chen Chen for sharing his queer, Asian American, immigrant perspective with us. His poems hit me hardest when he shared sometimes painful, sometimes joyful moments surrounding these underrepresented identities. Poems like "Race to the Tree," "Self-Portrait With & Without," and "Poem in Noisy Mouthfuls" all struck me with their curiosity, novelty of language, and emotional richness. When Chen writes about nuanced personal experiences like his strained relationship with his mother due in part to his sexuality, or his unfulfilled desire for a boy to notice him, my heart moves right into these moments with him. I am awed that he can transport us with such ease.
Two constructive criticisms: I wish that there had been more of an analysis or unpacking of the emotions raised in these poems. For example, Chen writes about romantic desire quite a bit. I wanted to know what underlies this desire to the point that it consumes so much space in this collection (e.g., amatonormativity?) Perhaps it is unfair for me to ask for this type of unpacking, such that this type of analysis may not be the point of poetry, or of Chen's poetry, which I accept. I also just did not understand the significance of some of the poems that strayed away from issues of identity (e.g., "Night Falls Like a Button," "Elegy to be Exhaled at Dust"). Overall, though, I would highly recommend When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities to poetry fans, especially to those who want to diversify their reading lists.
I dislike the glorification of straight, white, male poets, and I feel so grateful to Chen Chen for sharing his queer, Asian American, immigrant perspective with us. His poems hit me hardest when he shared sometimes painful, sometimes joyful moments surrounding these underrepresented identities. Poems like "Race to the Tree," "Self-Portrait With & Without," and "Poem in Noisy Mouthfuls" all struck me with their curiosity, novelty of language, and emotional richness. When Chen writes about nuanced personal experiences like his strained relationship with his mother due in part to his sexuality, or his unfulfilled desire for a boy to notice him, my heart moves right into these moments with him. I am awed that he can transport us with such ease.
Two constructive criticisms: I wish that there had been more of an analysis or unpacking of the emotions raised in these poems. For example, Chen writes about romantic desire quite a bit. I wanted to know what underlies this desire to the point that it consumes so much space in this collection (e.g., amatonormativity?) Perhaps it is unfair for me to ask for this type of unpacking, such that this type of analysis may not be the point of poetry, or of Chen's poetry, which I accept. I also just did not understand the significance of some of the poems that strayed away from issues of identity (e.g., "Night Falls Like a Button," "Elegy to be Exhaled at Dust"). Overall, though, I would highly recommend When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities to poetry fans, especially to those who want to diversify their reading lists.
September 15, 2017
I read this the day it was named to the National Book Award for Poetry longlist for 2017. In one of the poems, Chen Chen mentions that a friend told him that all his friends are about being gay and Chinese (which has also made that poem about being gay and Chinese!) I loved the playful language, exploration of identity, and had fun reading some of these out loud.
My favorites:
Race to the Tree
Talented Human Beings
"Every day I am asked to care about white people
especially if they've been kidnapped overseas...."
In the City - this starts with declarations about engineering and dumplings and becomes a very deeply felt about his parents and their disappointments, wow, so good
Kafka's Axe & Michael's Vest
"...Think of peace & how the Buddhists say it is found through silence
Think of silence & how Audre Lorde says it will not protect you...."
In This Economy
"People person seeks paid internship in liking you as a friend...."
My favorites:
Race to the Tree
Talented Human Beings
"Every day I am asked to care about white people
especially if they've been kidnapped overseas...."
In the City - this starts with declarations about engineering and dumplings and becomes a very deeply felt about his parents and their disappointments, wow, so good
Kafka's Axe & Michael's Vest
"...Think of peace & how the Buddhists say it is found through silence
Think of silence & how Audre Lorde says it will not protect you...."
In This Economy
"People person seeks paid internship in liking you as a friend...."
January 7, 2023
These poems are feel like a conversation with Chen Chen. He tells me about leaving China, and his thoughts on liking guys that feel/seem out of his reach. His parents' expectations are heard clearly, and they don't match who he knows himself to be.
Self-Portrait as So Much Potential
I am a gay sipper, & my mother has placed what's left of her hope on my brothers.
She wants them to gulp up the world, spit out solid degrees, responsible grandchildren ready to gobble.
Summer Was Forever
...the local paper boy on his route. His beanstalk frame
&fragile bicycle. & I knew: we would be so terribly happy.
...
How we fell in love during jumps on his tragic uncle's trampoline.
We fell in love in midair.
Four pages for this next poem, is a favorite for me
Race to the Tree
I wanted to kiss a boy
on the throat, not the soft, smooth
neck but the protruding, tough
core of a boy's throat, the part
named after the very first boy
& the stupid fruit his girlfriend
made him eat. His girlfriend's
ugly, I thought in my tree, I'd be
much better for him. By dawn
I was still 13 & kissless.
Self-Portrait With & Without
With the white boy I liked. With him calling me ugly. With my knees on the floor. With my hands begging for straighter teeth, lighter skin, blue eyes, green eyes, any eyes brighter, other than mine.
First Light
What do I remember of crying? When my mother slapped me
for being dirty, diseased, led astray by Western devils,
a dirty, bad son, I cried, thirteen, already too old,
too male for crying. When my father said Get out,
never come back, I cried & ran, threw myself into night.
Song with a Lyric From Allen Ginsberg
& kiss. & my mind sometimes wanders during,
but it's OK, I'm thinking of Ginsberg's letters
to friends & lovers, how once I read a small hill
of them in the library & some were poems & some
were prayers, cries, ejaculate, & now all I remember
is I love you I love you, & how long it would take.
Talented Human Beings
Every day I am asked to care about white people,
especially if they've been kidnapped overseas
or are experiencing marital problems in New England,
on screen large & small. I am told American
lives are in danger, American libidos.
To the Guanacos at the Syracuse Zoo
I didn't intend to meet you & you yourselves were
probably hoping for better. But isn't this
how it happens? Aren't all great
love stories, at their core,
great mistakes?
Irreducible Sociality
OK, OK. With great humanitarian effort,
I too put on my heavy coat, ready to step
out. But then you kiss me, & we fall, flop,
our altruistic gesture dropped, giving way to cuddling, again. It seems tonight
that neither of us can embrace more than
one Other, no matter how fine it sounds
in French. So can't we just stay in bed,
in our coats, pressed against each other
Didier Et Zizou for Zach Horvitz
We loved Howl & the Tao when it was still
spelled with a T. We loved green tea but often had
Orangina instead. We loved Trakl & a darkly
declarative sentence. We loved different genders
but knew we were just two variations on the theme,
horny teenage boy.
For I Will Do/Undo What Was Done/Undone to Me
...for i pledge
betrayal to the fantasy of ever reading anything
completely. for i will do/undo what was done/undone to me:
to be brought into a patterned world of weathers
& reports. & thus i pledge allegiance to the always
partial, the always translated, the always never
of knowing who's walking around, what's being left behind
In This Economy
People person seeks paid internship in liking you as a friend,
respecting you as a coworker. Serial monogamist
seeks change of pace in slutting it up for the summer.
Animal lover seeks entry-level position, teaching guinea pigs
how to swim. Solitude lover seeks more of the same.
Things Stuck in Other Things Were They Don't Belong
The year we spent in Fort Worth, Texas, our first year in Meiguo.
The fluent Not-English I spoke in kindergarten.
The blond boy from Germany in the same sandbox with me, laughing at my jokes.
His name, Eammon, like Amen, unlike any Chinese or American name
I'd ever heard, a ticklish raindrop
in my ears.
Chapter VIII
I tried to ask my parents to leave the room,
but not my life. It was very hard. Because the room was the size
of my life. Because my life was small.
Nature Poem
In my wooded dark, I try insisting on a supremely tall,
never-lonely someone. But every kind of someone needs
someone else to insist with. I need. If not the you
I have memorized & recited & mistaken
for the universe - another you.
When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities
...To be the one
my parents raised me to be -
a season from the planet
of planet-sized storms.
To be a backpack of PB&J & every
thing I know, for my brothers, who are becoming
Their own storms.
For I Will Consider My Boyfriend Jeffrey
For he is an atheist but makes room for the unseen, unsayable.
...
For though he does not fare well on planes he will fly to those he loves.
...
For he looks happy & doesn't know I'm looking & that makes this happiness free.
Babel & Juice
undo me
left & sight
north & mouth
uncompass me
with your tender
your further
& sideways
impossibilities
Song of the Anti-Sisyphus (entire poem - a favorite for me)
I want to start a snowball fight with you, late at night
in the supermarket parking lot. I want you
to do your worst. I want to put the groceries in the car first
because it's going to get nasty.
...
with repetition, in love, in love. Foolish repetition,
wise repetition. I want more hours, I want insomnia, I want
to replace the clock tick with tambourines. I want to growl,
moan, whisper, grunt, hum, & howl you name.
I want again & again your little dance, little booty shake
in big snow boots, as I sing your name.
Talking to God About Heaven from the Bed of a Heathen
You should know that although I miraculously
agreed to attend Bible camp one summer (my devoutly
pragmatic parents signed me up because the camp was free),
I don't & have never believed in you. Yet here I am:
sitting up in bed, thinking about death, & needing
to talk to someone who (reportedly) has the inside story.
I know, though, that there are believers who don't believe
out of fear solely. They actually love you. They reach out
& receive your touch. Like a friend, like a boyfriend, like the boy
beside me, overheating, reeking of sweat, & still (somehow)
asleep. I wish I could feel your warmth, as easily
as I feel his. But I don't. I feel fear. I hear fear telling me I'm
a body, that's all. & the boy I love is a body. & bodies die. No
other world, no return to this world in another form. (Annihilation.)
It isn't that I didn't think these were the facts before. It's that now,
he's here. I have to try harder. Believe the facts could be
at least a little wrong. Please, something. Some
magic, real as this ripe life with him.
Elegy to be Exhaled at Dusk
an elegy that has felt light, the early morning light falling
on your lovely someone's
lovable bare feet as he walks across the wood floor to sit by the window,
by the plants, with a cup of jasmine
& a book he will barely open but love to hold the weight of
in his lap. I am,
my friend, an elegy that has taken into account, into heart & October wind,
the weight of someone's soft
hair-covered head in someone else's warm, welcoming lap.
Little Song
...the memory of when I was a kid
the days of excitement over the phrase "centrifugal force"
I think it was my #1 phrase for a week
I started telling people that was where babies came from
My father the scholar shook his head
& explained capital N-Nature
yin & yang
You must have opposites he said
For years I though gay people didn't exist in China
But then I went to a nightclub in Shanghai
small
& literally underground
but packed
with gorgeous men
Chinese men
at coat check
I danced till I got sweaty
then too sweaty
Poem in Noisy Mouthfuls (another favorite for me)
Can't hide my mess, myself from the friend beside me.
Can't answer his question, Does it remind you of your family, leaving Chinga?
I want to say, No, it's completely different, which in many ways it is, but really
I'm remembering what a writer friend once said to me, All you write about is being gay or Chinese - how I can't get over that, & wonder if it's true,
if everything I write is in some way an immigrant narrative or another
coming out story.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
And this concludes my second reading.
I didn't put any yellow-stickies in this library book the first time through.
But looking for favorite quotes/sections, I enjoyed a full second reading.
Note to myself - I find that I need to get inside the head of the poet better to appreciate the poetry. There is no better way than to read more of his/her poetry.
Self-Portrait as So Much Potential
I am a gay sipper, & my mother has placed what's left of her hope on my brothers.
She wants them to gulp up the world, spit out solid degrees, responsible grandchildren ready to gobble.
Summer Was Forever
...the local paper boy on his route. His beanstalk frame
&fragile bicycle. & I knew: we would be so terribly happy.
...
How we fell in love during jumps on his tragic uncle's trampoline.
We fell in love in midair.
Four pages for this next poem, is a favorite for me
Race to the Tree
I wanted to kiss a boy
on the throat, not the soft, smooth
neck but the protruding, tough
core of a boy's throat, the part
named after the very first boy
& the stupid fruit his girlfriend
made him eat. His girlfriend's
ugly, I thought in my tree, I'd be
much better for him. By dawn
I was still 13 & kissless.
Self-Portrait With & Without
With the white boy I liked. With him calling me ugly. With my knees on the floor. With my hands begging for straighter teeth, lighter skin, blue eyes, green eyes, any eyes brighter, other than mine.
First Light
What do I remember of crying? When my mother slapped me
for being dirty, diseased, led astray by Western devils,
a dirty, bad son, I cried, thirteen, already too old,
too male for crying. When my father said Get out,
never come back, I cried & ran, threw myself into night.
Song with a Lyric From Allen Ginsberg
& kiss. & my mind sometimes wanders during,
but it's OK, I'm thinking of Ginsberg's letters
to friends & lovers, how once I read a small hill
of them in the library & some were poems & some
were prayers, cries, ejaculate, & now all I remember
is I love you I love you, & how long it would take.
Talented Human Beings
Every day I am asked to care about white people,
especially if they've been kidnapped overseas
or are experiencing marital problems in New England,
on screen large & small. I am told American
lives are in danger, American libidos.
To the Guanacos at the Syracuse Zoo
I didn't intend to meet you & you yourselves were
probably hoping for better. But isn't this
how it happens? Aren't all great
love stories, at their core,
great mistakes?
Irreducible Sociality
OK, OK. With great humanitarian effort,
I too put on my heavy coat, ready to step
out. But then you kiss me, & we fall, flop,
our altruistic gesture dropped, giving way to cuddling, again. It seems tonight
that neither of us can embrace more than
one Other, no matter how fine it sounds
in French. So can't we just stay in bed,
in our coats, pressed against each other
Didier Et Zizou for Zach Horvitz
We loved Howl & the Tao when it was still
spelled with a T. We loved green tea but often had
Orangina instead. We loved Trakl & a darkly
declarative sentence. We loved different genders
but knew we were just two variations on the theme,
horny teenage boy.
For I Will Do/Undo What Was Done/Undone to Me
...for i pledge
betrayal to the fantasy of ever reading anything
completely. for i will do/undo what was done/undone to me:
to be brought into a patterned world of weathers
& reports. & thus i pledge allegiance to the always
partial, the always translated, the always never
of knowing who's walking around, what's being left behind
In This Economy
People person seeks paid internship in liking you as a friend,
respecting you as a coworker. Serial monogamist
seeks change of pace in slutting it up for the summer.
Animal lover seeks entry-level position, teaching guinea pigs
how to swim. Solitude lover seeks more of the same.
Things Stuck in Other Things Were They Don't Belong
The year we spent in Fort Worth, Texas, our first year in Meiguo.
The fluent Not-English I spoke in kindergarten.
The blond boy from Germany in the same sandbox with me, laughing at my jokes.
His name, Eammon, like Amen, unlike any Chinese or American name
I'd ever heard, a ticklish raindrop
in my ears.
Chapter VIII
I tried to ask my parents to leave the room,
but not my life. It was very hard. Because the room was the size
of my life. Because my life was small.
Nature Poem
In my wooded dark, I try insisting on a supremely tall,
never-lonely someone. But every kind of someone needs
someone else to insist with. I need. If not the you
I have memorized & recited & mistaken
for the universe - another you.
When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities
...To be the one
my parents raised me to be -
a season from the planet
of planet-sized storms.
To be a backpack of PB&J & every
thing I know, for my brothers, who are becoming
Their own storms.
For I Will Consider My Boyfriend Jeffrey
For he is an atheist but makes room for the unseen, unsayable.
...
For though he does not fare well on planes he will fly to those he loves.
...
For he looks happy & doesn't know I'm looking & that makes this happiness free.
Babel & Juice
undo me
left & sight
north & mouth
uncompass me
with your tender
your further
& sideways
impossibilities
Song of the Anti-Sisyphus (entire poem - a favorite for me)
I want to start a snowball fight with you, late at night
in the supermarket parking lot. I want you
to do your worst. I want to put the groceries in the car first
because it's going to get nasty.
...
with repetition, in love, in love. Foolish repetition,
wise repetition. I want more hours, I want insomnia, I want
to replace the clock tick with tambourines. I want to growl,
moan, whisper, grunt, hum, & howl you name.
I want again & again your little dance, little booty shake
in big snow boots, as I sing your name.
Talking to God About Heaven from the Bed of a Heathen
You should know that although I miraculously
agreed to attend Bible camp one summer (my devoutly
pragmatic parents signed me up because the camp was free),
I don't & have never believed in you. Yet here I am:
sitting up in bed, thinking about death, & needing
to talk to someone who (reportedly) has the inside story.
I know, though, that there are believers who don't believe
out of fear solely. They actually love you. They reach out
& receive your touch. Like a friend, like a boyfriend, like the boy
beside me, overheating, reeking of sweat, & still (somehow)
asleep. I wish I could feel your warmth, as easily
as I feel his. But I don't. I feel fear. I hear fear telling me I'm
a body, that's all. & the boy I love is a body. & bodies die. No
other world, no return to this world in another form. (Annihilation.)
It isn't that I didn't think these were the facts before. It's that now,
he's here. I have to try harder. Believe the facts could be
at least a little wrong. Please, something. Some
magic, real as this ripe life with him.
Elegy to be Exhaled at Dusk
an elegy that has felt light, the early morning light falling
on your lovely someone's
lovable bare feet as he walks across the wood floor to sit by the window,
by the plants, with a cup of jasmine
& a book he will barely open but love to hold the weight of
in his lap. I am,
my friend, an elegy that has taken into account, into heart & October wind,
the weight of someone's soft
hair-covered head in someone else's warm, welcoming lap.
Little Song
...the memory of when I was a kid
the days of excitement over the phrase "centrifugal force"
I think it was my #1 phrase for a week
I started telling people that was where babies came from
My father the scholar shook his head
& explained capital N-Nature
yin & yang
You must have opposites he said
For years I though gay people didn't exist in China
But then I went to a nightclub in Shanghai
small
& literally underground
but packed
with gorgeous men
Chinese men
at coat check
I danced till I got sweaty
then too sweaty
Poem in Noisy Mouthfuls (another favorite for me)
Can't hide my mess, myself from the friend beside me.
Can't answer his question, Does it remind you of your family, leaving Chinga?
I want to say, No, it's completely different, which in many ways it is, but really
I'm remembering what a writer friend once said to me, All you write about is being gay or Chinese - how I can't get over that, & wonder if it's true,
if everything I write is in some way an immigrant narrative or another
coming out story.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
And this concludes my second reading.
I didn't put any yellow-stickies in this library book the first time through.
But looking for favorite quotes/sections, I enjoyed a full second reading.
Note to myself - I find that I need to get inside the head of the poet better to appreciate the poetry. There is no better way than to read more of his/her poetry.
March 14, 2023
at the end of every poem i was like "that was a good poem," and i think that means chen chen is a good poet. maybe too good for me. his imaginative metaphors and abstractions are so skillful. you can feel the extreme care he's put into every word. he's a master of similes and of the quiet, pensive, mundane melancholy.
in one poem he talks about how so many of his poems are about his gay chinese identity - which is true. he wonders if that is inevitable; for his poems to be about who he is. and maybe it's a yes, but it's not only that he's a gay chinese-american man. it's also that he's a poet, a lover, a soft soul, a hopeful sweetheart.
other favorites: "song of the anti-sisyphus," "night falls like a button," "in search of the least abandoned constellation," "poem," and the eponymous poem.
in one poem he talks about how so many of his poems are about his gay chinese identity - which is true. he wonders if that is inevitable; for his poems to be about who he is. and maybe it's a yes, but it's not only that he's a gay chinese-american man. it's also that he's a poet, a lover, a soft soul, a hopeful sweetheart.
I wish I could write an elegy for my sadness
because it has suddenly died. I wish I could mourn it
by kissing you again & again while neither of us
can stop laughing, a kind of kiss where we sometimes
miss the mouth altogether, a kind of kiss
I think every single dead person
in every part of the world must crave with violent impossibility.
(from "elegy for my sadness")
other favorites: "song of the anti-sisyphus," "night falls like a button," "in search of the least abandoned constellation," "poem," and the eponymous poem.
July 3, 2021
"No, I already write about everything—& everything is salt, noise, struggle, hair, carrying, kisses, leaving, myth, popcorn, mothers, bad habits, questions."
WOW.
WOW.
November 2, 2017
I've read a lot of poetry this year - well, a lot for me - and Chen Chen's debut collection easily rises to the top. It is hip, it is millenial, and it shouldn't be dismissed because of this. Chen's playfulness, his free associations will amuse readers, but the themes of family, losing faith, and identity makes this even more memorable.
Dear Jenny reads a poem from this book and discusses a few more thoughts on the book in episode 097 of her Reading Envy podcast here!
Dear Jenny reads a poem from this book and discusses a few more thoughts on the book in episode 097 of her Reading Envy podcast here!
June 8, 2024
This is an original debut and challenging in an unusual way. In his Foreward, Jericho Brown describes this challenge as coming from the voice of "an adult who refuses to give up seeing through the eyes of an adolescent." And the result is a sort-of Blakeian voice that can perceive innocence and experience at the same moment: Heaven and Hell sit together, though Chen Chen, accepts neither. Recently, I was reading an analysis of Beckett that understood the nature of boredom exactly. Beckett's boredom is not the boredom of the human being who has nothing to do: it is the boredom of a self (attached like Lucky's rope) to Hope. Waiting for that Hope brings the pull of despair. The resulting tension is boredom, something faced with existential humour and love. Chen Chen's poetry has something of that in it: as Brown wisely phrases it, morbidity (cancer, violence, exclusion) is kept at bay with a childish, playful wit. For a reader, this takes some getting used to--rather like new glasses, even bifocals--but once the right angle has been found a fascinating world opens up.
Chen Chen know what he does not want to do: he does not want to write another gay coming out volume, he does not wish to write another book of identity poetry, he does not intend, as he puts it, to see himself through Theory. It is the last of these that makes his voice what it is-- an original voice unconcerned by the strictures of correctness and establishment phraseology.
"& really, boyfriend" isn't much
better, it sounds like we're still
preparing from junior prom,
when we live together..."
Poem.
Childhood and adulthood interweave to question one another and this is a book, to quote Mavor, that exemplifies writing boyishly and being open, like Proust and Barthes, to the pleasure of possibilities.
Bloodaxe has made a bold gesture in publishing these poems for the book is unusually sized, so that the poems are not restricted by the page; instead they burst out in lines of twenty syllables or more, spilling out, disseminating, pouring out in a Whitmanesque manner. The book abounds with love, fear, elegy, celebration, comfort and violence. Sometimes, the poems stray into cymbal crashing rhetoric, but at their best they are balanced between the world of an aesthetic adult and a natural child. Chen Chen's poem to his lover, Jeff, based on Smart's Bedlamite praise-song to his cat Jeoffry, becomes a maniacal hymn to him. And like Smart in his adult madness, Chen Chen's poetry in When I Grow Up exemplifies a childlike sanity.
Chen Chen know what he does not want to do: he does not want to write another gay coming out volume, he does not wish to write another book of identity poetry, he does not intend, as he puts it, to see himself through Theory. It is the last of these that makes his voice what it is-- an original voice unconcerned by the strictures of correctness and establishment phraseology.
"& really, boyfriend" isn't much
better, it sounds like we're still
preparing from junior prom,
when we live together..."
Poem.
Childhood and adulthood interweave to question one another and this is a book, to quote Mavor, that exemplifies writing boyishly and being open, like Proust and Barthes, to the pleasure of possibilities.
Bloodaxe has made a bold gesture in publishing these poems for the book is unusually sized, so that the poems are not restricted by the page; instead they burst out in lines of twenty syllables or more, spilling out, disseminating, pouring out in a Whitmanesque manner. The book abounds with love, fear, elegy, celebration, comfort and violence. Sometimes, the poems stray into cymbal crashing rhetoric, but at their best they are balanced between the world of an aesthetic adult and a natural child. Chen Chen's poem to his lover, Jeff, based on Smart's Bedlamite praise-song to his cat Jeoffry, becomes a maniacal hymn to him. And like Smart in his adult madness, Chen Chen's poetry in When I Grow Up exemplifies a childlike sanity.
June 25, 2023
This is my 2nd read of poetry from Chen Chen and he truly brings a different color when talking about love and queerness. He deserves more recognition!!!
September 23, 2021
"I tried to ask my parents to leave the room,
but not my life. It was very hard. Because the room was the size
of my life. Because my life was small. [...]
Raising one’s voice in a small space
felt at once godlike & childish."
reading this felt like looking at a mirror.... this is everything i've felt, my struggles, my identity, my childhood, my wants and fears and religious parents and stolen glances and insecurities and hopes and desires in a book. its like i wrote this book. you can see so much of frank o'hara's influence in the way he writes, the punctuation and run-on sentences but this was so much more enjoyable to read then o'hara is because it just reached out to me, its so relatable it hurt to look at. "if i should die tomorrow please note that i would miss the following" reminded me directly of nazim hikmet's "things i didn't know i loved" i had to see if he knew of his existence and he tweeted that that poem of hikmet was one of his favorites :')
"she had to say, You better not lose him. & my mother kept that promise
till she couldn’t, she lost me, in the new country, but doesn’t
that happen to all parents & their children, one way or another,
& don’t we need to get lost? Lost, dizzy, stubbly, warm, stumbling,
whoa—that’s what it felt like, 17, kissing a boy for the first time.
Can’t forget it. Can’t forget when my mother found out & said,
This would never have happened if we hadn’t come to this country.
But it would’ve happened, every bit as dizzy, lost, back in China.
It didn’t happen because of America, dirty Americans. It was me,
my need. My father said, You have to change, but I couldn’t, can’t
give you up, boys & heat, scruff & sweet. Can’t get over you. Trying to get
over what my writer friend said, All you write about is being gay or Chinese.
Wish I had thought to say to him, All you write about is being white
or an asshole. Wish I had said, No, I already write about everything—
& everything is salt, noise, struggle, hair,
carrying, kisses, leaving, myth, popcorn,
mothers, bad habits, questions."
but not my life. It was very hard. Because the room was the size
of my life. Because my life was small. [...]
Raising one’s voice in a small space
felt at once godlike & childish."
reading this felt like looking at a mirror.... this is everything i've felt, my struggles, my identity, my childhood, my wants and fears and religious parents and stolen glances and insecurities and hopes and desires in a book. its like i wrote this book. you can see so much of frank o'hara's influence in the way he writes, the punctuation and run-on sentences but this was so much more enjoyable to read then o'hara is because it just reached out to me, its so relatable it hurt to look at. "if i should die tomorrow please note that i would miss the following" reminded me directly of nazim hikmet's "things i didn't know i loved" i had to see if he knew of his existence and he tweeted that that poem of hikmet was one of his favorites :')
"she had to say, You better not lose him. & my mother kept that promise
till she couldn’t, she lost me, in the new country, but doesn’t
that happen to all parents & their children, one way or another,
& don’t we need to get lost? Lost, dizzy, stubbly, warm, stumbling,
whoa—that’s what it felt like, 17, kissing a boy for the first time.
Can’t forget it. Can’t forget when my mother found out & said,
This would never have happened if we hadn’t come to this country.
But it would’ve happened, every bit as dizzy, lost, back in China.
It didn’t happen because of America, dirty Americans. It was me,
my need. My father said, You have to change, but I couldn’t, can’t
give you up, boys & heat, scruff & sweet. Can’t get over you. Trying to get
over what my writer friend said, All you write about is being gay or Chinese.
Wish I had thought to say to him, All you write about is being white
or an asshole. Wish I had said, No, I already write about everything—
& everything is salt, noise, struggle, hair,
carrying, kisses, leaving, myth, popcorn,
mothers, bad habits, questions."
January 31, 2020
read this as soon as it found its way to my mailbox. its beautifully written and so so sincere. poplar street was my first encounter with chen chen and it remains as heart shattering the 100th time around
August 17, 2019
Excellent collection of poems. I really liked Chen Chen’s sense of humour and his strong imagination reflected in the poems.
This collection is about love, family and immigration. Recommended.
This collection is about love, family and immigration. Recommended.
August 12, 2021
GOD. this was painfully beautiful
February 26, 2024
loved every line of this so much. killer title and the poems lived up to the expectation of the title. these are exactly the kind of poems i love. my faves were probably "song of the anti-sisyphus", "elegy for my sadness", "ode to my envy", and "summer was forever".
December 20, 2017
Knowingly and comically upending millennial oversharing and other false confessionals, Chen Chen's When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities is a series of meditations on family, identity, and sex, and especially exile, as horror-show and possibility space, externally forced or self-imposed exile toward, within, and away from "this country of burning," offering a "metaphysics of madness," but also a grammar of grief, an ontology of loss, and an epistemology of unknowing.
![Profile Image for Ruxandra Grrr [in a slump :(((((].](/_next/image?url=https%3A%2F%2Fi.gr-assets.com%2Fimages%2FS%2Fcompressed.photo.goodreads.com%2Fusers%2F1520583842i%2F4259436._UX200_CR0%2C0%2C200%2C200_.jpg&w=128&q=75)
May 28, 2023
Did not connect to this one as much as other poetry books, even though I was definitely in the mood for feelings. I did like the way Chen Chen read the poems in the audiobook and there were a few standout ones. My favorite was Kafka’s Axe & Michael’s Vest:
Think of peace & how the Buddhists say it is found through silence.
Think of silence & how Audre Lorde says it will not protect you.
Think of silence as a violence, when silence means being made
a frozen sea. Think of speaking as a violence, when speaking is a house
that dresses your life in the tidiest wallpaper. It makes your grief
sit down, this house. It makes you chairs when you need
justice. It keeps your rage room temperature. I’ve been thinking
about how the world is actually unbearable.
About all those moments of silence we’re supposed to take.
I wish I had more to say and better words to describe my experience, but alongside writer's block, I am also suffering from a bit of review writer's block...
Think of peace & how the Buddhists say it is found through silence.
Think of silence & how Audre Lorde says it will not protect you.
Think of silence as a violence, when silence means being made
a frozen sea. Think of speaking as a violence, when speaking is a house
that dresses your life in the tidiest wallpaper. It makes your grief
sit down, this house. It makes you chairs when you need
justice. It keeps your rage room temperature. I’ve been thinking
about how the world is actually unbearable.
About all those moments of silence we’re supposed to take.
I wish I had more to say and better words to describe my experience, but alongside writer's block, I am also suffering from a bit of review writer's block...
July 14, 2018
These poems are sneaky. They might start with a simple metaphor that's straight out of second grade English class, "Night falls like a button..." and they go somewhere else quite unexpected, "... from your grandmother's coat. You worry with your thumb the strangers page." The poems are quirky, fun, surprising, emotional, intimate, and intelligent. I want to meet Chen and hang out with him, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be nearly interesting enough to hold his attention, because he's obviously a genius, and I'm just a mundane person.
three of my favorites (and it was hard to choose just three):
Night Falls Like a Button
from your grandmother’s coat. You worry with your thumb the stranger’s page. Aging spine of the black sky, night-burps of the sleeping computer. Don’t listen to the judgment of your scraped knees. Night anchors in your belly button, your pubic hair. Stars snore safely, for years. Your smile in the early dark is a paraphrase of Mars. Your smile in the deep dark is an anagram of Jupiter. My worst simile is that I’m fancy like a piece of salami wearing a tuxedo. Waiting with a cone of gelato. Your smile in the dreaming dark is an umbrella for all the going, gone, & yet to come. Orioles come for the oranges you’ve placed in the arms of the architect. Which birds will you pull into orbit tomorrow? You try to sew the night onto your own coat, but it won’t stay. Too much memory weather, werewolf migration. You itch for the window’s shore. You row, the growing light rearranging your voice, the rain your lunatic photographer.
Summer Was Forever
Time dripped from the faucet like a magician’s botched trick.
I did not want to applaud it. I stood to one side & thought,
What it’s time for is a garden. Or a croissant factory. What kind
of work do I need to be doing? My parents said: Doctor,
married to lawyer. The faucet said: Drip, drop,
your life sucks. But sometimes no one said anything & I saw
him, the local paper boy on his route. His beanstalk frame
& fragile bicycle. & I knew: we would be so terribly
happy. Our work would be simple. Our kissing would rhyme
with cardiac arrest. Birds would overthrow the cathedral towers.
I would have a magician’s hair, full of sleeves & saws,
unashamed to tell the whole town our first date was
in a leaky faucet factory. How we fell in love during jumps
on his tragic uncle’s trampoline. We fell in love in midair.
Ode to My Envy
I’m envious of my neighbors who live in a cooler house.
I’m envious of Neruda for having written better poems
& for having lived in a cooler house. I’m envious of poetry
for being more & better than I could ever be. I’m envious
of the redwood who never has to say I am & who will
outlive me. I’m envious of those who can consistently resist
pseudo-Buddhist romanticizations of nonhuman entities.
I’m envious of the clouds who can from time to time
fall completely apart & everyone just says, It’s raining,
& someone might even bring cats & dogs into it,
no one says, Stop being so dramatic or You should see
a professional. My envy despises your more dramatic
& photogenic envy. My envy desires Olympic gymnast
Danell Leyva’s abs. My envy wants to have & be most
Olympic athletes. My envy would be willing to settle
for those who did not make it to the podium. Every day I get
increasingly envious of my friend who dresses so smartly.
Of my friend who’s more political. Of my friend who says,
Oh, that’s good enough, why am I stressing out? & means it
& stops stressing & is happy. I’m envious of my friend who’s
envious of me because he actually wants something I have.
I’m envious of those who learn Life Lessons from their envy.
I’m envious of jealous God & those who always know
the difference between envy & jealousy.
I’m envious of jealous God because although he’s been
dead for ages, everyone keeps caring about him, or at least
saying his name, & God knows who’ll do that for me,
ten, twenty years after I go.
three of my favorites (and it was hard to choose just three):
Night Falls Like a Button
from your grandmother’s coat. You worry with your thumb the stranger’s page. Aging spine of the black sky, night-burps of the sleeping computer. Don’t listen to the judgment of your scraped knees. Night anchors in your belly button, your pubic hair. Stars snore safely, for years. Your smile in the early dark is a paraphrase of Mars. Your smile in the deep dark is an anagram of Jupiter. My worst simile is that I’m fancy like a piece of salami wearing a tuxedo. Waiting with a cone of gelato. Your smile in the dreaming dark is an umbrella for all the going, gone, & yet to come. Orioles come for the oranges you’ve placed in the arms of the architect. Which birds will you pull into orbit tomorrow? You try to sew the night onto your own coat, but it won’t stay. Too much memory weather, werewolf migration. You itch for the window’s shore. You row, the growing light rearranging your voice, the rain your lunatic photographer.
Summer Was Forever
Time dripped from the faucet like a magician’s botched trick.
I did not want to applaud it. I stood to one side & thought,
What it’s time for is a garden. Or a croissant factory. What kind
of work do I need to be doing? My parents said: Doctor,
married to lawyer. The faucet said: Drip, drop,
your life sucks. But sometimes no one said anything & I saw
him, the local paper boy on his route. His beanstalk frame
& fragile bicycle. & I knew: we would be so terribly
happy. Our work would be simple. Our kissing would rhyme
with cardiac arrest. Birds would overthrow the cathedral towers.
I would have a magician’s hair, full of sleeves & saws,
unashamed to tell the whole town our first date was
in a leaky faucet factory. How we fell in love during jumps
on his tragic uncle’s trampoline. We fell in love in midair.
Ode to My Envy
I’m envious of my neighbors who live in a cooler house.
I’m envious of Neruda for having written better poems
& for having lived in a cooler house. I’m envious of poetry
for being more & better than I could ever be. I’m envious
of the redwood who never has to say I am & who will
outlive me. I’m envious of those who can consistently resist
pseudo-Buddhist romanticizations of nonhuman entities.
I’m envious of the clouds who can from time to time
fall completely apart & everyone just says, It’s raining,
& someone might even bring cats & dogs into it,
no one says, Stop being so dramatic or You should see
a professional. My envy despises your more dramatic
& photogenic envy. My envy desires Olympic gymnast
Danell Leyva’s abs. My envy wants to have & be most
Olympic athletes. My envy would be willing to settle
for those who did not make it to the podium. Every day I get
increasingly envious of my friend who dresses so smartly.
Of my friend who’s more political. Of my friend who says,
Oh, that’s good enough, why am I stressing out? & means it
& stops stressing & is happy. I’m envious of my friend who’s
envious of me because he actually wants something I have.
I’m envious of those who learn Life Lessons from their envy.
I’m envious of jealous God & those who always know
the difference between envy & jealousy.
I’m envious of jealous God because although he’s been
dead for ages, everyone keeps caring about him, or at least
saying his name, & God knows who’ll do that for me,
ten, twenty years after I go.
May 9, 2018
I've reviewed this elsewhere but it keeps popping up on my GR feed so I'll say here that I loved these poems about being gay (particularly in the context of a family that can't accept it), on being Asian American, on immigration. Chen Chen brings a control of language, a vision, and sometimes a rueful sense of humor to these subjects that helps mitigate the pain around them. Also he captures the passion of sexuality beautifully and the complicated relationships in families.
I'm very glad to have read this. It's a volume I'll reread and I'll definitely read more of this poet's work.
I'm very glad to have read this. It's a volume I'll reread and I'll definitely read more of this poet's work.
June 6, 2021
The first time I looked at the title of this book, I remember smiling inwardly at myself and thinking back to my teenage years. The way I struggled to accept my place in the world as a person who defied the normativity dictated by my social and cultural environment, my path towards personal acceptance, and what my future represented; a series of uncertainties and a series of possibilities. That is why I do not feel alien to Chen Chen's words. Reading this book has been like receiving the warm embrace of those years in which any step I took was a new adventure.
January 5, 2021
Unexpected, witty, inventive. Makes you want to reread the lines again and again to uncover more magic.
April 29, 2023
i think we, as a society, have moved past the need for armpit hair poetry
Read
July 11, 2021Read my interview with Chen Chen here!
Particular stand-outs include the following: "Self-Portrait With & Without," "First Light," "Talented Human Beings" and "Poem in Noisy Mouthfuls."
Particular stand-outs include the following: "Self-Portrait With & Without," "First Light," "Talented Human Beings" and "Poem in Noisy Mouthfuls."
December 27, 2021
"I know, thought, that there are believers who don't believe
out of fear solely. They actually love you. They reach out& receive your touch. Like a friend, like a boyfriend, like the boy beside me, overheating, reeking of sweat..."
out of fear solely. They actually love you. They reach out& receive your touch. Like a friend, like a boyfriend, like the boy beside me, overheating, reeking of sweat..."
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February 9, 2024stunning as always, but published in 2017, there were at least 2 hp references throughout
December 24, 2017
It's days later and I'm still positively glowing after reading Chen Chen's lovely, playful and romantic collection of poems. Not only does it boast maybe the best title ever (!!!), the book made me feel so good about still not having my shit together. The surprising structures Chen creates, rife with repetition and vibrant diction, are delights one-after-another, and his honesty about human struggles to make peace with family, unsettling memories, and identity are refreshing.
Looking over the Table of Contents, it's hard to pick a favourite poem, but just check out a couple of these titles that I remember: "Song of the Anti-Sisyphus," "Talking to God about Heaven from the Bed of Heaven," "Self-Portrait With or Without," and "for I will do/undo what was done/undone to me." I also adore "First Line" and "Race to the Tree" and "Popular Street." This is definitely book I will hold close.
Looking over the Table of Contents, it's hard to pick a favourite poem, but just check out a couple of these titles that I remember: "Song of the Anti-Sisyphus," "Talking to God about Heaven from the Bed of Heaven," "Self-Portrait With or Without," and "for I will do/undo what was done/undone to me." I also adore "First Line" and "Race to the Tree" and "Popular Street." This is definitely book I will hold close.
September 10, 2017
I don't really know how to review poetry, so I'm just going to share some of my favorite lines.
"headache of beauty."
"I want this winter inside my lungs. Inside my brain & dreams."
"I'm trying out this thing where questions about love & forgiveness
are a form of work I'd rather not do alone. I'm trying to say,
Let's put our briefcase on our heads, in the sudden rain,
& continue meeting as if we've just been given our names."
Reading Chen talk about his experience of coming out to his parents was so subtly powerful. And the Starbucks part: "Why can't you see me? Why can't I stop needing you to see me?"
I'm only sharing the more intense parts. But there were some funny lines here and there. My favorite was the Pike Place fishmongers portion. Also, geez. What a title! I love it.
"headache of beauty."
"I want this winter inside my lungs. Inside my brain & dreams."
"I'm trying out this thing where questions about love & forgiveness
are a form of work I'd rather not do alone. I'm trying to say,
Let's put our briefcase on our heads, in the sudden rain,
& continue meeting as if we've just been given our names."
Reading Chen talk about his experience of coming out to his parents was so subtly powerful. And the Starbucks part: "Why can't you see me? Why can't I stop needing you to see me?"
I'm only sharing the more intense parts. But there were some funny lines here and there. My favorite was the Pike Place fishmongers portion. Also, geez. What a title! I love it.
December 2, 2017
2.5. There was a poem or two at the end that I enjoyed and maybe one or two in the middle. Overall, to me (a person who does not read poetry, so take all of this with a grain of salt), it just felt like a journal full of random, unorganized thoughts mixed with too many over-the-top metaphors.
October 29, 2022
"Why can't you see me? Why can't I stop needing you to see me? For someone who looks like you to look at me"
and it's about starbucks workers getting his name wrong all the time
and it's about starbucks workers getting his name wrong all the time
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