Grief is an interesting word. We all understand the feeling, but in order for us to wrap our heads around it, the definition must be somewhat malleable. Grief can be whatever you need it to be. These days, it’s helpful for me to think of grief as a longing for the moments and experiences that could have been and all the things left unsaid. And over these past two years, I think we’ve all had something to grieve—the loss of loved ones, jobs, homes, our sense of connection to the world—and ironically enough, I think the thing that could return the feeling of connection we need is grief itself.
In a way, grief is a marker of time. There was this, and then there wasn’t this, but you’re still here, left with the fact that acceptance is the road to peace. When it’s a loss that hits as deeply as the loss of a parent, it can be hard to fathom the idea of a world without them in it. And if there’s one person who could put into words the magnitude of that seismic loss, it’s .
Both a novelist and a poet, Vuong has an unmatched ability to give language to the seemingly ineffable pangs that flood us on that journey to acceptance. His debut novel, has been lauded for the beauty and lyricism of its prose. In his latest collection of poetry, , that beauty and lyricism take center stage as he navigates the loss of his mother and how to survive in a world where chaos always has the final say. To mark its release, I asked him about his own experiences with loss and what makes poetry such a poignant conduit for expressing grief.
Grief, which has always been a theme in your work, takes center stage in your new collection of poetry. Was there anything you were surprised to learn about yourself, or about life in general, throughout your grieving process?
I think the biggest surprise, and perhaps the saddest, was that losing my mother and the grief that ensued was somehow familiar—and I realized that I’ve spent most of my young adulthood grieving. And that it’s the most human thing we have, and perhaps even the most universal. I’m pretty skeptical of the universal—but when it comes to losing your mother, I think that’s the closest thing we have. In fact, it’s an interspecies phenomena. To be a mammal is to be born and to lose your mother. I somehow felt closer to the world, the people in it, after losing my mom. Of course, this is a small consolation, if you can even call it that, one I’d be happy to give back if I could hug my mother again, even just for seven seconds.
The process of grieving can bring up so many feelings that are ineffable. While there are many resources available on the subject, personally I find that only art can get at it in a way that feels true to being human. Did poetry feel like the only way to unpack it all and make your way through it?
