6 Ergebnisse.

Shaped around moments of puncture and release, The Rupture Tense registers what leaks across the breached borders between past and future, background and foreground, silence and utterance. In polyphonic and formally restless sequences, Jenny Xie cracks open reverberant, vexed experiences of diasporic homecoming, intergenerational memory transfer, state-enforced amnesia, public secrecies, and the psychic fallout of the Chinese Cultural Revoluti...

Holding Pattern. Noun. 1. A state of suspended progress. 2. The awkward way your mother tries to hug you now that you live with her. Again.Kathleen Cheng has blown up her life. She’s gone through a humiliating breakup, dropped out of her graduate program, and left everything behind. Now she’s back in her childhood home in Oakland, wondering what’s next.To her surprise, her mother isn’t the same person Kathleen remembers. No longer depressed or...

A NATIONAL BOOK FOUNDATION "5 UNDER 35" HONOREE"Exquisite and wise." – New York Times “There is so much heart in these pages, so much wisdom on how we love. This book had me in its orbit, from beginning to end.” – Weike Wang, author of Joan is OkayKathleen Cheng has blown up her life. She’s gone through a humiliating breakup, dropped out of her graduate program, and left everything behind. Now she’s back in her childhood home in Oakland, wonde...

The astounding second collection by Jenny Xie, "a magician of perspective and scale" (The New Yorker) Shaped around moments of puncture and release, The Rupture Tense registers what leaks across the breached borders between past and future, background and foreground, silence and utterance. In polyphonic and formally restless sequences, Jenny Xie cracks open reverberant, vexed experiences of diasporic homecoming, intergenerational memory transf...

FINALIST FOR THE NATIONAL BOOK AWARD FOR POETRYWinner of the Walt Whitman Award of the Academy of American Poets, selected by Juan Felipe HerreraFor years now, I've been using the wrong palette.Each year with its itchy blue, as the bruise of solitude reaches its expiration date. Planes and buses, guesthouse to guesthouse. I've gotten to where I am by dint of my poor eyesight, my overreactive motion sickness. 9 p.m., Hanoi's Old Quarter: duck p...

Takes as its subjects the whiplash of travel, the shuttling between disparate places and climes, and an unremitting sense of dislocation. These poems court the tension between the familiar and the foreign, between the self as distinct and the self as illusory. They look plainly at the startling strangeness of varied landscapes and mindscapes, and interrogate a state of unrootedness.