Hoa NguyenReseñas

Did not enjoy this one--the most interesting poems were the ones about the author's mother's time in pre-war, especially as part of a women's motorcycle trick troupe. The troupe disbanded in 1961 due to the increased danger of travel, and the author seems to blame the Americans (who were all white too) and not the French or the communists and their funders. She comes across as being a bit jealous of her mother's earlier life, bitter, and full of hate for Americans (again, who are all white). She actually is an American (yet not white) now living in Canada (I'm unclear if she is actually a naturalized Canadian).

The author needs to/is trying to work through some things. I would love to read/hear her mother's take on her own life.

I bought this small book of poetry for the cover. It's a beautifully printed book. The poetry inside was not so beautiful. Nor was it thoughtful. It seems utterly "hipster". Random collections of phrases are smashed together, interspersed with popular culture references, but in the end, not leading to any deep thoughts or observations. The poems seems completely inaccessible to any reader, no matter how well trained in reading poetry they might be. I'm not sure of the point of it, other than to be obscure and pretentious. There's potential, for sure, but the poet needs to be a little less "cute" and actually weave her phrases into something people can connect with.

Nguyen again gives us a vision of nature, though this time her lens is focused on the nature of motherhood and homelife. Though rooted to the earth, her consciousness also rotates on a galactic axis, pondering the moon and stars. Yet her work is clearly earthbound, ruminating on war, the economy, and what it means to be alive in 21st century America. In Hecate Lochia we are not only, as she quotes Kerouac, "swimming in a sea of English" but riding the colorful waves of Nguyen's life and love.

Using the language of dream and memory, Nguyen gives us a vision of nature, a dream of life and color. These excerpts make a poem themselves:
"Let me be a meaningful soul"
"I must have more light"
"Kick and beat the brilliant air"
"Want to kiss the air tonight"