How else do we return to ourselves but to fold The page so it points to the good part In this deeply intimate second poetry collection, Ocean Vuong searches for life among the aftershocks of his mother''s death, embodying the paradox of sitting within grief while being determined to survive beyond it. Shifting through memory, and in concert with the themes of his novel On Earth We''re Briefly Gorgeous , Vuong contends with personal loss, the meaning of family, and the cost of being the product of an American war in America. At once vivid, brave, and propulsive, Vuong''s poems circle fragmented lives to find both restoration as well as the epicentre of the break. The author of the critically acclaimed poetry collection Night Sky With Exit Wounds , winner of the 2016 Whiting Award, the 2017 T.S. Eliot Prize, and a 2019 MacArthur fellow, Vuong writes directly to our humanity without losing sight of the current moment. These poems represent a more innovative and daring experimentation with language and form, illuminating how the themes we perennially live in and question are truly inexhaustible. Bold and prescient, and a testament to tenderness in the face of violence, Time Is a Mother is a return and a forging-forth all at once.
Near the river Klaralven, snug in the dense forest landscape of northern Varmland, lies the Swedish village of Osebol. It is a quiet place, one where relationships take root over decades yet doors are always open to new arrivals; and where, even as history makes its presence felt, the bustle of city life is replaced by the sound of wind in the trees.br>br> In the last half-century, the automation of the lumber industry and the steady drip of relocations to the cities for work have seen Osebol''s adult population dwindle to only 40-odd residents. But still, life goes on. Those who have inherited their farms for generations live alongside recent arrivals from near and far. People age; children grow up. Heirlooms are passed from hand to hand, and memories from mouth to mouth.br>br> In this extraordinary book, Marit Kapla has gathered the voices of the villagers themselves, interviewing almost all of those remaining between the ages of 18 and 92. Arranged with only a handful of lines on each page, they tell of their griefs and joys, their resentments and loves, and their triumphs and losses. To read Osebol is to lose oneself in its gentle rhythms of simple language and white space, and to emerge feeling like one has really grown to know the inhabitants of this close-knit community, nestled among the trees in a changing world.>