Two Poems: Precedented Parroting

A finalist for the 2024 Governor General’s Literary Award for Poetry, Barbara Tran’s debut collection Precedented Parroting (Palimpsest Press) looks inward and outward; to the depths of the self and the world of birds. Read two poems from this stunning work below.

The cover of Precedented Parroting by Barbara Tran. There is an arcing wave made of lines along the left side of the cover, white in contrast to the dark blue background. A finalist seal for the Governor General's Literary Awards is in the top right corner.

By:

Share It:

Two Poems from Precedented Parroting by Barbara Tran

Buttercups in Foil on the Windowsill


She never set foot in that house,
was on the other side of the world,
living her life as if every day were Sunday, though
given her location this was no
blessing, just another day of
shortages, of thuds in the distance that made
one’s mind leap even when one’s
body was in bed. One day bled
into another, the ash of intention blowing
into oblivion. To accomplish
anything, one had to leap through
the doorway of existence, existence being
an opening that allowed all you love to leave
as easily as it arrived.


The Art of Armadillidiidae

after Elizabeth Bishop and Jericho Brown

A poem is a gesture toward home
A snail balancing the weight of its exoskeleton on its soft body

The weight of these days on our soft bodies
Water’s lullaby pulling us ever seaward

We say it as if it’s softer than “cancer” the “C-word”
How many soft bodies rely on such a flimsy euphemism as a shield

Conglobation may serve as a more effective shield
Take a note from the Armadillidiidae

who roll up when confronted with pressure Armadillidiidae
are land crustaceans Their lobster cousins harder shelled

During molting they crack their shields
straight down the back leaving them exposed

but for a paper-thin exoskeleton
enabling them to replace parts of themselves they’ve lost

regrowing lost legs claws antennae Haven’t we all lost
something in this shell of a year lost

something we’d like to replace I lost
my heart my head (lost over some trifle probably)

I lost my uncle my mother my way By the laws of probability
the losing’s not over What’s left

to do but gather what’s left
of me A poem is a gesture toward home

* * *

A photo of writer Barbara Tran. She has dark hair cut into bangs and poses with a smiling dog, standing in front of a fence.

Born in New York City, Barbara Tran is an immigrant. And a settler. She writes in multiple genres. Her debut poetry book, Precedented Parroting, is a Finalist for the 2024 Governor General’s Literary Award. Barbara’s short fiction and poetry have appeared in Conjunctions, The Malahat Review, The New Yorker, and The Paris Review. Her poetry chapbook, In the Mynah Bird’s Own Words, was selected by Robert Wrigley, as the winner of Tupelo Press’s inaugural chapbook award. Barbara’s writing has been longlisted for the CBC Nonfiction Prize and nominated for two National Magazine Awards for short fiction. 

A contributing co-editor of Watermark: Vietnamese American Poetry and Prose, 25th Anniversary Edition, Barbara has been awarded a Pushcart Prize, MacDowell Freund Fellowship, and Bread Loaf Scholarship, as well as writing residencies at the Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity, Hedgebrook, Lannan Foundation, and Millay Arts, amongst others. Barbara is a member of the AfroMundo collective and has contributed to collaborative hybrid projects by She Who Has No Master(s). She shares her home in Dish with One Spoon Territory with her partner, the economist Bob Gazzale, and their two adopted canine besties, Sprocket and River.

* * *

To purchase a copy of Precedented Parroting from us or your favourite indie bookstore, click here.

For more from Two Poems, click here.