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poem
- GenresPoetry
Unknown Binding
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About the author
Yusef Komunyakaa
95 books205 followersYusef Komunyakaa (born April 29, 1947) is an American poet who teaches at New York University and is a member of the Fellowship of Southern Writers. Komunyakaa is a recipient of the 1994 Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award, for Neon Vernacular and the 1994 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. He also received the Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize. Komunyakaa received the 2007 Louisiana Writer Award for his enduring contribution to the poetry world.
His subject matter ranges from the black general experience through rural Southern life before the Civil Rights time period and his experience as a soldier during the Vietnam War.
(from Wikipedia)
His subject matter ranges from the black general experience through rural Southern life before the Civil Rights time period and his experience as a soldier during the Vietnam War.
(from Wikipedia)
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
March 17, 2022
This was a powerful poem showing how memories of war can never be forgotten by those who fought. The character's POV feels so real...
My black face fades,
hiding inside the black granite.
I said I wouldn't
dammit: No tears.
I'm stone. I'm flesh.
My clouded reflection eyes me
like a bird of prey, the profile of night
slanted against morning. I turn
this way—the stone lets me go.
I turn that way—I'm inside
the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
again, depending on the light
to make a difference.
I go down the 58,022 names,
half-expecting to find
my own in letters like smoke.
I touch the name Andrew Johnson;
I see the booby trap's white flash.
Names shimmer on a woman's blouse
but when she walks away
the names stay on the wall.
Brushstrokes flash, a red bird's
wings cutting across my stare.
The sky. A plane in the sky.
A white vet's image floats
closer to me, then his pale eyes
look through mine. I'm a window.
He's lost his right arm
inside the stone. In the black mirror
a woman’s trying to erase names:
No, she's brushing a boy's hair.
My black face fades,
hiding inside the black granite.
I said I wouldn't
dammit: No tears.
I'm stone. I'm flesh.
My clouded reflection eyes me
like a bird of prey, the profile of night
slanted against morning. I turn
this way—the stone lets me go.
I turn that way—I'm inside
the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
again, depending on the light
to make a difference.
I go down the 58,022 names,
half-expecting to find
my own in letters like smoke.
I touch the name Andrew Johnson;
I see the booby trap's white flash.
Names shimmer on a woman's blouse
but when she walks away
the names stay on the wall.
Brushstrokes flash, a red bird's
wings cutting across my stare.
The sky. A plane in the sky.
A white vet's image floats
closer to me, then his pale eyes
look through mine. I'm a window.
He's lost his right arm
inside the stone. In the black mirror
a woman’s trying to erase names:
No, she's brushing a boy's hair.
October 24, 2020
I got PTSD vibes from this. I thought the stanzas were jumpy but clear. I noticed one moment the reader is here then there the next. I feel it was a mental stuckness or flop like being stuck in limbo and coming back and realizing where one went narrative wise.
October 19, 2023
An excellent poem about the trauma the author, a Vietnam vet, faces. He describes going to the Vietnam Memorial at Washington DC and remembering all the war dead. This poem is incredibly sad and made me feel so bad for the men who fought in Vietnam. The symbolism is stark and shows painful images. This poem also goes into how the author feels he is perceived as a black man. Even though he is still a Vietnam vet, he is ignored more than the white Vietnam veterans. This poem made me feel so sad and I loved reading it.
July 15, 2021
This wasn't my favorite poem in terms of the construction, but the content was lovely.
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews