In his poetry, Yusef Komunyakaa weaves together the elements of his own life in short lines of vernacular to create complex images of life in his native Louisiana and the jungles of Vietnam. From his humble beginnings as the son of a carpenter, Komunyakaa has traveled far to become a scholar, professor, and prize-winning poet.
Searching for love, a woman,
someone to help ease down the cocked hammer
of my nerves & senses. The music
divides the evening into black
& white -- soul, country & western,
acid rock, & Frank Sinatra.
I close my eyes & can see
men drawing lines in the dust,
daring each other to step across.
America pushes through the membrane
of mist & smoke, & I'm a small boy
again in Bogalusa skirting through talk
coming out of bars with White Only
signs & Hank Snow. But tonight,
here in Saigon, just for the hell of it,
I walk into a place with Hank Williams
calling from the jukebox. The bar girls
fade behind a smokescreen, fluttering
like tropical birds in a cage, not
speaking with their eyes & usual
painted smiles. I get the silent
treatment. We have played Judas
for each other out in the boonies
but only enemy machinegun fire
can bring us together again.
When I order a beer, the mama-san
behind the counter acts as if she
can't understand, while her
eyes skirt each white face,
Down the street black GIs
hold to their turf also.
An off-limits sign pulls me
deeper into alleys, as I look
for a softness behind these voices
wounded by their beauty & war.
Back in the bush at Dak To
& Khe Sanh, we fought
the brothers of these women
we now run to hold in our arms.
There's more than a nation divided
inside us, as black & white
soldiers touch the same lovers
minutes apart, tasting
each other's breath,
without knowing these rooms
run into each other like tunnels
leading to the underworld.
“Tu Do Street” by Yusef Komunyakaa can be understood as autobiographical. Through the development of the poem, the use of imagery and historical allusions allow the reader to find out the speaker’s identity in a racial context. Komunyakaa wastes no time in revealing who the speaker is. First creating an image of two concrete, contrasting colors: black and white, the reader can see that the poem will comment on race. Alluding to “soul, country & western,/ acid rock, & Frank Sinatra,” genres and singers popular in the late 40’s and early 50’s, Komunyakaa guides readers’ minds to the stereotypical black, American soldier of the time period, “Searching for love, a woman,/ someone to help ease down [his] cocked hammer.” This racial identity is further stereotyped in the “White Only” signs the speaker passes by on his way into a bar. An outcast in this place, “[He] get[s] the silent/ treatment.” The bartender does not even acknowledge his request for a beer “while her/ eyes caress a white face.” We see the speaker continually breaking the stereotype. Unlike the stereotypical black man of the time that we know to be innocent, conflict avoiding, and obedient, the speaker disregards the “White Only” sign and later “An off limits sign pulls [him]/ deeper into alleys.” The speaker is further identified as a pensive and thoughtful individual, gaining a new perspective from his location in Saigon as the reader gets to hear his commentary on the ‘United’ States of America, “There’s more than a nation divided/ inside us, as black and white/ soldiers touch the same lovers/ minutes apart, tasting/ each other’s breath.” We finally get to see some of the thoughts that guide the speaker into that “White Only” bar and down the forbidden alley and it’s these thoughts that complete the speaker’s identity as more than a stereotypical black GI.
Showing posts with label narrative. Show all posts
Showing posts with label narrative. Show all posts
Sunday, November 9, 2014
Monday, November 3, 2014
"Eden" Emily Grosholz
Emily Grosholz is a poet, literary critic and philosopher. She was born and raised in the suburbs of Philadelphia. She attended the University of Chicago, where she received her B.A. in 1972, and Yale University, where she received her Ph.D. in Philosophy in 1978. She has traveled widely in Italy and Greece, and lived in Germany, France, and England. Professor of Philosophy and African American Studies and Fellow of the Institute for the Arts and Humanistic Studies at the Pennsylvania State University, and Life Member of Clare Hall, University of Cambridge, she is married to the medievalist and soccer coach Robert R. Edwards. They have four children, Benjamin, Robert, William Jules-Yves, and Mary-Frances (Poetnet.org).
In lurid cartoon colors, the big baby
dinosaur steps backwards under the shadow
of an approaching tyrannosaurus rex.
"His mommy going to fix it," you remark,
serenely anxious, hoping for the best.
After the big explosion, after the lights
go down inside the house and up the street,
we rush outdoors to find a squirrel stopped
in straws of half-gnawed cable. I explain,
trying to fit the facts, "The squirrel is dead."
No, you explain it otherwise to me.
"He's sleeping. And his mommy going to come."
Later, when the squirrel has been removed,
"His mommy fix him," you insist, insisting
on the right to know what you believe.
The world is truly full of fabulous
great and curious small inhabitants,
and you're the freshly minted, unashamed
Adam in this garden. You preside,
appreciate, and judge our proper names.
Like God, I brought you here.
Like God, I seem to be omnipotent,
mostly helpful, sometimes angry as hell.
I fix whatever minor faults arise
with bandaids, batteries, masking tape, and pills.
But I am powerless, as you must know,
to chase the serpent sliding in the grass,
or the tall angel with the flaming sword
who scares you when he rises suddenly
behind the gates of sunset.
The speaker's tone in Emily Grosholz's poem, "Eden" is dynamic, beginning as childish, playful, and simple, and ending as lofty, grandiose, and dignified. This shift is catalyzed by Grosholz’s diction, poetic structure, and metaphor. The beginning of the poem mirrors, in many ways, a nursery rhyme or a children’s story. The narrative poem, accounted by who we assume to be a mother opens with a metaphor using dinosaurs and cartoons -- any kid’s two favorite things. This, in addition to the baby-like dialogue, “His mommy going to fix it," sets a tone that seems to be lighthearted and childish, continuing until a turning point in which the speaker uses an extended metaphor, comparing her son to Adam, herself to God, and their situation to Eden. This simple allusion automatically takes the poem to a graduated level, yet irony is found in the fact that the story of Adam and Eve is often told to little children. Even though the tone is more impressive, the subject matter has changed in a very minor way. The biblical allusion continues the even stanzas of four lines each. At first, this structure complements the playful nature that the nursery rhyme-like account embodies. Later, however, the quatrains add a finality and an authority to the speaker’s tone. They give the impression that there is a real plan behind the words on the page (kind of like how God had an intricate plan to create Adam and Eve). Grosholz’s change in tone is reflected through the diction, poetic structure, and metaphor, with an underlying irony that adds complexity to the seemingly simple narrative.
In lurid cartoon colors, the big baby
dinosaur steps backwards under the shadow
of an approaching tyrannosaurus rex.
"His mommy going to fix it," you remark,
serenely anxious, hoping for the best.
After the big explosion, after the lights
go down inside the house and up the street,
we rush outdoors to find a squirrel stopped
in straws of half-gnawed cable. I explain,
trying to fit the facts, "The squirrel is dead."
No, you explain it otherwise to me.
"He's sleeping. And his mommy going to come."
Later, when the squirrel has been removed,
"His mommy fix him," you insist, insisting
on the right to know what you believe.
The world is truly full of fabulous
great and curious small inhabitants,
and you're the freshly minted, unashamed
Adam in this garden. You preside,
appreciate, and judge our proper names.
Like God, I brought you here.
Like God, I seem to be omnipotent,
mostly helpful, sometimes angry as hell.
I fix whatever minor faults arise
with bandaids, batteries, masking tape, and pills.
But I am powerless, as you must know,
to chase the serpent sliding in the grass,
or the tall angel with the flaming sword
who scares you when he rises suddenly
behind the gates of sunset.
The speaker's tone in Emily Grosholz's poem, "Eden" is dynamic, beginning as childish, playful, and simple, and ending as lofty, grandiose, and dignified. This shift is catalyzed by Grosholz’s diction, poetic structure, and metaphor. The beginning of the poem mirrors, in many ways, a nursery rhyme or a children’s story. The narrative poem, accounted by who we assume to be a mother opens with a metaphor using dinosaurs and cartoons -- any kid’s two favorite things. This, in addition to the baby-like dialogue, “His mommy going to fix it," sets a tone that seems to be lighthearted and childish, continuing until a turning point in which the speaker uses an extended metaphor, comparing her son to Adam, herself to God, and their situation to Eden. This simple allusion automatically takes the poem to a graduated level, yet irony is found in the fact that the story of Adam and Eve is often told to little children. Even though the tone is more impressive, the subject matter has changed in a very minor way. The biblical allusion continues the even stanzas of four lines each. At first, this structure complements the playful nature that the nursery rhyme-like account embodies. Later, however, the quatrains add a finality and an authority to the speaker’s tone. They give the impression that there is a real plan behind the words on the page (kind of like how God had an intricate plan to create Adam and Eve). Grosholz’s change in tone is reflected through the diction, poetic structure, and metaphor, with an underlying irony that adds complexity to the seemingly simple narrative.
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