Yusef Komunyakaa
Background Information
|
Born
in Bogalusa, Louisiana in 1974.
Entered
the Army at age 18.
Served
in Vietnam.
Won
the Bronze Star for his work with the military newspaper The Southern Cross.
In
1994 he won the Pulitzer Prize in the poetry for Neon Vemacular.
Some of his poems are based on his life in the South. Also uses music and love.
Well-Known Works
Elegy
for Thelonious
Between
Days
February
in Sydney
Euphony
Camouflaging the Chimera
We
tied branches to our helmets.
we
painted our faces & rifles
with
mud from the riverbank,
blades
of grass hung from our pockets
of
our tiger suits. We wove
ourselves
into the terrain,
content
to be a hummingbird’s target.
We
hugged bamboo & leaned
against
a breeze off the river,
slow-dragging
with ghosts
from
Saigon to Bangkok,
with
women left in doorways
reaching
in from America.
We
aimed at dark-hearted songbirds.
In
our way station of shadows
rock
apes tried to blow our cover,
throwing
stones at the sunset. Chameleons
crawled
our spines, changing from day
to
night: green to gold,
gold
to black. But we waited
till
the moon touched metal,
till
something almost broke
inside
us. VC struggled
with
the hillside, like black silt
wrestling
iron through grass.
We
weren’t there. The river ran
through
our bones. Small animals took refuge
against
our bodies; we held our breath,
ready
to spring the L-shaped
ambush,
as a world revolved
under
each man’s eyelid.
Literary Terms
Personification-
We aimed at dark-hearted songbirds.
Simile-
like black silk wrestling iron through grass.
Rhyme
scheme- throughout whole poem.
Verse-
throughout whole poem.
Blocking
We
tied branches to our helmets.
we
painted our faces & rifles
with
mud from the riverbank,
blades
of grass hung from our pockets
of
our camouflage uniforms. We hide
ourselves
in the terrain,
content
to be a helicopters target.
We
hugged bamboo & leaned
against
the breeze off the river,
with
slow moving fog
from
Saigon to Bangkok,
with
women left in doorways
reaching
in from America.
We
aimed at dark-hearted songbirds.
At
our way station, shadows like
monkeys
tried to blow our cover,
throwing
stones at the sunset. Chameleons
crawled
our spines, changing from day
to
night: green to gold,
gold
to black. But we waited
till
the moon touched metal,
till
something almost broke
inside
us. VC struggled
with
the hillside, like black silt
wrestling
iron through grass.
We
weren’t there. The river ran
through
our bones. Small animals took refuge
against
our bodies; we held our breath,
ready
to spring the L-shaped
ambush,
as a world revolved
under
each man’s eyelid.