Yusef Komunyakaa

It's been said that reading and writing poetry is itself an act of resistance in this world, and this collection of Komunyakaa's poems makes that saying felt more, perhaps, than any other I've read. Wise, far-reaching and aware, and yet hopeful, the poems in this collection are grounded in the world and history we know, but built of enough spirituality and hope to affect readers with what is possible.

I've long been a fan of Komunyakaa, but this collection of new poems featuring poems from show more older collections is a forceful collection worth reading and sharing again and again. Absolutely recommended. show less

"I love this body, this
solo & ragtime jubilee
behind the left nipple,
because I know I was born
to wear out at least
one hundred angels."

(from "Anodyne" by Komunyakaa, one of my favorites and included in this collection)

Yusef Komunyakaa has long been one of my favorite poets, and revisiting this collection brought me back to all of the reasons why. This isn't my favorite of his only because so many of the poems are entrenched in nuances and moments from history that I'm not all that familiar show more with, though perhaps I should be, but even in those poems, his language and description bring a power to every page turned. My favorites here are the poems built from blues music and jazz rhythms and blues and jazz history--all of which I am very familiar with--and the words in these poems in particular croon from the page like the best blues music.

For readers coming into this one, I'd just encourage you to keep going if at first you're put off by the historical elements. This collection gets better and better as it unfolds, but it's worth noting that the history is front-loaded as if the reader moves into a journey through time. It's a more than worthwhile journey to take. show less

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 show more 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. show less

Perhaps more than any of Komunyakaa's other collections of poetry, Magic City is grounded in his experiences coming of age in a Louisiana town that was at one time a center of Klan activity, and at a later date, a center of Civil Rights activity. Centering on questions of adolescence and race, the book resounds with the rhythms of blues, basketball, and southern living. Many of the poems here will stop readers in their tracks--they are just that powerful and ring with that much truth--and show more others feel almost documentary in nature. All together, it's a smart and worthwhile collection, and one to be discussed.

Overall, recommended. show less