The Mad Poets Blog

Last night I headed over to Bryn Mawr College with fellow MPS blogger Anna and our faithful poetry cohort Don Kloss for the last reading in the BMC Visiting Writers Series, given by Yusef Komunyakaa. The reading was held in the Wyndham Alumnae House, which was a lovely – if a bit formal – place. (Remember, I like my poetry with “guts and knuckles,” so parlors and flowered wallpaper are not always the thing for me.) There was a terrific crowd, including a host of students from the college, where Komunyakaa has been teaching a Poetry Master class.

Karl Kirchwey, the Director of the Creative Writing program at Bryn Mawr, gave an eloquent introduction for Komunyakaa, who listened to it with a bit of a smile on his face. I always find it interesting to note that quite a few of the nationally renowned poets I’ve seen look a bit confused when they see a crowd the size of last night’s, as if they’re wondering why all those people would crowd into a room to hear them talk for a while. It’s refreshing to meet poets with such an amazing level of talent and intelligence who have been able to retain some humility.

And then Komunyakaa got up to read. He’s 60 this year, though if I ran into him just walking down the street, I’d only guess that by the stoop of his shoulders. Otherwise, he could easily pass for 10 years younger – his hair is graying only slightly, his gaze is strong and direct, and his voice is deep – if it had a color, it would be the deep burgundy of a good wine. When speaking to the crowd, his voice rose to a slightly higher pitch, but then settled right back into the groove of that bass while reading his poems.

Komunyakaa seems to have mastered the art of the Mid-Atlantic accent, so although he was born and raised in Bogalusa, a city in the northeastern part of Louisiana, the southern drawl is nearly gone from his speech. I say “nearly” because there are a few places you can hear it if you’re listening carefully – Komunyakaa has a tendency to drop almost all of the ‘g’s from his –ings, and quite a few of his ‘th’s become ‘f’s – so “myth” becomes “myf” and “strength” becomes “strenf.” But rather than distract the listener, this inconsistency in Komunyakaa’s speech pattern rather added to the experience, sharpening the edge of his poems.

Komunyakaa read for nearly 40 minutes and spanned the body of his work, beginning with some new poems from a book still in progress. He then moved on to a series of poems recounting his experiences in Vietnam, including “Thanks,” a litany of gratitude for the small moments that led to his avoiding a sniper’s shot, and “Facing It,” about visiting the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington DC.

During the reading of the Vietnam poems, Komunyakaa’s reading style changed from a choppy, sort of halting pace to a strong, urgent pace – as if he couldn’t push the words out fast enough, with enough conviction. By far the strongest reading of the night, in my opinion, was when Komunyakaa read “You and I are Disappearing,” about a girl on fire. I felt he was still there, still watching this girl, in his mind.

Komunyakaa followed these with a few early poems, and closed the reading with two poems. The first is an incomplete poem called “Requiem” written in response to Hurricane Katrina, which combined the intricate, ordinary details of home (horsehair-and-lathe walls, furniture) with the larger landscape of the storm surges that battered the land. He finished the evening with “Anodyne,” a praise poem for the his own strengths.

After the reading, I was able to speak to him very briefly and have him sign my book. He’s a kind man, very eager to chat and interested in meeting the people who come to see him. One of the students in front of me – clearly someone who’d been working with him all semester – slipped him a CD (I believe it was either this kid’s band, or this kid reading his own poetry). Komunyakaa’s face lit up. He thanked the student profusely and tucked the CD carefully into his bag before turning his attention to me. His signature in my book reads “Peace, Yusef.”

Some of my favorite lines of the night follow:

“For those who can walk away, what is their burden?” (from the poem “Grenade”)
“I…turned him over, so he wouldn’t be kissing the ground.” (from the poem “We Never Know”)
“If you wanna dance this boogie be ready to let the devil use your head for a drum.” (from the poem “Blue Light Lounge Sutra for the Performance Poets at Harold Park Hotel”)
“We were metaphysical when girls cheered on the sidelines.” (from the poem “Slamdunk”)
“Pressure can make everything whole again” (from the poem “Ode to the Drum”)

more of Yusef Komunyakaa’s work can be found here, at the Internet Poetry Archive.