Blue is the insides of something mysterious and lonely. I'd look at fish and birds, thinking the sky and water colored them. The first abyss is blue. An artist must go beyond the mercy of satin or water-from a gutty… — Yusef Komunyakaa Copy Share Image
It took me 14 years to write poems about Vietnam. I had never thought about writing about it, and in a way I had… — Yusef Komunyakaa Copy Share Image
I see many black males grasping for some thread of hope. There are so many destructive practices, glimpses into a psychic abyss. That must… — Yusef Komunyakaa Copy Share Image
“Title: Blue Light Lounge Sutra For The Performance Poets At Harold Park Hotel the need gotta be so deep words can't answer simple questions… — Yusef Komunyakaa Copy Share Image
“Foolhearted mindreader, help us see how the heart begs, how fangs of opprobrium possess our eyes.” — Yusef Komunyakaa Copy Share Image
I like connecting the abstract to the concrete. There's a tension in that. I believe the reader or listener should be able to enter… — Yusef Komunyakaa Copy Share Image
Whoever said men hit harder when women are around, is right. Word for word, we beat the love out of each other. — Yusef Komunyakaa Copy Share Image
I think of my poems as personal and public at the same time. You could say they serve as psychological overlays. One fits on… — Yusef Komunyakaa Copy Share Image
“In the old days, the general's ribbons / & medals rainbowed across his chest, / & if he were interrogating himself, / by now,… — Yusef Komunyakaa Copy Share Image
Blue is the insides of something mysterious and lonely. I'd look at fish and birds, thinking the sky and water colored them. The first… — Yusef Komunyakaa Copy Share Image
“The Way the Cards Fall " Why did you stay away so long? I’ve buried another husband, since I last saw you holding to… — Yusef Komunyakaa Copy Share Image
Vietnam helped me to look at the horror and terror in the hearts of people and realize how we can't aim guns and set… — Yusef Komunyakaa Copy Share Image
It wasn't a deliberate decision to become a poet. It was something I found myself doing - and loving. Language became an addiction. — Yusef Komunyakaa Copy Share Image
“My doors enter from the sidestreet, my windows painted basement black, my mouth kisses the blues harp, my heart hides like notes locked in… — Yusef Komunyakaa Copy Share Image
Cursing themselves in ragged dreamsfire has singed the edges of,they know a slow dying the fields have come to terms with.Shimmering fans work against… — Yusef Komunyakaa Copy Share Image
