It took me 14 years to write poems about Vietnam. I had never thought about writing about it, and in a way I had been systematically writing around it. — 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
