Yusef Komunyakaa: Art Imitating Art
We often hear art imitates life. Life provides us with inspiration; it influences who we become and how we think. Not all experiences are good but we can be certain they shape us in one way of another. One group of people that seem to make the most from their experiences are artists, who can at least express themselves and their emotions regarding experience through their art. Writers do this all the time and writing proves to be a therapeutic exercise for many who do not seek publication. One poet that has made the most of his experiences and turns them into poetry that benefits thousands of readers is Yusef Komunyakaa. Komunyakaa wrote about issues and events that impressed him. These topics are not always good or cheerful but one thing we can say about them is they are real. When we read his poetry, we know we are reading the man that fights for recognition every day. through his art, Komunyakaa becomes complete.
In "My Father's Love Letters," we see how Komunyakaa's childhood experiences shaped his thinking. Through this poem, we can see how all kinds of things influence children. We also see how children grasp more than we give them credit for grasping. Most parents think their children do not know much or will not figure things out, or simply do not pay enough attention to what is going on around them. This poem demonstrates otherwise. In fact, this poem illustrates how children perceive much, much more than what their parents would ever want to know. In this poem, we see a father through his child's eyes. The father is in pain over a broken relationship and he expects his son to believe what he tells him about that relationship. However, the young speaker of this poem is far too smart to believe what his father tells him. Instead, he puts things together on his own and comes to his own conclusions. In a sense, he is facing the situation with a more mature attitude than his father is. "My Father's Love Letters" reveals the delicate nature of man when he is in a broken state. The young speaker realizes his place. He knows he is the child and he must obey his father. He writes the letters and while his father thinks he is simply dictating to his son, he is actually giving him insight into his soul. In addition, he is learning all about his father's relationship. The sorrowful father would "beg, / Promising to never beat her / Again" (5-7). Here, the son sees the broken man willing to say anything to get the woman back. He uses words like "Love, / Baby, Honey, Please" (Komunyakaa Love Letters 16-7) to win her back but they are in contrast to the setting we have of the father and son sitting in "quiet brutality / Of voltage meters & pipe threaders, / Lost between sentences" (18-20). The son is fully aware of brutality and it is no mistake he uses this word to describe the mood of this home. He sees his hopeless father and yet can still wonder if his mother reads the letters and "laughed / and held them over a gas burner (25-6). This young man sees everything and can make more sense of the situation than his father. At an early age, he sees the power of love and the power struggle between adults. This experience shapes his mind about love is, what it looks like, and what love does to people.
The theme of war is a sensitive one and many of Komunyakaa's poems touch this subject. He focuses on the mental anguish of war. This anguish is not just associated with the soldiers but with those living in the states as well. The victims of the war included women and children in America and in Vietnam. In a sense, everyone was a victim. Imagery becomes a popular tool for the poet, as he expresses his emotions regarding the war and its effects. He looks at war from an almost hopeless perspective. In "Camouflaging the Chimera," we see how the poet places the soldiers in a situation where they blend into their surroundings, as if they are becoming images that will fade away with time as life goes on for those back home. He writes,
We tied branches to our helmets.
We painted our faces & rifles with mud from a riverbank, blades of grass hung from the pockets...
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