Blog Question 1, Second Half

The poem I choose to write about is in our book, but wasn't assigned or discussed by the class.  It is "Facing It" by Yusef Komunyakaa (p. 916).  The poem was published in 1988 by an author who was born in 1947 in Bogalusa, Louisiana.  He entered the army after graduating high school and served in Vietnam.  He earned a Bronze Star.  This poem is the last poem in his book of poems about Vietnam entitled "Dien Cai Dau" which is a slang term for crazy.  This poem melds his personal emotions with the historical war.

I was drawn to this poem because the Vietnam War played a large part in my thoughts and conscience when I was a teenager.  I saw it played out on the television screen each evening with its raw human suffering.  I was conflicted between my trust for the Government which said the war was necessary to protect our country and my gut feelings for wanting to be speaking out, protesting it because it was "wrong."  The Vietnam War tore more than a country apart.

The poet speaks about his visit to the Vietnam War Monument in Washington, DC.  He melds with it ("My black face fades, hiding inside the black granite.") He promised himself no tears, but he finds himself both stone and flesh.  He is one with this monument and the War.  As he inspects the 58,022 names, he almost expects to find his own.  As he touches one, it brings him back to the shock and sorrow of the War.  Visitors almost can merge with the wall, but cannot because they haven't shared the soul-breaking experience, only veterans can merge with it.

Mr. Komunyakaa uses no poetic devices except in breaking lines:  no set rhythm, no rhyme, no alliteration, no similies, no metaphors, no traditional patterns.  His poem is powerful from the words' placements and the powerful words themselves.  Word breaks emphasize anger because he had told himself "No Tears" so we know that his eyes are filled with them; "I am a window," "black mirror."  The wall reflects the world outside the War while veterans remain inside it.  The power of his lines' lengths and breaks do have a rhythm of grief spoken.

When I visited the Wall a few years ago.  I saw my reflection mixed with the names of fallen soldiers and I despaired that I had chosen silence over speaking out against the War.  Years before, I had met a homeless soldier who had been in a prisoner of war camp who showed me his misshapen, nail-less fingers and told me how he had been tortured. It's a powerful Wall and the poet has given us his own powerful experience with it.