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The Chameleon Couch
Goodreads Choice Award
Nominee for Readers' Favorite Poetry (2011)A new and intimate collection from one of America's most important poets
The latest collection from one of our preeminent poets, The Chameleon Couch is also one of Yusef Komunyakaa's most personal to date. As in his breakthrough work, Copacetic, Komunyakaa writes again of music as muse--from a blues club in the East Village to the shakuhachi of Basho. Beginning with "Canticle," this varied new collection often returns to the idea of poem as hymn, ethereal and haunting, as Komunyakaa reveals glimpses of memory, myth, and violence. With contemplations that spring up along walks or memories conjured by the rhythms of New York, Komunyakaa pays tribute more than ever before to those who came before him.
The book moves seamlessly across cultural and historical boundaries, evoking Komunyakaa's capacity for cultural excavation, through artifact and place. The Chameleon Couch begins in and never fully leaves the present--an urban modernity framed, brilliantly, in pastoral-minded verse. The poems seek the cracks beneath the landscape, whether New York or Ghana or Poland, finding in each elements of wisdom or unexpected beauty. The collection is sensually, beautifully relaxed in rhetoric; in poems like "Cape Coast Castle," Komunyakaa reminds us of his gift for combining the personal with the universal, one moment addressing a lover, the next moving the focus outward, until both poet and reader are implicated in the book's startling world.
The latest collection from one of our preeminent poets, The Chameleon Couch is also one of Yusef Komunyakaa's most personal to date. As in his breakthrough work, Copacetic, Komunyakaa writes again of music as muse--from a blues club in the East Village to the shakuhachi of Basho. Beginning with "Canticle," this varied new collection often returns to the idea of poem as hymn, ethereal and haunting, as Komunyakaa reveals glimpses of memory, myth, and violence. With contemplations that spring up along walks or memories conjured by the rhythms of New York, Komunyakaa pays tribute more than ever before to those who came before him.
The book moves seamlessly across cultural and historical boundaries, evoking Komunyakaa's capacity for cultural excavation, through artifact and place. The Chameleon Couch begins in and never fully leaves the present--an urban modernity framed, brilliantly, in pastoral-minded verse. The poems seek the cracks beneath the landscape, whether New York or Ghana or Poland, finding in each elements of wisdom or unexpected beauty. The collection is sensually, beautifully relaxed in rhetoric; in poems like "Cape Coast Castle," Komunyakaa reminds us of his gift for combining the personal with the universal, one moment addressing a lover, the next moving the focus outward, until both poet and reader are implicated in the book's startling world.
- GenresPoetry
128 pages, Hardcover
First published March 15, 2011
7 people are currently reading
450 people want to read
About the author
Yusef Komunyakaa
95 books206 followersYusef Komunyakaa (born April 29, 1947) is an American poet who teaches at New York University and is a member of the Fellowship of Southern Writers. Komunyakaa is a recipient of the 1994 Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award, for Neon Vernacular and the 1994 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. He also received the Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize. Komunyakaa received the 2007 Louisiana Writer Award for his enduring contribution to the poetry world.
His subject matter ranges from the black general experience through rural Southern life before the Civil Rights time period and his experience as a soldier during the Vietnam War.
(from Wikipedia)
His subject matter ranges from the black general experience through rural Southern life before the Civil Rights time period and his experience as a soldier during the Vietnam War.
(from Wikipedia)
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 40 reviews
October 25, 2011
Finalist for the 2011 National Book Award. These are smart poems about life and identity, but I really gravitated toward those with music imagery.
This is my favorite:
Ode to the Guitar
The strings tremble & traverse
back up through that other
strong muscle singing blood
& guilt. Press a finger down,
& the message changes into blame
& beauty, into the scent of a garden
rising from peat moss & brimstone...
the frets & shaped neck worked
& caressed into a phantom limb
of hope. Does it have anything to do
with how the player's shoulder blades
curve out as if bowing over an altar
or how the doors of day & night
spring open, made to bridge
differences? Chance is fretted
till love moans swell in a gourd
hanging on an unknotted vine.
The strings hum inside stone,
undoing all the bright hooks
of promise stitched into silk
& printed cloth. Each note
true as a bone turning to dust,
suspended like an old belief
blooming from hush & blues
cries on the horizon. Catgut
& wood breathe together till
there's a beckoning left
quivering in the dark.
This is my favorite:
Ode to the Guitar
The strings tremble & traverse
back up through that other
strong muscle singing blood
& guilt. Press a finger down,
& the message changes into blame
& beauty, into the scent of a garden
rising from peat moss & brimstone...
the frets & shaped neck worked
& caressed into a phantom limb
of hope. Does it have anything to do
with how the player's shoulder blades
curve out as if bowing over an altar
or how the doors of day & night
spring open, made to bridge
differences? Chance is fretted
till love moans swell in a gourd
hanging on an unknotted vine.
The strings hum inside stone,
undoing all the bright hooks
of promise stitched into silk
& printed cloth. Each note
true as a bone turning to dust,
suspended like an old belief
blooming from hush & blues
cries on the horizon. Catgut
& wood breathe together till
there's a beckoning left
quivering in the dark.
October 7, 2011
The Chameleon Couch by Yusef Komunyakaa — broken into three sections — challenges the mind and the internal rhythm of our souls. It challenges our preconceptions about everything from music to what it means to be an African American. In the form of aubades and odes, Komunyakaa evokes song throughout the collection, which have readers very focused on how the rhythms of the poems impact them beyond the words spoken. The poet is striving to reach not only the logical mind here, but something deeper, ethereal, like a soul.
There are allusions in this volume that are religious, musical, and mythological, but these do not detract from the poems’ power. “Kindness” (page 28), is one of the most dense poems in the collection, filled with a number of allusions including the consumption of salt as a sign of friendship. However, even if not all the references are clear at first glance, it is clear that kindness is often recognized even in the bleakest of moments and in the darkest of places even if someone has been a “stranger” to it.
Read the full review: http://savvyverseandwit.com/2011/10/t...
There are allusions in this volume that are religious, musical, and mythological, but these do not detract from the poems’ power. “Kindness” (page 28), is one of the most dense poems in the collection, filled with a number of allusions including the consumption of salt as a sign of friendship. However, even if not all the references are clear at first glance, it is clear that kindness is often recognized even in the bleakest of moments and in the darkest of places even if someone has been a “stranger” to it.
Read the full review: http://savvyverseandwit.com/2011/10/t...
December 2, 2012
It's been a while since I read any poetry by Yusef Komunyakaa. I thought The Chameleon Couch more abstract and slippery than I remembered his poetry being, or anticipated. I found it difficult. He addresses the past here, I think. He writes about our shifting perspectives of personal histories. Some of his themes are classical. He acknowledges that such figures as Fortuna, Pan, and Mercury and the ideas of them exist, as do our interpretations of the past, because we're looking at them. If we look away their meaning is displaced and may even fade altogether. Maybe he's every form of Yusef Komunyakaa in his past. In the final poem, "Ontology & Guinness," he's changing shape again, shaving his beard and perhaps relinquishing old dissent in response to the new political climate brought about by the end of the Bush era. The poet, as kaleidoscope himself, is shifting to a new crystallization.
November 2, 2023
“The woman sitting across from me
on a train headed to the airport
clicks open her compact mirror
& brushes rouge on her nose and cheeks.
Does she know powder can’t erase Africa?
or the snip of an eyelid transform Asia?”
4 ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.
so good.
i borrowed this poetry book from our school library earlier this year, (february). i remembered this through my archives wherein i talked about it quite a lot, ESPECIALLY that excerpt above.
on a train headed to the airport
clicks open her compact mirror
& brushes rouge on her nose and cheeks.
Does she know powder can’t erase Africa?
or the snip of an eyelid transform Asia?”
4 ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.
so good.
i borrowed this poetry book from our school library earlier this year, (february). i remembered this through my archives wherein i talked about it quite a lot, ESPECIALLY that excerpt above.
February 10, 2022
Worldly, out of this time and gorgeous
Read
September 16, 2025Didn't care for it. Too late for it, maybe. Yes! Love what you love, be as smart as you can be, but my God does the intellectualism feel like caricature.
January 9, 2018
This volume is a rare find for me because, I think, to come up with the poems of such mastery, it must have taken Yusef Komunyakaa a lifetime of serious work developing such an elevated degree of rhythm, energy, and maturity and then adding it to his already existing talent.
The book is divided into three sections. Even though each section concentrates mainly on one area of specific awareness, the richness of the images, musicality and powerful, intellectual thought, and the variety of poetic expression flow through each poem regardless of the section it is in.
The references--whether to mythology, history, or common knowledge-- are apt and satisfying, and their usages are far from name throwing, where one comes across varied allusions from Eurydice, Orpheus, Morphine, or Tantalus to Alice in Wonderland and James Dean, from Sappho to Basho, from Copernicus and Galileo to the Good Book, or from Nat King Cole to Ravel or Chopin.
In the first section, the first poem Canticle’s lines “Now, kissing you, I am the archheir of second // chances. // Because I know twelve ways to be wrong” impressed me with its emotion. Then the second poem, Janus Preface, awed me again with its artistic yet cultivated descriptions of nature. Among the other poems, The Story of a Coat, Eclogue at Midnight and Ten or Eleven Disquises, the observations of detail in people, objects, and ideas are exquisite. In Ode to the Chameleon, “you are always // true, daring the human eye// to see deeper. You are envy // & solace…” the poet allows the interior world to overcome the exterior, just the way he does in many of the poems throughout the book.
The second section of the book contains facts and inferences to World War II in several of the poems like Aubade at Hotel Copernicus, Fata Morgana, English, Poppies, Orpheus at the Second Gate of Hades
Three Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion, A Visit to Inner Sanctum, The Shortest Night. In Conceived in a Time of War, I believe the poet refers to his own conception and birth, since he was born in 1941. The “you” he refers to is himself. ”You have a Paleolithic brain…Your cry is several broken treaties…Your mind is a scrap of sailcloth //& a wishbone, a theory of perfect // flight…You were born to know hell…”
Begotten may also be about his background since it begins with “I’m the son of poor Mildred and illiterate J.W.” “Grief followed me, saying // Burn your keepsakes…” with lines toward the end, “We dream of going from one desire // to the next. But in the final analysis, // a good thought is the simplest food.”
But then, there are other wars fought without armies or guns, the wars of the demoralized and downtrodden due to race, which are reflected in Blue Dementia and A Poem Written Inside a Big Round Machine.
The third section of the book is expertly crafted through the awareness of the poets’ surroundings, as in Fortune, Flesh, Dangerousness, The White Dog Syndrome, Ode to the Guitar, Daybreak, A Voice on an Answering Machine, Adonis in the Big Apple, The Window Dresser’s Song, and The Beautiful Quickness of a Street Boy. In How It Is, the poet refers to his art as, ““My muse is holding me prisoner //She refuses to give back my shadow…I think she knows, with her kisses // in my mouth, I could walk on water.”
Then in the last poem of the book, Ontology & Guinness, Komunkayaa rejoices in the election of President Obama and the rising of the black race.
Whichever poem one concentrates on, personal or universal, this poet’s work is hauntingly capable and authoritative, without any hint of dryness and with profound emotion competently expressed. In short, I am very happy to have found this book.
The book is divided into three sections. Even though each section concentrates mainly on one area of specific awareness, the richness of the images, musicality and powerful, intellectual thought, and the variety of poetic expression flow through each poem regardless of the section it is in.
The references--whether to mythology, history, or common knowledge-- are apt and satisfying, and their usages are far from name throwing, where one comes across varied allusions from Eurydice, Orpheus, Morphine, or Tantalus to Alice in Wonderland and James Dean, from Sappho to Basho, from Copernicus and Galileo to the Good Book, or from Nat King Cole to Ravel or Chopin.
In the first section, the first poem Canticle’s lines “Now, kissing you, I am the archheir of second // chances. // Because I know twelve ways to be wrong” impressed me with its emotion. Then the second poem, Janus Preface, awed me again with its artistic yet cultivated descriptions of nature. Among the other poems, The Story of a Coat, Eclogue at Midnight and Ten or Eleven Disquises, the observations of detail in people, objects, and ideas are exquisite. In Ode to the Chameleon, “you are always // true, daring the human eye// to see deeper. You are envy // & solace…” the poet allows the interior world to overcome the exterior, just the way he does in many of the poems throughout the book.
The second section of the book contains facts and inferences to World War II in several of the poems like Aubade at Hotel Copernicus, Fata Morgana, English, Poppies, Orpheus at the Second Gate of Hades
Three Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion, A Visit to Inner Sanctum, The Shortest Night. In Conceived in a Time of War, I believe the poet refers to his own conception and birth, since he was born in 1941. The “you” he refers to is himself. ”You have a Paleolithic brain…Your cry is several broken treaties…Your mind is a scrap of sailcloth //& a wishbone, a theory of perfect // flight…You were born to know hell…”
Begotten may also be about his background since it begins with “I’m the son of poor Mildred and illiterate J.W.” “Grief followed me, saying // Burn your keepsakes…” with lines toward the end, “We dream of going from one desire // to the next. But in the final analysis, // a good thought is the simplest food.”
But then, there are other wars fought without armies or guns, the wars of the demoralized and downtrodden due to race, which are reflected in Blue Dementia and A Poem Written Inside a Big Round Machine.
The third section of the book is expertly crafted through the awareness of the poets’ surroundings, as in Fortune, Flesh, Dangerousness, The White Dog Syndrome, Ode to the Guitar, Daybreak, A Voice on an Answering Machine, Adonis in the Big Apple, The Window Dresser’s Song, and The Beautiful Quickness of a Street Boy. In How It Is, the poet refers to his art as, ““My muse is holding me prisoner //She refuses to give back my shadow…I think she knows, with her kisses // in my mouth, I could walk on water.”
Then in the last poem of the book, Ontology & Guinness, Komunkayaa rejoices in the election of President Obama and the rising of the black race.
Whichever poem one concentrates on, personal or universal, this poet’s work is hauntingly capable and authoritative, without any hint of dryness and with profound emotion competently expressed. In short, I am very happy to have found this book.
November 14, 2024
**Review: *The Chameleon Couch* by Yusef Komunyakaa**
*Rating: 3/5 stars*
*The Chameleon Couch* is a collection filled with reflections on war, myth, and human suffering, and it’s clear that Yusef Komunyakaa draws deeply from classical mythology to convey his themes. However, the sheer density of references to mythological figures and events sometimes left me feeling lost, unable to fully connect with certain poems. It’s a collection that requires a level of familiarity with mythology that, unfortunately, I don’t have, making me feel a bit like an imposter.
However, there were standout pieces that truly resonated. *English* is a raw and stark exploration of identity and loss that left a lasting impression. The poem *Gone* hit hard with a shocking twist in the final line that made me go back and reread it immediately—it’s one of those poems that reveals its full impact only at the very end.
I also appreciated *Ode to the Guitar*, a poem where I found familiar ground and could genuinely connect. It was exciting to finally relate to Komunyakaa’s imagery and themes in a way that felt personal.
Komunyakaa’s work is hauntingly impactful, especially in lines like:
“I also have my cheap, one-way ticket to Auschwitz & know of no street or footpath death hasn’t taken.”
and
“I can make a lyre drag down the moon & stars but it’s still hard to talk of earthly things - ordinary men killing ordinary men, women, & children.”
While some poems in *The Chameleon Couch* felt beyond my reach, others struck a chord and reminded me of Komunyakaa’s mastery over complex themes.
*Rating: 3/5 stars*
*The Chameleon Couch* is a collection filled with reflections on war, myth, and human suffering, and it’s clear that Yusef Komunyakaa draws deeply from classical mythology to convey his themes. However, the sheer density of references to mythological figures and events sometimes left me feeling lost, unable to fully connect with certain poems. It’s a collection that requires a level of familiarity with mythology that, unfortunately, I don’t have, making me feel a bit like an imposter.
However, there were standout pieces that truly resonated. *English* is a raw and stark exploration of identity and loss that left a lasting impression. The poem *Gone* hit hard with a shocking twist in the final line that made me go back and reread it immediately—it’s one of those poems that reveals its full impact only at the very end.
I also appreciated *Ode to the Guitar*, a poem where I found familiar ground and could genuinely connect. It was exciting to finally relate to Komunyakaa’s imagery and themes in a way that felt personal.
Komunyakaa’s work is hauntingly impactful, especially in lines like:
“I also have my cheap, one-way ticket to Auschwitz & know of no street or footpath death hasn’t taken.”
and
“I can make a lyre drag down the moon & stars but it’s still hard to talk of earthly things - ordinary men killing ordinary men, women, & children.”
While some poems in *The Chameleon Couch* felt beyond my reach, others struck a chord and reminded me of Komunyakaa’s mastery over complex themes.
August 5, 2025
The Janus Preface
The day breaks in half as the sun rolls over hanging ice,
& a dogwood leans into a country between seasons.
A yellow cat looms with feet in the squishy snow,
arching her back, eyeing a redbird, a star still blinking
in her nighttime brain. Schoolgirls sport light dresses
beneath heavy coats, & the boys stand goose-pimpled
in football jerseys. Anything for a hug or kiss,
anything to be healed. A new-green leaf swells sap.
Each bud is a nose pressed against a windowpane,
a breast gazing through thin cotton. The cold stings,
& a shiver goes from crown to feet, leaf-tip down to taproot. The next-door boy's snowman bows to Monday's rush hour. Heavy metal leaps from a car & ignites the spluttering air. Each little tight fist of clutched brightness begins to open, distant & close as ghost laughter in the afternoon.
A crow sits on the fence telling me how many ways
to answer its brutal questions about tomorrow.
The season is a white buffalo birthing in the front yard:
big-eyed with beauty, half out & half in.
Branches cluster with mouths ready to speak a second coming, & a wind off the Delaware
springs forth, rattling the window sashes.
An all-night howl slips beneath the eaves,
& next day, frozen buds are death's-heads
fallen into footprints coming & gone.
The day breaks in half as the sun rolls over hanging ice,
& a dogwood leans into a country between seasons.
A yellow cat looms with feet in the squishy snow,
arching her back, eyeing a redbird, a star still blinking
in her nighttime brain. Schoolgirls sport light dresses
beneath heavy coats, & the boys stand goose-pimpled
in football jerseys. Anything for a hug or kiss,
anything to be healed. A new-green leaf swells sap.
Each bud is a nose pressed against a windowpane,
a breast gazing through thin cotton. The cold stings,
& a shiver goes from crown to feet, leaf-tip down to taproot. The next-door boy's snowman bows to Monday's rush hour. Heavy metal leaps from a car & ignites the spluttering air. Each little tight fist of clutched brightness begins to open, distant & close as ghost laughter in the afternoon.
A crow sits on the fence telling me how many ways
to answer its brutal questions about tomorrow.
The season is a white buffalo birthing in the front yard:
big-eyed with beauty, half out & half in.
Branches cluster with mouths ready to speak a second coming, & a wind off the Delaware
springs forth, rattling the window sashes.
An all-night howl slips beneath the eaves,
& next day, frozen buds are death's-heads
fallen into footprints coming & gone.
June 11, 2020
[rating = B-]
There are some wonderful poems in here. Poems that explore race and ethnicity and love and desire and fun things too. Yusef K has a wonderful way with words, but sometimes his adjectives are not as helpful as they should be: as in, they seem to give weird characteristics to objects. M favorite poems were the ones I did not have to have outside knowledge to decipher them. I do not object to such types of poems, but just the sort of knowledge required here was not the kind that I had on hand. I would definitely read Yusef K again.
There are some wonderful poems in here. Poems that explore race and ethnicity and love and desire and fun things too. Yusef K has a wonderful way with words, but sometimes his adjectives are not as helpful as they should be: as in, they seem to give weird characteristics to objects. M favorite poems were the ones I did not have to have outside knowledge to decipher them. I do not object to such types of poems, but just the sort of knowledge required here was not the kind that I had on hand. I would definitely read Yusef K again.
May 23, 2018
Loved the rhythm of some of these. Some of these are over my head with all the classical allusions, but some I get well enough. And some I love even without "getting" them, just for the swing of them, the scattering of images like crystal refraction, a chandelier twinkling, a sense of the whole but pleasure even in what fragments I can get.
March 19, 2022
“Heavy metal leaps from a car & ignites the spluttering air.
Each little tight fist of clutched brightness begins to open,
distant & close as ghost laughter in the afternoon.
A crow sits on the fence, telling me how many ways
to answer its brutal questions about tomorrow.”
When this volume strikes hardest is when the poet (as first-person speaker) recedes somewhat into the lyric.
Each little tight fist of clutched brightness begins to open,
distant & close as ghost laughter in the afternoon.
A crow sits on the fence, telling me how many ways
to answer its brutal questions about tomorrow.”
When this volume strikes hardest is when the poet (as first-person speaker) recedes somewhat into the lyric.
August 11, 2020
Beautiful, dense, remarkable poems. Reading this book is like eating rich chocolate cake. You have to do it slowly and savor. Many stunning gems in here by a poet with true mastery and a distinctive voice. Not an easy read by any means, but worth the effort.
May 28, 2021
I found it difficult to digest. Interesting imagery and follow through. Variant of topics discussed. Favorite was Sappho of Mytilene. Important quote: "Learn to be kind to yourself. A twisted globe of flesh is held together by what is pushes against."
March 28, 2020
Poemsnya puitis, at least.
January 27, 2021
Too often these poems reach for classical connections to demonstrate erudition rather than honor the image in the moment with the rhythm of the heart’s truest desire, the body-mind’s gestalt of Truth. I much prefer the stench of corpses rotting with a blue halo of flies in the rank slack water of rice paddies (Dien Cai Dau) to the moldering recitation of dead poets and abridged footnotes to their notorious but forgotten gods.
Favorites:
“The Story of a Coat”
“Aubade at Hotel Copernicus”
“Flight”
“Blackbirding on the Hudson”
“Flesh”
“Green”
“How It Is”
Favorites:
“The Story of a Coat”
“Aubade at Hotel Copernicus”
“Flight”
“Blackbirding on the Hudson”
“Flesh”
“Green”
“How It Is”
December 7, 2021
Most of the time it's "i don't really inderstand what's going on and i'm only here to feel the words on my tongue" and i think that's okay
April 20, 2022
Fantastic collection. Demands multiple rereads.
May 10, 2011
The Qualifier
Poetry cannot be judged by the same good versus bad qualifiers as general literature: plot and character developement. For in poetry we see only what we know, feel, and experience. It is personal. The great poets of the past 200 years, Keats, Frost, Sandburg, Naruda, and Whitman to name a few, are not universally enjoyed. It is not because their words are not beautiful or poignant, rather we all live our life just a bit different. It is true enough that we all have shared experiences and that is the trick - beautiful, pointed, meloncholy, but relevant.
Yousef Komunyakaa is all these in the Chameleon Couch; beautiful, angry, sad, even bohemian (admittedly by his own words).
Style
For the most part Komunyakaa has written a paragraph broken into lines with roughly the same syllabic value. This works most of the time. On occassion it does not. Case in point "Kindness" is totally unreadable. After first reading it, I made a note to come back to it. This I did two more times just to be sure it wasn't just a bad day, a head ache, smashed toes, or a bad peice of cheese. After being read three times on different days, "Kindness" was still unreadable and barely digestable to my mind.
However, one obtuse peice doesn't diminish to whole book. Others were smooth sailing, even pleasant to read. Some were broken into managable stanzas (this I enjoyed very much), while others were monoliths of poems. A bit tougher to read, but still potent.
If I were to describe his style as a meal, I would say: it is a journey of taste with the catch of the day sprinkled with the avant garde and a dash of sobering spice here and there.
Content
An artist is not always understood, but is still appreciated for his art. This is certainly true of the Chameleon Couch. I thought myself to be an apt pupil, but Komunyakaa has proved me wrong. He is bohemian and perhaps to well aware of it. There are allusions galore in the Chameleon Couch. Greek mythology, the renaissance (art and literature), religion, and jazz to point out just a few. Komunyakaa appears to be a massive fan of jazz becasue different musicians come up all through the book. I say this only to point out that at times the references and allusions overpower the poem itself. "Aubade at Hotel Copernicus" is one such poem.
At times Komunyakaa seems lost in his own world. Other times he is angry at the world. One thing he is not is stale nor stagnant. His writing is kinetic just waiting to break free and occasionally, he does.
"Flesh"
The best poem in the Chameleon Couch. Its cadence is so near perfection that it can be seen just in the reading. If read aloud, it rolls off the tongue smooth and creamy like warm butter over hot toast. Like all great poets, Komunyakaa, takes the reader on a journey that is wonderful and unexpected.
The Chameleon Couch is not for everybody. It is a fine peice of work, but is only fully accessable to those who are very well read and have a great deal of patience.
Poetry cannot be judged by the same good versus bad qualifiers as general literature: plot and character developement. For in poetry we see only what we know, feel, and experience. It is personal. The great poets of the past 200 years, Keats, Frost, Sandburg, Naruda, and Whitman to name a few, are not universally enjoyed. It is not because their words are not beautiful or poignant, rather we all live our life just a bit different. It is true enough that we all have shared experiences and that is the trick - beautiful, pointed, meloncholy, but relevant.
Yousef Komunyakaa is all these in the Chameleon Couch; beautiful, angry, sad, even bohemian (admittedly by his own words).
Style
For the most part Komunyakaa has written a paragraph broken into lines with roughly the same syllabic value. This works most of the time. On occassion it does not. Case in point "Kindness" is totally unreadable. After first reading it, I made a note to come back to it. This I did two more times just to be sure it wasn't just a bad day, a head ache, smashed toes, or a bad peice of cheese. After being read three times on different days, "Kindness" was still unreadable and barely digestable to my mind.
However, one obtuse peice doesn't diminish to whole book. Others were smooth sailing, even pleasant to read. Some were broken into managable stanzas (this I enjoyed very much), while others were monoliths of poems. A bit tougher to read, but still potent.
If I were to describe his style as a meal, I would say: it is a journey of taste with the catch of the day sprinkled with the avant garde and a dash of sobering spice here and there.
Content
An artist is not always understood, but is still appreciated for his art. This is certainly true of the Chameleon Couch. I thought myself to be an apt pupil, but Komunyakaa has proved me wrong. He is bohemian and perhaps to well aware of it. There are allusions galore in the Chameleon Couch. Greek mythology, the renaissance (art and literature), religion, and jazz to point out just a few. Komunyakaa appears to be a massive fan of jazz becasue different musicians come up all through the book. I say this only to point out that at times the references and allusions overpower the poem itself. "Aubade at Hotel Copernicus" is one such poem.
At times Komunyakaa seems lost in his own world. Other times he is angry at the world. One thing he is not is stale nor stagnant. His writing is kinetic just waiting to break free and occasionally, he does.
"Flesh"
The best poem in the Chameleon Couch. Its cadence is so near perfection that it can be seen just in the reading. If read aloud, it rolls off the tongue smooth and creamy like warm butter over hot toast. Like all great poets, Komunyakaa, takes the reader on a journey that is wonderful and unexpected.
The Chameleon Couch is not for everybody. It is a fine peice of work, but is only fully accessable to those who are very well read and have a great deal of patience.
Read
November 8, 2011“The Chameleon Couch,” is the latest book by award winning author Yusef Komunyakaa. Komunyakaa is from Bogalusa, LA who is known for writing books about the African American experience before the Civil War. This particular book is no different from his past works, as he continues to write about black southerners. “The Chameleon Couch” is a collection of works that can be described as beautiful work accompanied by well-maintained rage.
Poetry is known for giving the audience an experience. It becomes personal with the readers when especially well known life history is involved. Yusef Komunyakaa brings the audience into the story with imagery told. Komunyakaa is a bit different than the traditional writer but, like all the famous greats, diversity is what them great. Komunyakaa’s work usually follows the same format in each poem.
Komunyakaa writes stories but breaks them up into lines of poetry. Most os his poems all follow the same syllabic style of writing. His work seems simple to read but there some occasions in which a simple 3 or 4 line verse can be the most difficult. For instance, the poem “Dead Reckoning” was more of a challenge to interpret with lines such as, “…& if humans try to sing this laughter/ their voices only cry out in the dark.” It takes time to construe but I enjoy finding out the meaning behind it.
Other poems in this book were much easier to digest. Poems such as “Ontology & Guisnness” and “Ten or Eleven Disguises,” are satisfyingly tasteful poems about modern times and are easier to reflect for today’s readers. Komunyakaa being from New Orleans is a huge fan of jazz and references several of the great in various poems. Again, this type of content makes the material in the poems much more relatable. At times Komunyakaa can be confusing with his subject matter. Like in the poem “A Translation of Silk” the first line state “One can shove his face against silk/ & breathe in centuries of perfume.” I was perplexed in the beginning of how can this poem reflect the balance of the book’s theme. I soon discovered that there were plenty more of poems, which didn’t fit in.
All the poems, whether traditional or non-traditional are all-good. If I had to pick a personal favorite of mine it would have to be “Poppies.” I find this poems interesting because, it is a poem about defining yourself. I can strongly relate to what the author is referring to and having pride in him. He talks about working hard but admits to taking short cuts in life if he has to. For instance, lines such as “I am a black man, a poet, a bohemian/ & there isn’t a road my mind doesn’t travel,” define exactly what he means. I enjoy this in an author.
“The Chameleon Couch” won’t be a read everyone will enjoy but, for those who love intelligent stanzas and are intrigued at deciphering stories then this will be an excellent read I recommend.
Poetry is known for giving the audience an experience. It becomes personal with the readers when especially well known life history is involved. Yusef Komunyakaa brings the audience into the story with imagery told. Komunyakaa is a bit different than the traditional writer but, like all the famous greats, diversity is what them great. Komunyakaa’s work usually follows the same format in each poem.
Komunyakaa writes stories but breaks them up into lines of poetry. Most os his poems all follow the same syllabic style of writing. His work seems simple to read but there some occasions in which a simple 3 or 4 line verse can be the most difficult. For instance, the poem “Dead Reckoning” was more of a challenge to interpret with lines such as, “…& if humans try to sing this laughter/ their voices only cry out in the dark.” It takes time to construe but I enjoy finding out the meaning behind it.
Other poems in this book were much easier to digest. Poems such as “Ontology & Guisnness” and “Ten or Eleven Disguises,” are satisfyingly tasteful poems about modern times and are easier to reflect for today’s readers. Komunyakaa being from New Orleans is a huge fan of jazz and references several of the great in various poems. Again, this type of content makes the material in the poems much more relatable. At times Komunyakaa can be confusing with his subject matter. Like in the poem “A Translation of Silk” the first line state “One can shove his face against silk/ & breathe in centuries of perfume.” I was perplexed in the beginning of how can this poem reflect the balance of the book’s theme. I soon discovered that there were plenty more of poems, which didn’t fit in.
All the poems, whether traditional or non-traditional are all-good. If I had to pick a personal favorite of mine it would have to be “Poppies.” I find this poems interesting because, it is a poem about defining yourself. I can strongly relate to what the author is referring to and having pride in him. He talks about working hard but admits to taking short cuts in life if he has to. For instance, lines such as “I am a black man, a poet, a bohemian/ & there isn’t a road my mind doesn’t travel,” define exactly what he means. I enjoy this in an author.
“The Chameleon Couch” won’t be a read everyone will enjoy but, for those who love intelligent stanzas and are intrigued at deciphering stories then this will be an excellent read I recommend.
Read
February 9, 2013I agree with R. T. Smith that this is Komunyakaa’s best book since his Pulitzer-winning *Magic City* (1992), which, followed the next year by *Neon Vernacular* (http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...), was released Wesleyan University Press.Why? Komunyakaa is our most Antaeus-like poet, gathering strength as he moves toward native ground, metaphoric or literal. In “Blue Dementia,” for example, he pushes back, back, back to the Deep South, until he becomes almost a reincarnation of Robert Johnson:
Today,
already I've seen three dark-skinned men
discussing the weather with demons
& angels, gazing up at the clouds
& squinting down into iron grates
along the fast streets of luminous encounters.
I double-check my reflection in plate glass
& wonder, Am I passing another
Lucky Thompson or Marion Brown
cornered by a blue dementia,
another dark-skinned man
who woke up dreaming one morning
& then walked out of himself
dreaming? Did this one dare
to step on a crack in the sidewalk,
to turn a midnight corner & never come back
whole, or did he try to stare down a look
that shoved a blade into his heart?
I mean, I also know something
about night riders & catgut. Yeah,
honey, I know something about talking with ghosts.
Komunyakaa’s attempts to have fun with the “neon vernacular” of the post-punk period—in another poem, he explains to a young *inamorata* the difference between “courtly” and “Courtney” “love”—notwithstanding, I suspect what cost him all the glittering prizes last year is his constant poetic self-excoriation for the suicide of his partner, Reetika Vazirani, who, before taking her own life, murdered their son, Jehan. To add insult to injury, at least in the reading eyes—and ears—of some, would have been his vicious adaptation of the language of slavery to describe his own guilt over the tragic, horrific occurrence in a work such as the following:
You're special
You're not like the others. Yes,
I'll break you with fist and cat o'nine.
I'll thoroughly break you, head to feet,
but sister, I'll break you most dearly
with sweet words.
Of which he has many. I, for one, look forward to more.
Today,
already I've seen three dark-skinned men
discussing the weather with demons
& angels, gazing up at the clouds
& squinting down into iron grates
along the fast streets of luminous encounters.
I double-check my reflection in plate glass
& wonder, Am I passing another
Lucky Thompson or Marion Brown
cornered by a blue dementia,
another dark-skinned man
who woke up dreaming one morning
& then walked out of himself
dreaming? Did this one dare
to step on a crack in the sidewalk,
to turn a midnight corner & never come back
whole, or did he try to stare down a look
that shoved a blade into his heart?
I mean, I also know something
about night riders & catgut. Yeah,
honey, I know something about talking with ghosts.
Komunyakaa’s attempts to have fun with the “neon vernacular” of the post-punk period—in another poem, he explains to a young *inamorata* the difference between “courtly” and “Courtney” “love”—notwithstanding, I suspect what cost him all the glittering prizes last year is his constant poetic self-excoriation for the suicide of his partner, Reetika Vazirani, who, before taking her own life, murdered their son, Jehan. To add insult to injury, at least in the reading eyes—and ears—of some, would have been his vicious adaptation of the language of slavery to describe his own guilt over the tragic, horrific occurrence in a work such as the following:
You're special
You're not like the others. Yes,
I'll break you with fist and cat o'nine.
I'll thoroughly break you, head to feet,
but sister, I'll break you most dearly
with sweet words.
Of which he has many. I, for one, look forward to more.
December 5, 2011
At his best, Komunyakaa's probably the strongest voice in contemporary American poetry, but it's been a while since he's published a collection that matches Dien Cau Dau, Copacetic, Magic City or Thieves of Paradise. The Chameleon Couch maintains a higher level throughout than his last several collections--War Horses, Taboo, Talking Dirty to the Gods, Totem. But it faded in and out on me a bit, especially in the poems that feel like continuations of personal conversations I don't have enough information to fully understand. Still the best poems here deserve a place in Komunyakaa's greatest hits, among them "Canticle," "Ignis Fatuus," "Ode to the Shakuhachi," "Fata Morgana," "Conceived in Time of War," "Poppies," "Blue Demntia," "Ode to the Guitar," "How It Is," "Surrender," "Gone," and "Togetherness." Actually, looking at the list, I'm going to give the collection a fourth star. For almost anyone else, I'd be delighted to find twelve keepers in a slim volume; for Yusef, it's still a bit of a disappointment.
May 13, 2013
This is my first Komunyakaa collection to read, and I was only familiar with a few of his poems like "Facing It" and "Slam, Dunk, & Hook" going into this book. Both of these poems are fairly concrete and easy to understand. I thought I would get more like them in The Chameleon Couch. Boy, was I wrong. Maybe I'm not smart enough to appreciate all the allusions in these poems. Or maybe I just like my poetry a little more straightforward.
My only favorites:
Ode to the Chameleon
English
The Beautiful Quickness of a Street Boy
My only favorites:
Ode to the Chameleon
English
The Beautiful Quickness of a Street Boy
November 23, 2015
from "Three Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion", pg. 48
A twisted globe of flesh
is held together by what
it pushes against.
from "Green", pg. 78
I've known of secret graves guarded
by the night owl in oak & poplar
I've known police dogs on choke chains.
I've known how "We Shall Overcome"
feels on a half-broken tongue,
from "The Window Dresser's Song", pg. 106
They come from the outer boroughs
with endangered songs in their heads.
My great flair for hues and stripes
wows them on this city sidewalk,
poses my mannequins perfect
behind Plexiglas. We slow dance
A twisted globe of flesh
is held together by what
it pushes against.
from "Green", pg. 78
I've known of secret graves guarded
by the night owl in oak & poplar
I've known police dogs on choke chains.
I've known how "We Shall Overcome"
feels on a half-broken tongue,
from "The Window Dresser's Song", pg. 106
They come from the outer boroughs
with endangered songs in their heads.
My great flair for hues and stripes
wows them on this city sidewalk,
poses my mannequins perfect
behind Plexiglas. We slow dance
August 13, 2020
I would re - read this again. It was so raw, intense and deep. That sticker of 'National book award winner' is on the cover for a reason. My top 3 favorite poems from this book are Dead Reckoning, Fatamorgana and The Hedonist. This is the first book that i read from Yusef Komunyakaa and despite a mixed reviews from his fans who said that this was not his best work, i was totally impressed with it.
February 18, 2014
I'm a fan of Yusef, this being more of his personal work. Not a solid 4 star for my liking but enjoyable poetry from the author. My favorites;
-Eclogue at Midnight
-Ignis Fatuus
-Dead Reckoning
-Conceived in a Time of War
-Unlikely Claims
-The Beautiful Quickness of a Street Boy
-Last of the Monkey Gods
-Gone
-Eclogue at Midnight
-Ignis Fatuus
-Dead Reckoning
-Conceived in a Time of War
-Unlikely Claims
-The Beautiful Quickness of a Street Boy
-Last of the Monkey Gods
-Gone
April 30, 2015
These poems are beautifully dangerous. They can only be read in small doses. I suffered physical pain from the intensity of the poems. I could only read them say 4 or 5 at a time without growing short of breath. I will have much more to say, after I go purchase the entire Komunyakaa canon and consume it, slowly.
October 24, 2012
Excellent book by Komunyakaa, selected as a finalist in this year's Griffin International Awards. Komunyakaa often surprises with his phrasing and timing. This is my favourite of his books that I've read.
December 15, 2013
Why did it take me so long to read works other than "Facing It" from Komunyakaa? I did the quiet poetry "oh my god" after so many lines, stanzas, and poems of this book. He blends Greek mythology, personal history, and blues into a stunning canticle.
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