Here's the silly-ass poem i had to interpret for something a notch way below than useless.

Tangina, I'm exasperated and I need to zone out...

"Woebegone"
by Yusef Komunyakaa

We pierce tongue
& eyebrow, foreskin
& nipple, as if threading wishes
on gutstring. Gold bead
& question mark hook
into loopholes & slip
through. We kiss
like tiny branding irons.
Loved ones guard words
of praise, & demigods mortgage
nighttime. Beneath bruised
glamor, we say, "I'll show
how much I love by
how many scars I wear."
As we steal the last
drops of anger, what can we
inherit from Clarksdale's blue
tenements? Medieval & modern,
one martyr strokes another
till Torquemada rises.
We trade bouquets
of lousewort, not for the red
blooms & loud perfume,
but for the lovely spikes.


To begin with, I deem that the poem "Woebegone" illustrates human nature in its struggle to be free of distress. In addition to that, the popular trend among the youth in the '90s, with which they exuded their pent-up sentiments, may represent that struggle. Though it can be abstruse upon skimming through it initially, Yusef Komunyakaa's work can be as thought-provoking as any good poem should be.

The first eight lines depict a somewhat heavily festooned couple. Such were the hoi polloi who mirrored Bon Jovi in the 80's or Kurt Cobain in the 90's. The words "foreskin" and "nipple" have even added a more punk-underground feel to it. Simple enough, we can obtain both a freethinking atmosphere and a lucid milieu already from the poem. Moving on, I think that the line "Loved ones guard words of praise,& demigods mortgage nighttime" conveys how human nature (regardless of the era when they were immensely influenced by) finds its way to a redefined emancipation of themselves. The thing is people value what seems to be beneficial to their image. They attach themselves to these thoughts, and consequently, they tend to endeavor relentlessly to achieve such gratification. They pretend to be the so-called half-divine influential, who are ensnared in their travesties of generating these inane ideologies and dead pledges, when they "mortgage nighttime." Such is a means to gain freedom for them. Halfway through, I think that the only quoted part in the poem ("I'll show how much I love by how many scars I wear.") says something about how people see themselves as being persecuted for their desires and aspirations. And the semi-subdued angst just goes on when the persona attests to how they have "stolen the last drops of anger" when something momentous like Clarksdale's blue tenements are given in the poem where the persona struggles again to express some sort of perplexity. Torquemada, who was known for his inhuman cruelty and influence, (not to mention his self-righteous medieval bullshitting) is but a metaphor to a firm (and at times, unjust) authority, whom certain people owe a consequence or two to. Moreover, we can see that a side of mankind gives these symbolic "bouquets" so as to get something back for itself, such as the "lovely spikes." Maybe sex, for instance, can be the "lovely spikes," which outweigh genuine love for some people, which is an evident defect of human nature. On to another point, the only minor flaw could be how the chief message is not too well drawn out as a whole. However, somewhere along simply reading it and scrutinizing it, there is a deep-seated principle that has made the ideas blend well and support a more abstract yet clear message.

The good thing with this work is that the ideas have contributed to the whole vivid narrative of "Woebegone" and how the persona's feelings surfaced when he narrated based on his observation of the kind of human nature tackled in this poem and how perhaps a base idea of freedom is acquired by teeming along with every hurt soul out there.


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Oh well. Evaporation is but a real thing right now...