
In memory of the soldiers lost in the Vietnam War, the Vietnam Veterans Memorial was dedicated in November of 1982 Washington, D.C. It honors U.S. service members of the U.S. armed forces who fought in the Vietnam War, service members who died in service in Vietnam/South East Asia, and those service members who were unaccounted for during the War. In March of 1982, Maya Lin, who was a senior undergraduate architecture student at Yale at the time, submitted the design for the Wall in a competition. Her design beat out 4,120 other designs and in her entry for the competition she envisions seeing her wall for the first time:
. . . the memorial appears as a rift in the earth—a long, polished black stone wall, emerging from and receding into the earth. . . . Walking into the grassy site contained by the walls . . . we can barely make out the carved names upon the memorial’s walls . . . seemingly infinite in number. . . .
When designing this monument Lin could not have imagined the response from visitors, especially of those who were veterans themselves. Today we find ourselves coping with war and tragedy through reading and writing. That is exactly what the poet Yusef Komunyakaa does when he describes his experience of visiting the Vietnam Veterans Memorial for the first time. According to "Yusef Komuyakaa: Facing It" by Robin Ekiss, Komunyakaa served in Vietnam as a correspondent and managing editor for the military newspaper Southern Cross from 1969-1970. In 1982, Komunyakaa began to reflect on his experiences. In his poem, Facing It, Komunyakaa’s response to his war experience is deeply shaped by his visit to Lin’s memorial. Inspired by the monument, he confronts his conflicted feelings about Vietnam, its legacy, and, even the part race plays in America.
Facing It
My black face fades,
hiding inside the black granite.
I said I wouldn't,
dammit: No tears.
I'm stone. I'm flesh.
My clouded reflection eyes me
like a bird of prey, the profile of night
slanted against morning. I turn
this way--the stone lets me go.
I turn that way--I'm inside
the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
again, depending on the light
to make a difference.
I go down the 58,022 names,
half-expecting to find
my own in letters like smoke.
I touch the name Andrew Johnson;
I see the booby trap's white flash.
Names shimmer on a woman's blouse
but when she walks away
the names stay on the wall.
Brushstrokes flash, a red bird's
wings cutting across my stare.
The sky. A plane in the sky.
A white vet's image floats
closer to me, then his pale eyes
look through mine. I'm a window.
He's lost his right arm
inside the stone. In the black mirror
a woman's trying to erase names:
No, she's brushing a boy's hair.
hiding inside the black granite.
I said I wouldn't,
dammit: No tears.
I'm stone. I'm flesh.
My clouded reflection eyes me
like a bird of prey, the profile of night
slanted against morning. I turn
this way--the stone lets me go.
I turn that way--I'm inside
the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
again, depending on the light
to make a difference.
I go down the 58,022 names,
half-expecting to find
my own in letters like smoke.
I touch the name Andrew Johnson;
I see the booby trap's white flash.
Names shimmer on a woman's blouse
but when she walks away
the names stay on the wall.
Brushstrokes flash, a red bird's
wings cutting across my stare.
The sky. A plane in the sky.
A white vet's image floats
closer to me, then his pale eyes
look through mine. I'm a window.
He's lost his right arm
inside the stone. In the black mirror
a woman's trying to erase names:
No, she's brushing a boy's hair.
Through reading and writing we are able to find closure, understanding, and hope. Reading Komunyakaa’s, Facing It, gives insight to the struggle not only he faces, but also the many veterans who have experienced the hardships of war and now live in the aftermath. Veterans risked their lives for us and our country. This Veteran’s Day make sure to thank the veterans you know for their hard work and dedication to this country.
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