The survivor is spilling his bedpan. In 1954 the Geneva Accords were signed. I grit my teeth to myself to remember that girl smiling as she fought off her brothers and sisters. I started collecting volumes of poetry on the theme of war and combat and especially collections written by veterans of combat. Pulling the trigger is all we have.
Work eat sleep good bad work times. Dark themes imbue the poems; cruelty and inhumanity take center stage. She has half and I have half, if I can find it. Those who never lost a friend over there can never understand our level of frustration. But even the bamboo sleeping mat rolled in the corner, even the place of prayer, is clean. Over everything hangs Weigl's sense of helplessness.
Get out the plates and those who ate, those who spent the night. I thought I heard you call back my name then but white flares lit the sky casting empty streets in clean light and the firing stopped. Song of Napalm has some previous poetry, but that is okay. I've gifted this book to others who were traditional nonfiction readers with interest in military. Yet for Weigl the nearby trees morph into barbed wire and the distant thunder becomes the boom of incendiary blasts. To buy this book at the lowest price,. To fully make my point I have studied two poems, which I believe show his character as less self-absorbed as in the sexual referenced poems.
This experience confirmed that this sort of thing isn't for me; it sated my curiosity and left me disturbed but nightmare-free. The United States quickly became an ally with South Vietnam because they feared the spread of communism. Forget the stinking jungle, force your fingers between the lines. Throughout the poem, the speaker vacillates turns , seeing through alternate lenses of life and death. He must be shaking his head. But my favorite poem in the collection is the title poem. Images of murder, gore, torture, rape and cruelty real or staged lurk in the legion electronic corners.
The wide variety of poetic forms is one highpoint of the work. She thought it was stupid to tear money and when I handed it to her she turned to another soldier, new in country, who needed a girl. Many poets and authors write to portray the lasting memories that cause one to suffer from such a scary illness. So I can keep on living, So I can stay here beside you, I try to imagine she runs down the road and wings Beat inside her until she rises Above the stinking jungle and her pain Eases, and your pain, and mine. Weigl describes one of the cases where, despite all of the war going on around him, he still has time to consciously admire a beautiful girl, in an intermix of work the laundry girl and war. At the feet of their small Buddhas weary bar girls burned incense before the boy soldiers arrived to buy them tea and touch them where they pleased. I cherish Bruce Weigl's poetry as a great gift.
He undressed her for the last time, each piece of clothing a sacrifice she surrendered to the war the way the world had become. This is one of the first books of poetry I read on my own, that I found on my own and pulled from the shelf on a whim. By the time of the U. And a small man sits legs askew in the shadow the farthest wall casts halfway across the room. Like a blaze streaming down the trail. I'm a Vietnam vet and it was the first poetry I'd read that seemed like it was being written for me, and only me. Weigl was gracious enough to allow me permission to use Elegy at the end of my novel, Flowers of the Dinh Ba Forest and I was honored to use it.
The word song would encourage a feeling of something lovely and somewhat celebratory. The lie works only as long as it takes to speak And the girl runs only as far As the napalm allows Until her burning tendons and crackling Muscles draw her up into that final position Burning bodies so perfectly assume. Multiple poems in the work are worth reading again and again. Ever since the creation of the sling, spear, and bow and arrow, men have discovered ways to be better than their opponent. Air strikes and napalm attacks killed and scarred innocent civilians. Naming this poem Song of Napalm, for my wife, declares this man understands his hang up while trying to share it with his partner.
The poems in Song of Napalm describe a different reality; where you can't look away from live horrors and can't turn your mind from their memories. Fire has been around longer than humans. I have no excuse for myself. I can only compare Song of Napalm with the remarkable poetry of Wilfred Owen and Robert Graves. It is an angry assertion of the youth and life that was spent in Vietnam with such vast prodigality, as though youth and life were infinite. It is a cross to bear, the poem says, but it is one that must be and should be borne honestly, not sanitized or romanticized.