Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Thursday, October 18, 2007

war poetry


Two nights ago I had the great pleasure of meeting and hearing poetry read by soldier/poet Brian Turner. His book of poems called Here,Bullet has garnered numerous awards around the country and rightfully so. The book is full of honest and raw observations of the war in Iraq, where Turner served as a Sergeant.

Brian Turner did things a bit backwards. He received his Masters Degree in English Lit. before joining the military. He has been writing for some time but the experience in Iraq seemed to charge his poetry with something else, something that language can't define. He says in one of his poems, "I have no words of war". Although he so eloquently paints a picture for us, you get the feeling that what he witnessed is, after all, unspeakable. This book is just a slice of it.

I had such a huge, passionate reaction to his poems when I first read the book. Hearing them read aloud sent shivers down my spine. You know why? Because we, citizens of America, never get to hear the soldier's voice or the truth for that matter and when we do hear it, it is shocking. We hear pundits on TV all day long arguing this and that, playing games with each other, saying that they know what's going on in the war. Well, they don't know shit about what's going on. Until you hear it from a soldier's mouth or you go there yourself, you will never know the horrors that come of war.

Brian Turner struck me as a strong and thoughtful man whose eyes hold deep wells of sad memories. A man, not physically wounded in battle, but wounded nonetheless. It would be impossible to come home after seeing the things he saw and not be changed, not to be hurt in some way. Because that is what's human. That is what we are missing in our national discussion. The humanity. There is a massive disconnect going on with this war and I think that it will be a great downfall for the next generation of Americans because they are inheriting a country that has been made to fear their own government, distracted and brainwashed. This is a sad day not just for our country, but for the world.

If you are sick of hearing what everyone thinks they know about war and you'd like to hear some truth you should read Here,Bullet. It's not a political book. It's an observation. You can take what you want from it but it will change you. Mr. Turner posed a great question to a group of students at the poetry reading. He asked, "Just as there are bombs exploding in Iraq, are there not bombs exploding over here, in our minds and in our hearts? If not, why not?"

Saturday, September 22, 2007

A Psalm of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow




Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, - act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sand of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

teatime in a dream with boy i used to know

a table separating us
two cups of tea
mine half empty already
yours still steaming
the spoon clinks against
the ceramic teacup
as i stir the honey
once more.

you are quiet today
i tell you
i’ve been missing you
for some time
and you only smile
as if you were waiting
all these years
for those words to
finally take flight
outside of me.

i'm sorry i was so scared
& i consistently picked
my mistakes like apples
from unforgiving trees
but mostly
i’m sorry that i forced you
to sit by and watch
while i ran around
trying to catch myself.