R.L. Barth, a Marine Corps veteran of the Vietnam War, has written a new poem, “Exercise”:
“The chopper
landed; in full combat gear
We loaded
single file to practice rappelling
Into a
jungle lacking an LZ.
The exercise
aborted when a cherry,
Some private
with a couple weeks in-country,
Lost his
grip and, turtle-like, free fell
Strapped to
a rucksack filled with radio,
Frags,
willie peter, loaded magazines,
Long
rations, C-4, flares, and sleeping bag.
He broke his
back, and we, with a reprieve
From
training on our time out of the bush,
Took to the
E-M club. We toasted him.”
Some annotations:
“LZ” is landing zone. “Cherry” is a new guy. “Frags” are fragmentation
grenades. “Willie peter” refers to white phosphorous grenades. “Long rations” are
freeze-dried field rations. “C-4” is a plastic explosive. “E-M club” is a bar
for enlisted men.
Bob’s poem has
a documentary feel until the final lines, when the grimly pragmatic humor of
men in combat takes over. The exercise is cancelled when the private is injured.
Time to celebrate.
And this, from an earlier war. After graduating
from Harvard in 1941, Howard Nemerov flew fifty combat missions with the Royal
Canadian Air Force as a fighter pilot and another fifty-seven with the Eighth
U.S. Army Air Force. “Night
Operations, Coastal Command RAF” (War
Stories: Poems About Long Ago and Now, 1987) describes even more wartime
accidents:
“Remembering
the war, I’d near believe
We didn’t
need the enemy, with whom
Our dark
encounters were confused and few
And quickly
done, so many of our lot
Did for
themselves in folly and misfortune.
“Some hit
our own barrage balloons, and some
Tripped over
power lines, coming in low;
Some swung
on takeoff, others overshot,
And two or
three forget to lower the wheels.
“There were
those that flew the bearing for the course
And flew
away forever: and the happy few
That homed
on Venus sinking beyond the sea
In fading
certitude. For all the skill,
For all the
time of training, you might take
The hundred steps in darkness, not the next.”
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