James Lenihan fought in Europe during World War II as a sergeant in the 104th Infantry Division. His son remembered him as a "tough customer" who didn't seem haunted by the war. So he was surprised when, sorting through his father's basement, he found a poem about his father's struggle to cope with killing a German soldier. He'd never known him to write any others.
The Defense Centers of Excellence, which helps veterans and their families recover from psychological health/traumatic brain injuries, published the poem, hoping it would help veterans and their families in their healing process.
Murder--So FoulI shot a man yesterday
And much to my surprise,
The strangest thing happened to me
I began to cry.He was so young, so very young
And Fear was in his eyes,
He had left his home in Germany
And came to Holland to die.And what about his Family
were they not praying for him?
Thank God they couldn't see their son
And the man that had murdered him.I knelt beside him
And held his hand--
I begged his forgiveness
Did he understand?It was the War
And he was the enemy
If I hadn't shot him
He would have shot me.I saw he was dying
And I called him "Brother"
But he gasped out one word
And that word was "Mother."I shot a man yesterday
And much to surprise
A part of me died with Him
When Death came to close
His eyes.
We can only hope that the poem gave James Lenihan some peace, and that his family's decision to publish the poem has given other veterans some peace as well. Along those lines, and in honor of Memorial Day, I've collected a few examples of poets struggling to come to terms with the grief and loss caused by war. They show how poetry can help us -- if only a little -- to understand the ultimate sacrifice made by veterans and their families.
One recent and powerful example is Brian Turner's "Ashbah," from his acclaimed 2005 book Here, Bullet. The book recounts Turner's experiences fighting in -- and coping with--the Iraq War. "Ashbah" meditates on both the American and the Iraqi dead.
The ghosts of American soldierswander the streets of
Balad by night,unsure of their way
home, exhausted,the desert wind
blowing trashdown the narrow
alleys as a voicesounds from the
minaret, a soulful callreminding them how
alone they are,how lost. And the Iraqi
dead,they watch in silence
from rooftopsas date palms line the
shore in silhouette,leaning toward Mecca
when the dawn wind
blows.
The poet Walt McDonald, a veteran himself, lost his father in World War II. His poem "My Father on His Shield" captures his struggles to come to terms with that death, played out in the symbol of a sled his father built for him.
Shiny as wax, the cracked veneer Scotch-taped and brittle. I can't bring my father back. Legs crossed, he sits there brashwith a private's stripe, a world away
from the war they would ship him to
within days. Cannons flank his faceand banners above him like the flag
my mother kept on the mantel, folded tight,
white stars sharp-pointed on a field of blue.I remember his fists, the iron he pounded,
five-pound hammer ringing steel,
the frame he made for a sled that winterbefore the war. I remember the rope in his fist
around my chest, his other fist
shoving the snow, and downhill we dived,his boots by my boots on the tongue,
pines whishing by, ice in my eyes, blinking
and squealing. I remember the troop train,steam billowing like a smoke screen.
I remember wrecking the sled weeks later
and pounding to beat the iron flat,but it stayed there bent
and stacked in the barn by the anvil,
and I can't bring him back.
Finally, here's the powerful poem "Facing It" by Yusef Komunyakaa, a veteran of the Vietnam War.
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.
Have a blessed weekend. And feel free to add your own poems celebrating Memorial Day in the comments section below.
Travis Nichols: The Poetry Feminaissance
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The soldier came home to his child and his wife
in the dank, dark chill of the gloaming.
In shadows he came, sans spirit and life,
the end of his days sent roaming.
Oh weep, sad woman, your lover is dead,
come home in a casket at gloaming;
a flag for a shroud and a letter instead,
but no way to still your moaning.
Oh cry, poor child, your father has left,
never again to be seen.
Never again will he carry your heft
on shoulders as broad as a dream.
Oh, wail aloud to skies and to God,
but the rest of the world's not hearing.
Nor listening now, on his way to the sod,
is the future of all your endearing.
Thus ever it was in this world and in time
when soldiers enlist for a cause,
when honor and trust and life's on the line
while loved ones are given to pause.
And ever it was that the truth of the thing,
the tide that keeps returning,
is the waste of life the Herlequins bring
while the world around them's burning
and soldiers come home, to hearth or to earth,
their days at an end, and their roaming.
And all are in caskets, some seeking re-birth,
in the dank, dark chill of the gloaming.
*Herlequin: a mythical leader who led demons across the sky on ghostly horses, terrifying peasants at night - the threat of which feudal nobility used to control the populace.
To kill and die
For one
For all.
I have witnessed the horror
of horrors
and seen the dead
And dying.
With my hands
I caused violent oblivion
and stanched
life's blood.
It was not me
but my duty
my country
was it?
Through war
I now know
peace
and its reflection.
Post Script; I know very little about the art but offer these words in hopes someone might find a comfort from them.
My sword upon my thigh,
I think on old ill fortunes
Of better men than I.
Think I, the round world over,
What golden lads are low
With hurts not mine to mourn for
And shames I shall not know.
What evil luck soever
For me remains in store,
'Tis sure much finer fellows
Have fared much worse before.
So here are things to think on
That ought to make me brave,
As I strap on for fighting
My sword that will not save.
A. E. Housman
A soldier's Mother worries when he goes to war.
She wonders if he is safe and happy,
or if she will see him any more.
She knows he doesn't want this war,
But she can also realize
He's fighting for a freedom,
This freedom is their Lives.
I don't want this War,
But people hear my voice;
I'm fighting for something special,
My Mother's right of choice.
So if I should die in combat,
Mother, please don't weep;
For I would rather die protecting you
Than die while I'm asleep.
If God should take me unto him,
During hate, hostility and war,
Remember, Mother, I love my country,
But I love you even more.
Written by
W. S. C
in VietNam March 1968
Killed in VietNam July 28,1968
i barely had a conception of war, let alone ......vietnam
my brother was pretty good about writing,
about 2 weeks went by, with no word from him.....
i remember my mother going to the mailbox, with tears in her eyes...
and hearing my father's sobs on the phone.
i remember going to my room, and praying and listened to "Bridge over Troubled Waters"
(nearly in a fetal position)
My wonderful brother ........made it thru. he came home.
i can't imagine what families went thru, not as lucky as mine......
my heart has always reached out to them.
Peace and thank you for sharing that poem.....
Our rifles were loaded with chaulk projectiles
The teargas was real
But the tears were artificial
Yet not long ago and far away
The rounds possesed lead projectiles
That were deadly fitted with steel jackets
Real tears had right reason to fall
Blood freshly spilled, friends newly killed
The hamlets torched with Zippo lighters
Pristene jungles engulfed by napalm fighters
These people must be freed
Cause the north looks south with greed
These old women weep
For freedom's injured ideal
Soldiers in their newly captured jeep
Sing for their vaguely shrouded victories
These old men distainfully leer
At fragment grenadiers
That breed this teargas of decay
In hopes of a better day.
When will death's drama end?
D.J. Fahey
"if you just read this blog, i want you to know something. i am the guy from the picture. the voice on the phone. someone's memory. sometimes that's all i can be. it's all i can offer. i know it's not enough, but this is who i am. for now, at least. for you who just read this, you probably don't know me. some of you may. it doesn't matter. i just want you to know that we are not real people out here in the desert. we are half people. i have left my heart behind, in the care of another and in that way i am not complete. i don't fear for its well being. it is safe right where it is, with her. we all do this. we leave our hearts at home with our loved ones, our children, our families. and as long as we are someone's love and wish and memory we can never die, for we will always be as we are now. on that far and distant shore, relegated to love and memory. all that to say this people. having her there waiting for me keeps me sane. it keeps me going. she takes what i can give and never asks for what i can't. i am so very grateful. as for you baby.... screw the box. i love you."
He left the word to us all. Love is what binds through space and time and life and death, otherwise...what is the point. Your love, your friend, your heart...though his physical being exists no more, from his words I know he gave gifts yet to be unwrapped. Smile for he is there with you. Smile, for you were fortunate enough to have encountered the essence of love and in a world such as this that is never guaranteed. Ride that beautiful wind throughout the journey that is your life and be you strengthened.
May we cease finding reasons to kill – soon!
that served
their life was their love for their handler.......
to serve, save, protect.......
one word... command.
in the thick, where no man dared to wander.
we cant forget our brave and valiant canines...
man's best friend
your buddy will stay by your side, until the end.
God bless our dogs.
Kristianna, 0E15, War Dog, and my friend.
THX in advance.
Happy Memorial Day
How kind of you to remember my friend
And lay flowers by his grave to commend
Past deeds he’d done to save comrades lives
Posthumous honors appreciated by them and their wives
You annually commemorate and on him bestow
Many accolades but only we his comrades know
Every path he crossed leaving cover behind
Moved by the thick of dark that he might find
Our enemies’ locations and returned before light
Risked it all to give us a better chance to fight
I was there that night he said he’ll be back
All was dismal, we were retreating from an attack
Lives had been lost and ours were sure to be gone
Death was a certainty by the break of dawn
And though he never returned he led the enemy astray
You’re kind to remember him and make this a Happy Memorial Day
Remembering the Fallen
Regiments fought that we
Embrace life and live freely
Military battles fought long ago
Enriched our nation for our people to grow
Marines and army men would sacrifice
But war Vets for years are not treated nice
Every man that fought whether dead or alive
Risk much for their homeland to survive
It’s from this respect and admiration that we
Now celebrate Memorial Day annually
Getting together with love ones to remember
Those who fought that we wouldn’t suffer
Horrific assaults by the threatening enemy
Emerging from remote lands like the Iraqi
Remembering the Fallen
Regiments fought that we
Embrace life and live freely
Military battles fought long ago
Enriched our nation for our people to grow
Marines and army men would sacrifice
But war Vets for years are not treated nice
Every man that fought whether dead or alive
Risk much for their homeland to survive
It’s from this respect and admiration that we
Now celebrate Memorial Day annually
Getting together with love ones to remember
Those who fought that we wouldn’t suffer
Horrific assaults by the threatening enemy
Emerging from remote lands like the Iraqi
The Voices At Arlington Cemetery
Today I shed quiet tears
Had a sadness like previous years
Emotions still overwhelm me
Veterans pass by but its like they can’t see
Old friends congregate and one of them says
I lost my friends in enemy bays
Couldn’t find them when we converged
Enemy fire destroyed our vessel as it emerged
Sometimes the stories are dismal and confuse
All the details twisted, the veterans are bemuse
They try to remember but it’s all blank
All they talk about is the approaching enemy tank
Rocket fire was rampant and whistled by
Lieutenant as brave as he was, he wanted to cry
I saw puffs of smoke that swallowed my friends
None survived the blast and now fate sends
Good men to unmarked graves and no one knows
The identity of the men who lay in Arlington’s rows
On Memorial Day many come to honor their lives
No one even knows their children, their wives
Can’t speak with familiarity by the graveside
Eyes are teary though they don’t know who had died
Makes me teary too cause I clearly see
Every friend who returns here religiously
They march slowly and sometimes whistle the Taps
Empathetically they often remove their caps
Remy, gravitates to my strange grave with our kid, not alone
Youth tore me up; he placed items on my unmarked headstone
written by
Khaidji
The Voices At Arlington Cemetery
Today I shed quiet tears
Had a sadness like previous years
Emotions still overwhelm me
Veterans pass by but its like they can’t see
Old friends congregate and one of them says
I lost my friends in enemy bays
Couldn’t find them when we converged
Enemy fire destroyed our vessel as it emerged
Sometimes the stories are dismal and confuse
All the details twisted, the veterans are bemuse
They try to remember but it’s all blank
All they talk about is the approaching enemy tank
Rocket fire was rampant and whistled by
Lieutenant as brave as he was, he wanted to cry
I saw puffs of smoke that swallowed my friends
None survived the blast and now fate sends
Good men to unmarked graves and no one knows
The identity of the men who lay in Arlington’s rows
On Memorial Day many come to honor their lives
No one even knows their children, their wives
Can’t speak with familiarity by the graveside
Eyes are teary though they don’t know who had died
Makes me teary too cause I clearly see
Every friend who returns here religiously
They march slowly and sometimes whistle the Taps
Empathetically they often remove their caps
Remy, gravitates to my strange grave with our kid, not alone
Youth tore me up; he placed items on my unmarked headstone
It's "The War Prayer" by Mark Twain - http://www.warprayer.org/
Wait for me
Konstantin Simonov
Wait for me, and I'll return
Only wait very hard
Wait when you are filled with sorrow...
Wait in the sweltering heat
Wait when the others have stopped waiting,
Forgetting their yesterdays.
Wait even when from afar no letters come to you
Wait even when others are tired of waiting...
And when friends sit around the fire,
Drinking to my memory,
Wait, and do not hurry to drink to my memory too.
Wait. For I'll return,defying every death.
And let those who do not wait say that I was lucky.
They will never understand that in the midst of death,
You with you waiting saved me.
Only you and I know how I survived.
It's because you waited, as no one else did.
Go here to learn more about your great-uncle -- he won the Silver Star:
http://boards.ancestry.com/surnames.lavalla/26/mb.ashx
Louis didn't die in the main campaign on Guadel Canal, he was attacked by a sniper several months later. Uncle Louis also was awarded the purple heart. That is the correct Louis LaValla. His sister Leone was my grandmother. Thank you again, I sure appriciate it.