March 5, Mike Billard Leave a comment When I was a kid I took a hunter safety course, which is to say I took a class on how not to accidentally shoot either myself or my fellow hunters while I was failing miserably at intentionally shooting my prey. Of all the statistics and stories the instructor used to bolster the safety rules the one I found most interesting was that of how far off the target a bullet could travel if deflected even slightly. Say a bullet struck a strand of barbed wire and deflected off its path by a quarter inch. A half mile later that bullet would be dozens of feet off target.
Burning Shit at An Khe Into that pit I had to climb down With a rake and matches; eventually, You had to do something Because it just kept piling up And it wasn't our country, it wasn't Our air thick with the sick smoke So another soldier and I Lifted the shelter off its blocks To expose the homemade toilets: Fifty-five gallon drums cut in half With crude wood seats that splintered.
We soaked the piles in fuel oil And lit the stuff And tried to keep the fire burning.
To take my first turn I paid some kid A care package of booze from home. But when my turn came again There was no one So I stuffed cotton up my nose And marched up that hill. We poured And poured until it burned and black Smoke curdled But the fire went out. Heavy artillery Hammered the evening away in the distance, Vietnamese laundry women watched From a safe place, laughing.
I'd grunted out eight months Of jungle and thought I had a grip on things But we flipped the coin and I lost And climbed down into my fellow soldiers' Shit and began to sink and didn't stop Until I was deep to my knees. Liftships Cut the air above me, the hacking Blast of their blades Ripped dust in swirls so every time I tried to light a match It died And it all came down on me, the stink And the heat and the worthlessness Until I slipped and climbed Out of that hole and ran Past the olive drab Tents and trucks and clothes and everything Green as far from the shit As the fading light allowed.
Only now I can't fly. I lay down in it And finger paint the words of who I am Across my chest Until I'm covered and there's only one smell, One word.Julian Weigl is a football player from Germany, in Bad Aibling, Germany).
Summary: This collection includes selected poems from each of Bruce Weigl's seven books, beginning with Executioner () and continuing through Sweet Lorain (), as well as a group of new poems. Soon after turning eighteen, Bruce Weigl enlisted in the Army and served in Vietnam for one year, beginning in December He was awarded the Bronze Star and returned to his hometown of Lorain, Ohio, where he enrolled in Lorain County Community College. Verse Daily, a quality online web anthology of poetry. A poem a day, along with our complete archives, and poem selections from the web.
Julian Weigl plays at Borussia Dortmund. Bruce Weigl’s poem “Burning Shit at An Khe” is a manifestation of this concept of how people are products of their environments. Through diction, tone, and mood, Weigl conveys the message that it is not what a person does, rather how things are done unto them, that defines who they are.
Bruce Weigl’s Song of Napalm is another collection of poems dealing with the impact of the Vietnam War.
Robert Stone says in the introduction, “Bruce Weigl’s poetry is a refusal to forget. Robert Stone says in the introduction, “Bruce Weigl’s poetry is a refusal to forget/5. Tumblr is a place to express yourself, discover yourself, and bond over the stuff you love.
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Summary: This collection includes selected poems from each of Bruce Weigl's seven books, beginning with Executioner () and continuing through Sweet Lorain (), as well as a group of new poems.