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"On some scared slope of battered hill..."
I don’t really know how to go about this so I guess what I’ll do is just put myself out there and maybe you can just take from it what you can use.
We are eons apart in age but for both of us the bullets flew and the people died just yesterday… or last night.
The main thing is don’t let the memories get the best of you…don’t off yourself, your brothers need you to help them get through it. One of the best things you can do is sit together in the twilight of an evening and talk about the war.
I never have been able to decide not to dwell on them. So, when they wake up I go over to my buddy’s house (he flew choppers for the Herd at the battle of hill 875 and was shot down twice and wounded) and we sit there and talk and drink a couple of beers and watch the Columbia River roll on. You’ve got to have guys around you that feel the same things you feel. It’s more than just talk; it’s a kind of silent communion.
This is what we are now brothers. We are a rare breed. We chose to jump out of airplanes and carry guns and walk in the valley of the shadow. Hell man!…we made the valley of the shadow of death what it was.
Anyone know who Pete Seeger is? No? It doesn’t matter. His uncle, Alan Seeger was a French Foreign Legionnaire killed in WW1. He wrote the following poem.
Now don’t go negative on me. Read it and think about it. We all had those rendezvous each time we went on a patrol or made contact with the enemy
I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air—
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath—
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.
God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear . . .
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.
We are eons apart in age but for both of us the bullets flew and the people died just yesterday… or last night.
The main thing is don’t let the memories get the best of you…don’t off yourself, your brothers need you to help them get through it. One of the best things you can do is sit together in the twilight of an evening and talk about the war.
I never have been able to decide not to dwell on them. So, when they wake up I go over to my buddy’s house (he flew choppers for the Herd at the battle of hill 875 and was shot down twice and wounded) and we sit there and talk and drink a couple of beers and watch the Columbia River roll on. You’ve got to have guys around you that feel the same things you feel. It’s more than just talk; it’s a kind of silent communion.
This is what we are now brothers. We are a rare breed. We chose to jump out of airplanes and carry guns and walk in the valley of the shadow. Hell man!…we made the valley of the shadow of death what it was.
Anyone know who Pete Seeger is? No? It doesn’t matter. His uncle, Alan Seeger was a French Foreign Legionnaire killed in WW1. He wrote the following poem.
Now don’t go negative on me. Read it and think about it. We all had those rendezvous each time we went on a patrol or made contact with the enemy
I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air—
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath—
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.
God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear . . .
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.
Views: 30
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Comment by Kanani Fong on October 14, 2010 at 3:55pm -
Beautiful post, Jim. I think you're right. Veterans need one another. I've seen men who on first glimpse you'd think they have nothing in common. One has on a jeans jacket vest with biker togs. The other has on a suit. But they get together and talk, and talk, and talk. They have plenty in common, something most people will never understand.
I think it's like that with wives, too.
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Comment by Jim Bethea on October 14, 2010 at 8:43pm -
Thanks Kanani.
For some of us it's like living two lives at once. The boy-man soldier is always with us, like a shadow. He never changes, never ages and is always apraising the current life relative to the experiences of war.
I like to collect war poetry that rings true to me and I'll continue to post it as time goes by. Most of it is pretty dark, but thats the nature of it. Some of it brings tears.
It's very pleasant to hear from you Kanani. Thank you for your comment.
PS,
Great work that you and your husband are doing for the troops. I remember getting card and gifts from people in the States, it was like Christmas.
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