Autumn has never failed me,
and perhaps, associatively, the fall
of leaves and brace of freeze
avails itself to brothers in arms, all.
Yesterday I walked the grounds
of Babi Yar: dawn was breaking, birds
still waking, vagrant dogs around
the quietude yawned allusive words
and made me think of brother Jon
—his birthday hours away, his guidance
reading Babi Yar and themes beyond,
his military past and vast remembrance...
Today is Veterans’ Day: poppies here
now volley red and white—the former for
the musk-ox fight to circle what is dear,
the latter for the need to wage no further war
and instead prepare for paradise.
“Simon son of John, do you love me truly
more than these?” Silence may be wise,
but surely some response attends eternity.
Tomorrow is our autumn solstice,
meting harvest hauls and hibernation,
memories of misery and armistice,
colonizing gall with native celebration,
and through it all a gift divine.
“You know all things,” Peter said,
convicted of an augury sublime,
winter-bound but Eastering instead.
Thank you, brother
ReplyDeleteI always like your poetic efforts and successes, but I think I like even more your fuel for the fires of conversation. This weekend, Mom sparked a discussion about the overuse (or undervalue) of allusions. A couple of phrases in your poem, which of course came after our discussion, are perfect tinder to continue it.
1. When the dogs “yawned allusive words”
Mom had been wondering if allusions weren’t sometimes too distractive from the poet’s point; I countered, still speaking from my year in the Waste Land, that allusions were the necessary opposite of solipsism, acknowledging that we have to look beyond our own stories, especially when we grapple with tougher issues and recurring themes. We need our Virgil guides, our Peter examples, even our WWII references, to make sense of our glimpses of heaven and hell, to help us be a rock in the long months before Easter and to let others walk the grounds of Babi Yar.
Then again, I have to ask. What’s with the yawning? Please, explain! My vast remembrance, such as it is, is failing me on this one.
2. “Silence may be wise, but...”
Another thing allusions do is to foster literature’s continual renaissance. Lest we forget! One random phrase jumped out at me especially this time: “brothers in arms.” There is an intriguing ambiguity in this phrase: are the brother soldiers on the same side of the fence, arm in arm, or are they enemies on opposite sides, arm to arm, who recognize their fraternity? The phrase is not in my Bartletts, but if my Google sourcing is right it seems to be more of the latter. Woodrow Wilson, on the 50th anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg (150 years ago this year!), spoke of the peace that followed our civil war: “How wholesome and healing the peace has been! We have found one another again as brothers and comrades in arms, enemies no longer...”
But there are at least two honorable mentions from Henry V: “For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.” And “Yoke-fellows in arms, Let us to France, like horse-leeches, my boys.”
And a few later quotes, just for balance: “They fought together as brothers in arms; they died together and now they sleep side by side.” — Admiral Chester Nimitz. And “We're fools to make war On our brothers in arms.” Mark Knopfler.
Again, thank you Dan, for fueling this fire. And, for the record, I was a peacetime veteran and proud of it, but this day is for the truest brothers in arms.
Middle kid that I am, I'll defer to both sides of the debate. Mom's right in the imperative to 'keep it real' and to be considerate of an audience--not necessarily of their naivete, but of their different empirical journey. Finnigan's Wake, in this regard is quite 'unreadable'. You and Thomas Stearns are right, too, in the exploration and discovery that literature compels, without which, we wallow in a limited plot. I overdo my propensity to use and extend allusions. On the other hand, I make my living not on my art but in working in art and teaching empathetically in this regard.
ReplyDeleteThe dogs that morning literally were yawning, and my first instinct was to describe that as 'elusive'. But they weren't eluding anyone--not abashed to be there, to be seen as strays, to demonstrate ambivalence. Humans who show up don't yawn (on par with giggling at a funeral?) but then again very few actually do put that on their itinerary. I don't have a dog in mind, and--believe it or not--I wasn't thinking about that forced ingredient in the Lost Menagerie collection. I already knew the musk-ox circle was coming up.
I began this poem with Dire Straits song in mind, not that it's remotely on anyone's "'gin and agin" list. Knoffler writes reasonable lyrics--nothing too profound--but in listening carefully I caught the sense of allies AND empathetic soldiers who may be on opposite sides of a divide (an ocean, in the case of the song). Wilfred Owen's "Strange Encounter", featured as the 6th movement in Benjamin Britten's 'War Requiem' effectively reunites fallen soldiers in a sort of purgatory: "I am the enemy you killed, my friend [....] Let us sleep now, let us sleep now..."
And appreciating the blood sacrifice of war veterans, I absolutely salute those who patrolled the airwaves in Misawa and MeinRhine, played basketball like Uncle Dave, started smoking:( in that 1950s perk, went to Turkmenistan to serve and protect in the vagaries of an unknown 'peace'. Think of all the women who have soldiered more (or better) than men. Veterans' Day is simultaneous to Remembrance Day, and I am glad, even if it causes a few arguments in Canada, that white poppies are worn on some lapels that may have had red poppies in years past, or no poppies at all.
But mainly, I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. You have positively fueled our hearths for more than 50 years!