Saturday, March 14, 2015


A pastoral scene, somewhere in Indochina

Women on a country boat, Vietnam

The songs I heard when growing up were songs
that still remembered village, forest, field.
Their cadences were softer and they still
retained the sounds of water and of wind,
the calls of beasts, of insects and of birds,
of humans hailing over distances,
of lullabies, of whisperings of love,
of village dances, dirges, plaintive chants
addressed to spirits and to feeling hearts...
But now I hear the songs of industry,
the sounds of pistons and of furnaces,
the screams of engines and of humans mixed –
as both are pushed to limits – sounds of stress,
of pain, of malice and of agony –
that mimic too the sounds of modern wars –
of screaming jets, of helicopters, guns –
the thunder of the cannons, missiles, bombs –
not music this – but hell’s infernal roar.

Bombing and defoliation, Vietnam War, 1960's-1970's



Women and children taking cover in a muddy ditch, Vietnam War


2015 February 25th, Wed.?
posted March 14th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York

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