Indochine: An Anniversary of Sorts - three poems

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Indochine - An Anniversary of Sorts

 

On the 26^th of October 1970 I returned from 18^th months in Viet-Nam and a brief side-trip into Cambodia. I was literally just a boy off the farm when I went, and was quite young when I wrote the following artless lines, with their conventional allusions, forced rhymes, and usage errors, on the 2^nd, 3^rd, and 4^th anniversaries. Perhaps there is one from the 1^st anniversary, but I can’t find it. Well, we are all are looking for something most days: a poem, truth, meaning, or some other trifle.

 

 

…the war – the frights…the smell of h.e., the horribly smashed men still moving like half-crushed beetles, the…corpses…all this shows rarely and faintly in memory…and often seems to have happened to someone else.

 

-C. S. Lewis, “Guns and Good Company,” Surprised by Joy

 

 

26 October 1972

 

The pecans are falling now

Onto the court-house lawn

Geese fly overhead, southbound

Misty dusk and chilly dawn

 

Two year from Viet-Nam

Two eternities from the Vam Co Tay

Elections now, and speeches

And I guess I’ll have my say

 

But the finality briefly denied me

Found many another man

And they’re not here for elections

And Autumn on the land

 

26 October 1973

 

I sit and smoke my pipe and think

Of things that I have seen

Easter seals and steering wheels

And jungle hot and green

 

I sit and smoke my pipe and ponder

The imponderable of God and man

The evening star over a flare-lit war

And souls as grains of sand

 

I sit and smoke my pipe and mourn

For the murdered

 

Many miles, and three years today

From the muddy, bloody waters

Of the Vam Co Tay

 

26 October 1974

 

Many miles

And four years today

From the muddy, bloody waters

Of the Vam Co Tay

 

All the death-hurt eases

And dreams are quieter now

But the hurting never ceases

And I can’t see when it will, or how

 

Four Octobers

Four Autumns today

From rain drizzling on the slimy banks

Of the Van Co Tay

 

“Go and make the world safe for democracy –

Like we did in 1917,” my aged ancestor said

Dear old man, he never lived to know

That sort of thing is dead

 

Grim memories

Of flare-lit nights and steaming days

Of men dying screaming

On the Vam Co Tay

 

The finality briefly denied me

Found many another man

And they’re not seeing the wild geese flying

Or Autumn on the land

 

Many miles

And four years today

From the muddy, bloody waters

Of the Vam Co Tay