For John, on the 70th Anniversary of D-Day

(unfinished)
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A storm north of Scotland
had created high seas beneath the Jurassic plateau that rose
one hundred feet about the rocky shore.
Not perfect weather that morning, but good enough for Overlord.
One hundred seventy five thousand men --
for the biggest military operation in history.

I knew someone who was there, who had seen it all.

"We entered the channel on a Liberty ship,
then off-loaded to a landing craft. Watching the Rangers climb Point de Hoc
was the greatest sight I'd ever seen.
They had rocks and hand grenades raining
down on their heads.  It took nerve, but they made it.  They shot ladders
into the cliffs and scaled them to fight the Germans,
often in hand to hand combat.  It was an awful sight.  We prayed as a platoon."

D-Day had arrived
at Pointe du Hoc's vertical cliffs.
Led by Rudder, with Eisenhower at the helm.
"The eyes of the world are upon you.
The hopes and prayers of liberty loving people
 march with you."

John could remember exact dates and quotes.  His memory amazed me.

From that first day

he reminded me of Hemingway
or an old sea captain.

With his piercing brown eyes and kindly smile,

he hovered over me and leaned on his cane.

His bearded face broke into a grin.
"Come on in," he smiled,
 leading me to an easy chair in his elegant apartment.

Painstakingly I had prepared,
photocopying releases, guidelines, preparing questions:
Like "How did you get through it?"

"Did you get drafted or enlist?"

 "Why did you choose the Army?"

"Well," he replied, "there wasn't much for a healthy young man to do then,

just out of high school, so me and some friends took the train
 to St. Louis to enlist.  War fever was on!"

I wondered how much news of the Holocaust had reached
the farming community where he lived.

Did he know about Kiev, Denmark, and France,
so many Jews never given a chance?

Or how Warsaw Jews resisted, plotting a revolution.
How they fought thirty days to end the Final Solution.

On a wing and a prayer.

Sundays at Two

1.  From that first day,

2.  John reminded me of Hemingway 

      (only taller).

3.  With his piercing blue eyes and kindly smile,

4.  he hovered over me and leaned on his cane.

5.  His bearded face broke into a wide grin.

6.  "Come on in," he smiled, leading me to an

7.  easy chair in the elegant apartment.

8.  Painstakingly I had prepared for this moment,

9.  photocopying releases, guidelines, preparing questions:

10. "How did you get through it?"

11. "Did you get drafted or enlist?"

12.  "Why did you choose the Army?"

13.  "Well," he replied, "there wasn't much for a healthy young man to do then,

14.  just out of high school, so me and five friends took the train 

15.  from Hamilton County to St. Louis to enlist."

16.  Basic training.  Endless marching up and down hills.

17.  "All we did was march, and run.  All the men in my group

18.  later became officers because our training was superior."

19.  And what did John know about the Holocaust,

20.  about the dead of Kiev, Odessa, Poland, Russia?

21.  The ninety thousand Jews that perished to ashes, to dust?

22.  Those Jews who fought on, to end the "Final Solution?"

23.  No, John didn't mention those things.

24.  But he did discuss how he and his men

25.  were like a band of brothers

26.  and how they trained for "Operation Overlord."

27.  June 5, 1944, the biggest undertaking in military history.

My Year of Miracles

     I worshipped among friends today.  I love the music there and Jesse wrote the songs:  "You make beautiful things"  and "The Life of the Party"

       "You make beautiful things out of the dust."  Wow -- powerful!

From Small House to Small Apartment

In June, I moved from Tarboro to Durham, North Carolina, from a small house to a small, one bedroom apartment.  One of the things I like best about a small apartment is that the things I hold most dear are right at hand:  my father's engraving of the poem "If" by Rudyard Kipling, which is to the right of my front door.  I have art that used to be spread throughout the house that is now contained in my living and bedrooms.  And my books are much easier to find!

Yes, I'm glad I moved and I welcome this small space.

World War I Diaries Released

http://wunc.org/post/wwi-diaries-poet-siegfried-sassoon-go-public-first-timehttp://wunc.org/post/wwi-diaries-poet-siegfried-sassoon-go-public-first-time

For Beverly

I listened to her recite at the Southwest Library in Durham.

She's a member of the Washington Street

Writers Group.

Told us how she used to

keep her poems in a suitcase

under the bed.

Then, she left her husband,

who didn't understand why she

wrote poetry.

Eventually,

she had one published, and

his only response was,

"Well, you have really arrived, haven't you?

But why do you always write about

unhappy things?"

Beverly is a gardner.  That man made her feel like

she was being "choked by honeysuckle. that

false plant that you don't

want to have in your house."

She's glad she weeded him.

Black Mountain

Black Mountain College in North Carolina was a creative place frequented by Alan Ginsburg, and other Beat poets.   Here's a bit of info:

Visiting scholar, David Silver appears at the NCSU Libraries, for a multimedia happening that chronicles the rise and fall of Black Mountain College, founded in 1933 near Asheville, North Carolina. Using the entire Hunt Library as a storytelling building and featuring never-before-seen photographs, this dynamic event will examine the most experimental college in American history. Focusing on the College’s farm and work program, Silver will lead an exploration of the College’s lesser-known but vitally important participants. David Silver is associate professor of media studies, environmental studies, and urban agriculture at University of San Francisco. 

Free and open to the public.