VERILY verily a Vietnam War Misadventure

Bk I, Canto 2, xliii. xliv. xlv. xlvi.

xliii. By bloody weed and alcohol besot
In suffocating highs and drowning lows
“O Granny, what big boogaloos you got!”
He quipp’d, helpless with giggles as the rows
Of paper Playboy pictures heav’d and rose
From off the walls by flick’ring candlelight To Motown songs that every lover knows
As Little Stevie Wonder rang “Up-Tight”
He managed a weak moan, “Like, man, it’s, outta, sight.”

xliv. “But how long time,” high Huge was heard to say,
“You in our Long Binh hootches gonna dwell?
Your orders changed? You train in Cam Ranh Bay.
So take your shoes off, Grundy; set a spell
At least another day; you might as well.
Tonight with me in Tower One you’ll find
Incarcerated men in living hell
Calle’d ‘El-Bee-Jay’: the Army prison, kind
Of like Saint Louie’s Zoo, just out of sight and mind.”

xlv. All over but The Isley Brothers’ “Shout”,
And Levi Stubbs had finished his lament,
And knew that he’d be there if she’d reach out,
And Edwin Starr preach’d WAR the Detriment,
Diana Ross’ Supremes could hardly dent
The fading consciousnesses all around.
The Judge of Night pronounc’d them innocent,
So nodding to Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound:
They slept a guilt-free sleep until by Day unbound.

xlvi. Bright sun defin’d the fifth day of his year,
A double check confirmed what well he knew:
“My cushy MP slot’s well to the rear
And out of Charlie’s range!” His day? he blew
It, writing to his family, friends and to
A couple “hers” as well, with words of cheer/sarcasm/hope – depending who was who.
He signed them “Pray for peace” or “never fear”,
And mark’d them “Free Air Mail”, and felt his conscience clear.

Canto 2, xxxix. xl. xli. xlii.

So, after fair hallucinations passed
And evening chow had disappear’d from trays,
When Kid thought himself settled in at last:
Old Witching Mary Wanna’s wiley ways
From foggy, misty, smoking college days
Returned at last full blast, right in his face,
When Huge invited him to share her jays,
And, honoring the “silly Human Race”,
Spun a brand-new album: YES – “Yours Is No Disgrace.”

Our Kid crawl’d out, defying Death, from holes
He hadn’t dug. His morals disappear’d!
Progressive Rock bewitched him, playing roles
On his soul’s stage: just what his Momma fear’d!
His “musing circumstances”? lost – all weird;
He thought an hour’s second that he’d croaked;
But Huge? He floated ‘cross his room and leered,
“Don’t bogart Mary Jane, my friend,” he joked;
“Is not Cambodian Red best dope you ever smoked?”

To quench their thirst Sir Johnny Walker Red
Arrived. Seem’d like he’d been a long time gone
Away from Gentle Soul’s exploding head.
He’d played the college frat-boy: willing pawn
(Imbibing was a Crime in Evanston)
In deadly drinking games. Northwestern U
Had taught him how to get his party on.
Sir Walker was his friend. Oh! He would rue
The day they ever met. For now? toss back a few!

The night wore on; mishapen, monstrous noise
Beat from the stereo like the Great War.
But blasting out, quite unknown to the boys
Was Rice and Webber’s “Jesus … Superstar”!
Kid thought he’d listen; only heard this far:
“Don’t get me wrong; I only wanna know”;
His eyes shut tight, he watched an avatar-
A Howdy Doozy Christ put on a show.
Too sick, he tried to rise. Not whole – no pow’r to go!

Canto 2, xxxv. xxxvi. xxxvii. xxxviii .

xxxv. “Right on, Enlistment-Man, or -Fowl or -Beast,”
Enjoin’d the Huge, who gunned his quarter ton
On down the lane. Explained, “It’s, like, the least
Our Uncle Sam can do. Now for some fun!”
Huge bragg’d of how his heart and mind was won
To Peace and Love, so that, under duress
He’d disobey’d an order, sparing one
Escaping prisoner. “Dig? I confess,
I did not shoot that dude. I freed him, more or less.”

xxxvi. “In prime of life I flew to Nam, a Youth.
I kissed my mom an’ park’d my Chevrolet.
No broken hearts behind. To tell th’ truth
I lusted for a Lady: Army Pay.
I’d treat her right; she’d send me on my way
To college – maybe train for a career
In law enforcement. MPs seemed to say
‘We got your Law Enforcement. Why not steer
Yourself to Vietnam? It’s only a mere year.'”

xxxvii. Our Gentle Soul sought solace in those words
Until the Dame Mirage he spied afar
(In his defense they were fine chicky-birds!):
Three goddesses fresh from the Morning-Star
Three faces fresh from a Pond’s Cold Cream jar,
In which his harder Fortune was to fall
Under their spell; such are the spoils of War:
Three officers – who’d prove no Prize at all
Nor with their comely charms be at his beck and Call.

xxxviii. So double time three Ladies fast dissolved
Into the heat of dusty afternoon.
A shout of “Bingo!” got the Kid involved
Again in Huge: “I Luv you to the Moon!
Trifecta’s victory! gone all too soon.”
Both seem’d to win; both boys seem’d won to be.
“We call them nurses April, May and June.
And, Grundy, trust me, seldom do you see
Americans as fine as she and she and she!”

Canto 2, xxxi. xxxii. xxxiii. xxxiv.

xxxi “By going Jeep,” said Huge, “I’ll save you time,
Believe me, Son; I know whereof I speak;
So set back, Grundy, dig this tune and rhyme!”
A cassette player he commenced to tweak
And “Season of the Witch” came through, in weak
But psychedelic Donovan refrains.
“In Infantry, your prospects look’d quite bleak,
That witchy, scorching Sun would stitch your brains:
But welcome to Em-Pees, we’re hip to ease your pains!”

xxxii. The Jeep, geared underway, soon motored past
A sorry sight that shook our Kid a shake,
Huge, stopping at the strange formation, asked
The Kid to listen up. A Sarge then spake
“You: ghosts! Your Uncle Sam wants you to take
Your Date Expect Return from Over Seas
And stretch it out six months. Make no mistake:
Extend in Vietnam and he will grease
Your palms with boocoo coin – Blood money if you please!”

xxxiii. “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
It’s ‘Hurry up and wait’; ‘Go out and play.’
Until your orders’ cut, you’ll need to borrow
From all your yesterdays to spend today.
So why not re-enlist? It’s bonus pay!
Extend your tour of duty, rotate home
And take a burst of three. What do you say?
Put money in your pocket. When in Rome … “
The way the sargeant spoke, It sounded like a poem.

xxxiv. Therewith a piteous airborne Voice was heard,
Crying a cry that brought strong men to tears!
A tender plaintive trill. The Re-Up Bird
Let fly, “Gee-Eye! Car payments in arrears?
Late mortgage payments sum of all your fears?
Your Lady needs more cash from you, dear Sir?
Those Death Bennies won’t spend too far, my dears!
With Reenlistment Man I do concur,
You need more ready cash, lest you end up in stir.”

TAKING A READING BREAK

Listen: https://youtu.be/h65z9iSyBXc

E.R.D. an Elegy

I stood with him and heard Byrds play
At old Wash. U. their 12-string tones.
That Taj Mahal, those Rolling Stones
Set fire to our feet of clay.

But who in consort with the years
Can in his past find times to match
Our marching off to WAR to scratch
The Itch of Death and all his fears?

We’d first met to the baying sound
Of Bobby Pickett’s “Monster Mash”:
Ah, sweet to say, we’d never clash.
I hope we’ll meet on higher ground.

We fought for hours on football fields.
I was his blocker; he, my back.
I loved Defend; he loved Attack,
“Tho’ at Death’s door, one never yields.”

One day he made a crack-back block In practice; hit the best we had … Just killed Bake’s prospects. All were sad Mizzou would redshirt that poor jock.

Our gridiron goals were left behind, As high school graduates with joy He chose the Army; I, frat boys. Two roads to hell of different kind!

( … To be continued …)

O Friend, if only then you knew, That in this life you’d rise no higher Than fifty five? you might inquire, ‘What takes a man with years so few?’

Your wife and children you have lost: Such pleasure from your early years! Now on your stone their freezing tears Of grief each winter melt the frost!

Sunshines of happy times will cross Betimes to light their darken’d eyes; Those dark Southeast Missouri skies Hide Heaven’s gain and their sweet loss.

Canto 2, xxviii. xxix. xxx.

xxviii. “It’s only fair,” he mus’d,” I’m none too bright
To give myself to combat. Here I sit
Or stand incredulous, feel flight or fight
Reactions, getting just a teeny bit
Of apprehension, at a loss for Wit!
Remember, Grundy? Other Service Branches need
Enlistments – 4, 6 years – which didn’t fit
Your plans: get in; get out.” The Draft you heed –
A two-year Army stint, then back to school, high speed.”

xxix. The men drifted apart, then came together
After noon food. Their orders rolled at last.
You could have knocked Kid over with a feather!
He stared at paperwork, and heard “Hold fast!”
There, parked, a guy with whom he’d had a blast
In high school! Serendipity had found
Two souls in Vietnam who’d shared a past,
Who’d, in their own minds, thought each other bound
Like strangers on a train; dog foxes gone to ground.

xxx. So soon as our good Knight his old chum spied,
He snatched his orders, grabb’d his gear and got
Into that Jeep his buddy drove, and cried,
“I guess! You got it! This your Chariot?

“Huge” hurl’d back his invective, piping hot,
“I sign’d on for 4 years to get this ride!
What brings you to the Nam? All hot to trot
To stem the flow? To stop the Commie tide?” Kid cussed right back, “Dear Huge, to be here by your side!”

Foreshadowing

All silently, the dinky moon Drops down behind the sky. The night is come, and all too soon; On ambush-watch am I.
There is no light in ‘Nam tonight. Dim, cold the blinking stars;
On overwatch – if I should fight – Is the red planet, Mars.

Is it the tender star of love?
The star of love and dreams?
O no! from that dark tent above,
A blood-red armor gleams.

But addled thoughts within me rise.
I hate this stinkin’ war!
Still there, suspended in the skies:
The shield of that red star.

O star of Death! I see thee stand
And smile upon my pain;
You beckon with your chain-mailed hand,
My heart bleeds out again. Within my breast two warriors war By the cold light of stars:
One fights for peace; the one afar? The killer planet, Mars.

The star of love, of home, and worth
Here rises in my breast,
The crimson star so far from Earth?
Well-trained, and self-possessed.

And you, too, Troop: where’e’r you serve,
When’e’r you read this psalm,
Whatever prayers and hopes deserve,
Be resolute and calm.

O fear not in a war like this,
And thou shalt know ere long,
Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong.

(Apologies to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

William P. Gruendler, C Co., 1/20, 11 Bde AMERICAL, 1971

Canto 2, xxv. xxvi. xxvii.

xxv. At last! day dawn’d. He’d dreamed in Army Green.
Today’s the day. Someone would sling some lead –
But with a pencil, not an M-16 –
And shoot him orders. Knowing what’s ahead
Abed he lay, and went to scratch his head,
And felt a sting on his left hand. The sight
Of his “bird” finger caused a shock of dread.
A clean incision at its tip, all right;
Some thing – a rat? a bat? – had licked his blood last night!

xxvi. Slic’d thru the dermis, epidermis, quick,
It didn’t look to color or to swell;
A little hole; looked like a red pin prick.
Whatever’d done the deed had done it well.
He sat up in a start. “No time to dwell
On little things. This place is empty rows!
Am I the only guy? did no one tell?”
He sighs the Billy Pilgrim “So it goes”.
Packing his gear again, he heads out to the shows.

xxvii. Henceforth hauling his hind out with the rest,
The Kid spotted a sign: “Movements Control”.

So thought, “I’ll put their humor to the test,” And asked, “Yo, where’s my G.I. toilet bowl?”
Some chuckled. Sarge said, “Son, you on a roll.”
All out of tune, The Stones’ “Salt of The Earth” Came wafting softly from that crowd. He stole
A glance at faces draining of their mirth

As orders were passed out: the paperwork?no dearth.

Canto 2, xxii. – xxiii. – xxiv.

Relaxed at first, then, writhing in his rack,
Kid failed to shirk sharp feelings in his bones.
In thrall to KING KONG monkey on his back,
He knew he hadn’t kicked Cinema Jones.
Those Boris Karloff FRANKENSTEIN-ish groans
Escap’d his throat again. A flick or two
Seen weeks, or months, or years ago now owns
His mind: STRAWBERRY STATEMENT, SOLDIER BLUE,
EL TOPO, HUD, THE KNACK, PERFORMANCE all on view.

The Tin Man, Lion, Dor’o’thy and Mage
Of OZ conspir’d to straw his Scarecrow brain
Around the mattress ticking. “Take a page
From Duke. Lest you your reputation stain;
Run SANDS OF IWO JIMA, which has lain
At ease since days of back and white TV!
To spite that film and ALAMO with Wayne,
ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT mocks me:
The final scene – Paul slain – the butterfly flew free.”

That movie revelation took his breath
Away. Anon three Monkees were employ’d,
Which sought to make Kid’s rest a Living Death:
With Tetra Hyde Canna’binol he’d toy’d,

And to his mom’s great Sorrow he’d enjoy’d
Ten trips on LSD (of course he’d find
Brain cells nor di-lated nor – HA! – destroy’d).
But Demon Rum? To Kid’s old-fashion’d mind
With Love, ice, sweet syrup – shake Bourbon, bitters, rind!