The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
>> Wednesday, August 29, 2007
by Randall Jarrell (c.1945)
From my mother's sleep I fell into the State
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flack and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
2 reflections:
I am coming back to this post to go ahead and give a comment. This is an amazing poem. One that just grips my heart and makes my mind wonder...to wonder what war must really be like. Not that I really want to know but just the fact that it must be the most sickeningly dreadful thing to ever have to go through. Talk about affecting you in every single way...mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually. It is something that I never want to do. To take life and the the actuality of my life being taken...wow.
Awesome site!
Post a Comment