Clyde
Wray volunteered for Vietnam. He arrived from Germany with 101st
Airborne Division and was assigned to the 199th Light Infantry Brigade
1967-1969.
He makes his living as poet, author, playwright, and director.
Clyde has published
several books of poetry and resides with his family in
Canada. Clyde is co-founder
of the Memorial Day Writer’s Project. You can hear
and read more of Clyde’s work at www.clydeawray.com
(For Kendricks)
We were digging trenches
for the shitter
new in country
Rookies got the clean
jobs
walking point
Skinning potatoes
slicing onions
in the mess hall
In the rear
mostly digging trenches
for the shitter
Rolling fifty-five gallon
drums of shit
torching them
After a while
torching came easy
hell, we torched the country
From the Diary
Within My Head
My own true love, War
it never leaves me
it touched me roughly
in my early twenties
swept over me fully
swallowed my youth
it’s there in my diary when I sleep
The smell of sulfur,
cordite, napalm
smell of death
my best friend
my own true love, War
brings me camaraderie
it’s there in my diary when I sleep
God bless
me father
in the middle
of the fight
Lord knows we must
have been right
reruns are on -- each night
it’s there in my diary when I sleep
Oh my god, I am half sorry
shot him in the chest and not
the head; he rolled over
shot Fred, dead
see me bent over
weeping
it’s there in my diary when I sleep
It’s always the same questions
perhaps they think with time
the answers will change
like the dead aren’t dead
or agent orange really
wasn’t something the
government would do
So it’s always
why was Vietnam
so different?
sad to think
you can’t tell them
to go to the history books
because the books carry folk-tales
and nowhere is there a
grain of truth
So it’s always the same question
Who is McNamara
and the answer is
he’s a traitor and a banker
on an international scale
but if you want you can
always go and buy his book
But the real question
hasn’t been asked
we’re still in the prelims
the warm-ups
like, was it really that hot there
and what did the gooks cook
did you see any tigers hiding
in the elephant grass and was
the grass really good
and why did they call the VC Charlie
and what’s a monsoon?
and now
ladies and gentlemen
the main event
this is what the prelims
lead up to
because the question is always
the same
How many people did you kill?
And always I wonder
which will be the hardest hole
to fill
the one in my heart
or the one that waits on the hill
I want to write, but my inkwell
is full of the blues
my pen draws up nothing but bad news
I want to write, oh how I want to write
but my inkwell dries up with fear
the moment a kind word appears
I want to write but my pen is a reminder
that war is unkind
battles won and lost to men white, red and brown--
Men with life in common, men of common ground
I want to write, but my ink has turned red
unsightly on my paper; I keep seeing the dead
forging through a desert or sniping off a roof
I want to write
to the men who kill other men
if the truth be told, there is no excuse
Men intricately woven, men of molten steel
I want to write, but the vultures are flying over
Somalia and Bosnia, enticed by the bloody red
of unseeing children's eyes laying dead
I want to write to the men who stand on hallowed ground
where children lost their birthright
and are eaten by buzzards now
I want to write, though it seems I've lost the flair of
candy apple sweetness and saffron air
We stopped him briefly
we wanted to say, that is to thank him
for his courage, for not having feet of clay
for his deeds and actions that gave us
Remembrance Day.
His eyes were worn
his skin a leathery gray
a black beret tilted on his hair of gray
his chest heavy with metals from acts committed
during those dark, cold miserable days
days so hot he thought he was in the center of Hades.
He spied the Red Poppies on our chest
hesitated before he said....
“ The friends that I left behind would be grateful to know
I found a man and woman that know respect
are grateful that they gave their ultimate last breath
to preserve freedom fair
so that they could still pick flowers
linger there in the bright blue crisp air
unhampered by a foreign ideology
that would have changed this countries’ psychology”
He said “ Remembrance Day is different for me
I know the blood that has kept this land free
I love this land this land of freedom.”
As he spoke a tear filled his eye
his shoulder shook quickly then came a wary smile
“ Thank you “ he said,
“ thank you for stopping me and the friends I’ve always kept with me
though you can’t see them they are here
in spirit and I’ve always held them dear”
He saluted, turned in a military way, head held high
then strolled away
and we
we are forever changed,
everyday now is Remembrance Day, everyday freedom is gained
November 10, 2004