1963-1969 Continued
This poem by Curt Bennett reflects the sympathies felt by American soldiers during the Vietnam War. The soldiers, with “vacant, sightless eyes” have seen the ill effects of combat and suffered through death and destruction for no apparent reason. Both the soldiers and American citizens have been “corrupted by [the] politician’s pimpish lie” showing how the government took advantage of the country in order to craft another war. The degradation of American values such as liberty and freedom resulted from the war, and caused the people to lose support for the government. Rather than valuing the people’s beliefs and the evident anti-war sympathies, especially during the second half of the 1960s, the government took blatant advantage of America’s status as a world power to begin the Vietnam War. Lyndon B. Johnson’s passing of the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution essentially gave America the power to do whatever they wanted in Vietnam to stop the conflict, including more bombing than that of World War II. Bennett’s poem embodies Americans’ feelings of abandonment, especially through the use of the lyrics from “My Country ‘Tis of Thee” by Samuel Francis Smith. The lyrics, which introduce each stanza, show how the American people feel that the original values put into place by the U.S. Constitution have been totally corrupted by war and extreme political power. “America” emphasizes the change that the United States has undergone throughout its history, focusing on how “fickle Washington fast denies they ever fabricated lies” and the subjugation of the American people in order to contain communism and flex American military power. Throughout the poem Bennett delineates the price American soldiers have paid for the war, without receiving anything in return, emphasizing how the veterans no longer have faith in the American government as a militant force. Additionally, this poem demonstrates the spirit of America during the Vietnam War, with the feelings of betrayal over the atrocities of the war. The events of the Vietnam War continued to the decay of the government’s relationship with the people, as captured in this poem. Bennett employs lyrics from a classic Americana song in order to show the change of the people’s opinions over the course of troop deployment. “America” by Curt Bennett clearly shows the effect of the Vietnam War upon the minds of the American people.
“America”
Curt Bennett
"MY COUNTRY 'TIS OF THEE….."
Here I sit in shit and mud
And wipe the dried and caking blood
From my dead friends face. The littered zone
Is full of young men going home
In dirty ponchos. Their lives so fast undone
As from their lips, forever dumb
They scream in silent shock and fear
In frozen agony. Quietly, they lie so near
In sleeping rank and file. Who might know
What thought flashed at the jolting blow
That ripped the jagged hole? What sound
Escaped them as they pitched to ground
To bubble out their scarlet life? What tears,
Welled up to grasp those unsaid fears
Had at last come true! No tears now,
Just swarming flies fill their vacant, sightless eyes.
"SWEET LAND OF LIBERTY…."
Whose turned into a common whore!
She sends her children off to war,
Then turns her back! Corrupted by
Her Politicians pimpish lie,
His selfish greed, his quest for power
Inventing conflicts for the dollar
Creating lies to justify
Sending young boys off to die.
That brings a tarnished bitter shame
To what once was the shining name
Of "Liberty". How besmirched! How profane!
Her people's backs are bent in pain
And tragedy. Their birthright sold
The elected to the rich, the old,
The power men, select, elite,
Who drag this country to their feet.
Big business marries pentagon,
Mindless whore and bitches son
Whose raging coupling rampant runs.
"OF THEE I SING……"
But sung with broken voice and heart
To Glory which was once a part
Of pride, not shame. This country
Rich and rising from the sea
Designed for man's integrity
Blessed by Freedom's pure sweet thought,
By countless lives, so costly bought,
So dear the deadly price
Of sweat, blood, toil and sacrifice
Of common men who shared the dream,
Their clear, fresh message brightly beamed
To shine world turmoil and its dark…
Now, 'tis but a battered, weary spark
Deflowered, debauched, depraved, debased,
A blight upon the might race
Of men who kept this country strong.
Their hopes, their dreams, their ringing song
Lie stilled, forevermore.
"LAND WHERE MY FATHERS DIED…."
So quiet they sleep the countryside
Where in the name of country's pride
They fought they fell, they bled, they died
In patriotic genocide. Every man once was a son
Who as a boy would laugh, would run,
Would warm his mother's loving heart, would play
His little childhood games, at night would lay
In sleepy bed awaiting mother's tender kiss
Goodnight. Such innocence, such joyous bliss.
Too soon, the lad became the man,
His country called he took its stand
And fell. For what? And why?
Was it right that he should die?
So young, so unfilled, such tragic waste,
His youth and promise lived in haste.
Now lost, destroyed, forever gone.
Forever boys they slumber on
Beneath hushed white crosses stark and still
Whose mute ranks march pastured hill
And keep their lasting peace.
'LAND OF THE PILGRIM'S PRIDE…."
Across the land the unrest spread
As pictures of the young men dead
Fill the nightly news. Now more and more
Reach eighteen and leave for war,
Brother following brother. Slow, rising hate
Makes people march and demonstrate,
Rioting in the streets of shame
Where high aloft the burning flame
Of once, sacred flag now fills the air
With shouts of people in despair!
At last, the great lie stands exposed,
THERE IS NO GAME OF DOMINOES!
Yet, fickle Washington fast denies
They ever fabricated lies
And battle the surging angry forces
With riot guns and trampling horses,
Shooting students in the chest
Whose only crime, was to protest!
A right they were taught, WAS GUARANTEED!
Now fast the spreading cancer seed
Blossoms ugly. Divided camps hard-split the land
Where Freedom's justice used to stand
It lies in shambles with the dream.
As the next generation is caught in between,
Bewildered, confused, filled with helpless rage!
Bastard children of their age!
"FROM EVERY MOUNTAINSIDE…."
The piercing wail of distant train
Echoes faint through misty rain.
The silent family waits alone.
Their son at last is coming home.
Too young to really understand,
The small child clutches Mother's hand
And tells her, "Ma-ma, please, don't cry!"
Mom dabs her swollen reddened eyes
And tries to smile, but more tears come
And course her tight drawn cheeks. Now from
The pale gray west the train appears
And brings a flood of wrenching tears
From the Father who stands alone…apart.
No known words can mend his broken heart
Or fill his loss, those grinding aches
Of anguish, the crushing agony that breaks
And kills the spirit of a man.
Now darkness gathers on the land
As slow the puffing, hissing train
Creeps to its stop. The driving rain
Softens in the gloom. A rasping slide
Of box-car doors, and there inside
The shadowed coffin rests alone
As Johnny at last, comes marching home
To sleep his endless dream.
"LET FREEDOM RING…."
This mindless war drags on and on,
Too slow the nights, too fast the dawns,
Too cold the rains, too hot the day,
Across wet fields, cruel bullets play.
Through angry skies swift warplanes shriek,
Through steaming jungles tired men creep,
Patrol…now probe…now full contact!
Air-Strikes! Artillery Strikes! Medivac!
A year of wounded, screaming men,
The haunting gape of a dead man's grin
With that startled look of half-surprise
Eternally mirrored in lifeless eyes.
A booby-traps "snap" and sudden roar!
Instant death and bloody gore!
The slap and whine of bullets singing…
…the haunting sounds of "Freedom Ringing"…
UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD
The small bird chirped quietly,
From his barren branch.
He shuffled his feathers
And chirped again,
Proclaiming and establishing
His territorial rights.
Not a breeze
Stirred the empty clearing.
Like ghostly sentinels,
The battle-splintered trees
Stand their lonely vigil
On the silent outskirts.
The men lay still
In the rich, red mud
In awkward configurations.
It was difficult to tell
Which one belonged?
To which nation?
Their stiff arms
Seemed to stretch out
Reaching for each other.
It was almost, as if
Universal brotherhood
Had at last…been realized.
Curt Bennett
"MY COUNTRY 'TIS OF THEE….."
Here I sit in shit and mud
And wipe the dried and caking blood
From my dead friends face. The littered zone
Is full of young men going home
In dirty ponchos. Their lives so fast undone
As from their lips, forever dumb
They scream in silent shock and fear
In frozen agony. Quietly, they lie so near
In sleeping rank and file. Who might know
What thought flashed at the jolting blow
That ripped the jagged hole? What sound
Escaped them as they pitched to ground
To bubble out their scarlet life? What tears,
Welled up to grasp those unsaid fears
Had at last come true! No tears now,
Just swarming flies fill their vacant, sightless eyes.
"SWEET LAND OF LIBERTY…."
Whose turned into a common whore!
She sends her children off to war,
Then turns her back! Corrupted by
Her Politicians pimpish lie,
His selfish greed, his quest for power
Inventing conflicts for the dollar
Creating lies to justify
Sending young boys off to die.
That brings a tarnished bitter shame
To what once was the shining name
Of "Liberty". How besmirched! How profane!
Her people's backs are bent in pain
And tragedy. Their birthright sold
The elected to the rich, the old,
The power men, select, elite,
Who drag this country to their feet.
Big business marries pentagon,
Mindless whore and bitches son
Whose raging coupling rampant runs.
"OF THEE I SING……"
But sung with broken voice and heart
To Glory which was once a part
Of pride, not shame. This country
Rich and rising from the sea
Designed for man's integrity
Blessed by Freedom's pure sweet thought,
By countless lives, so costly bought,
So dear the deadly price
Of sweat, blood, toil and sacrifice
Of common men who shared the dream,
Their clear, fresh message brightly beamed
To shine world turmoil and its dark…
Now, 'tis but a battered, weary spark
Deflowered, debauched, depraved, debased,
A blight upon the might race
Of men who kept this country strong.
Their hopes, their dreams, their ringing song
Lie stilled, forevermore.
"LAND WHERE MY FATHERS DIED…."
So quiet they sleep the countryside
Where in the name of country's pride
They fought they fell, they bled, they died
In patriotic genocide. Every man once was a son
Who as a boy would laugh, would run,
Would warm his mother's loving heart, would play
His little childhood games, at night would lay
In sleepy bed awaiting mother's tender kiss
Goodnight. Such innocence, such joyous bliss.
Too soon, the lad became the man,
His country called he took its stand
And fell. For what? And why?
Was it right that he should die?
So young, so unfilled, such tragic waste,
His youth and promise lived in haste.
Now lost, destroyed, forever gone.
Forever boys they slumber on
Beneath hushed white crosses stark and still
Whose mute ranks march pastured hill
And keep their lasting peace.
'LAND OF THE PILGRIM'S PRIDE…."
Across the land the unrest spread
As pictures of the young men dead
Fill the nightly news. Now more and more
Reach eighteen and leave for war,
Brother following brother. Slow, rising hate
Makes people march and demonstrate,
Rioting in the streets of shame
Where high aloft the burning flame
Of once, sacred flag now fills the air
With shouts of people in despair!
At last, the great lie stands exposed,
THERE IS NO GAME OF DOMINOES!
Yet, fickle Washington fast denies
They ever fabricated lies
And battle the surging angry forces
With riot guns and trampling horses,
Shooting students in the chest
Whose only crime, was to protest!
A right they were taught, WAS GUARANTEED!
Now fast the spreading cancer seed
Blossoms ugly. Divided camps hard-split the land
Where Freedom's justice used to stand
It lies in shambles with the dream.
As the next generation is caught in between,
Bewildered, confused, filled with helpless rage!
Bastard children of their age!
"FROM EVERY MOUNTAINSIDE…."
The piercing wail of distant train
Echoes faint through misty rain.
The silent family waits alone.
Their son at last is coming home.
Too young to really understand,
The small child clutches Mother's hand
And tells her, "Ma-ma, please, don't cry!"
Mom dabs her swollen reddened eyes
And tries to smile, but more tears come
And course her tight drawn cheeks. Now from
The pale gray west the train appears
And brings a flood of wrenching tears
From the Father who stands alone…apart.
No known words can mend his broken heart
Or fill his loss, those grinding aches
Of anguish, the crushing agony that breaks
And kills the spirit of a man.
Now darkness gathers on the land
As slow the puffing, hissing train
Creeps to its stop. The driving rain
Softens in the gloom. A rasping slide
Of box-car doors, and there inside
The shadowed coffin rests alone
As Johnny at last, comes marching home
To sleep his endless dream.
"LET FREEDOM RING…."
This mindless war drags on and on,
Too slow the nights, too fast the dawns,
Too cold the rains, too hot the day,
Across wet fields, cruel bullets play.
Through angry skies swift warplanes shriek,
Through steaming jungles tired men creep,
Patrol…now probe…now full contact!
Air-Strikes! Artillery Strikes! Medivac!
A year of wounded, screaming men,
The haunting gape of a dead man's grin
With that startled look of half-surprise
Eternally mirrored in lifeless eyes.
A booby-traps "snap" and sudden roar!
Instant death and bloody gore!
The slap and whine of bullets singing…
…the haunting sounds of "Freedom Ringing"…
UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD
The small bird chirped quietly,
From his barren branch.
He shuffled his feathers
And chirped again,
Proclaiming and establishing
His territorial rights.
Not a breeze
Stirred the empty clearing.
Like ghostly sentinels,
The battle-splintered trees
Stand their lonely vigil
On the silent outskirts.
The men lay still
In the rich, red mud
In awkward configurations.
It was difficult to tell
Which one belonged?
To which nation?
Their stiff arms
Seemed to stretch out
Reaching for each other.
It was almost, as if
Universal brotherhood
Had at last…been realized.