Hand Outstretched
Living in Russia not knowing Russian I study Russian
my fellow students are Vietnamese
who study hard, learn the Russian grammar and syntax
but have trouble pronouncing Russian
I have trouble understanding their Russian
Russians have trouble understanding their Russian
as we all have trouble understanding Vietnamese
one American in a class of Vietnamese.
One day one of the Vietnamese approaches me
a stocky man in his 40’s with a hard mouth.
He speaks in a halting English–Russian
the words struggling in his larynx
willed to emerge
the words misshapen, their sense clear.
He asks to shake my hand
he has no hate for me, he tells me
he lost 4 brothers in the war
4 brothers fighting America
he has no hate for me
and he wants to shake my hand.
I shake his hand
but do not tell him
I did not fight in that war
that I opposed that war
that I avoided that war.
Our common language cannot say that much.
That is the past.
That is not relevant that in that small room
This Vietnamese man who had suffered in the war
suffered fighting against America
bears me—an American a former enemy—no hatred
and wants to shake my hand.
I take his hand with humility
and relief that I am not damned
with the sins of war.
by Contributing Poet Peter D. Goodwin Copyright © 2015
VWP 2015 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
It's The P B I
The P B I
the P B I
the Poor Bloody Infantryman
that’s what the Americans don’t understand
the old man intoned
it all comes down to the P B I
The P B I.
The Poor Bloody Infantryman.
He had never talked of war before
never used strong language
Bloody!
We were sitting together, in his study
he is leaning forward
his tin leg stretched out.
When his nation called, my Grandfather followed
fought in France until a German shell took his leg
and for the rest of his life he walked with a limp
dragging a heavy metal leg
attached to his body with a heavy harness
and now he was telling me how the Americans
should be fighting their war in Vietnam
with men and courage
it’s a hard slog and it all rests
with the P B I,
The Poor Bloody Infantryman
not long distance bombing raids
for once the bombs stop
it's the B P I that does the job.
The Poor Bloody Infantryman.
He was a war hero (I suppose)
a strong man with a strong moral compass
a compass so strong so straight
he was an antique.
I did not want to discuss war
not his war
nor the war I was dodging
and I did not want to explain
to a man who had fought for two years
and only returned when maimed
why I was avoiding war.
I did not ask him about his war
nor did I ask him how he was wounded
where he was wounded, instead
I told him I had to go
I had things to do.
I never saw him again.
Now I know nothing about his war.
His wounds.
His life.
by Contributing Poet Peter D. Goodwin Copyright © 2015
VWP 2015 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
A Family Tradition, Abandoned
A young man, ready
to embrace the future
heard the call of duty
went to war
and was killed.
His sister named her first born
after her dead brother, who
a generation later
heard the call of duty
went to war and was killed.
His sister named her first born
after her dead brother, who
a generation later
heard the call of duty
but did not go to war
and so lives to write this poem.
by Contributing Poet Peter D. Goodwin Copyright © 2015
VWP 2015 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
Living in Russia not knowing Russian I study Russian
my fellow students are Vietnamese
who study hard, learn the Russian grammar and syntax
but have trouble pronouncing Russian
I have trouble understanding their Russian
Russians have trouble understanding their Russian
as we all have trouble understanding Vietnamese
one American in a class of Vietnamese.
One day one of the Vietnamese approaches me
a stocky man in his 40’s with a hard mouth.
He speaks in a halting English–Russian
the words struggling in his larynx
willed to emerge
the words misshapen, their sense clear.
He asks to shake my hand
he has no hate for me, he tells me
he lost 4 brothers in the war
4 brothers fighting America
he has no hate for me
and he wants to shake my hand.
I shake his hand
but do not tell him
I did not fight in that war
that I opposed that war
that I avoided that war.
Our common language cannot say that much.
That is the past.
That is not relevant that in that small room
This Vietnamese man who had suffered in the war
suffered fighting against America
bears me—an American a former enemy—no hatred
and wants to shake my hand.
I take his hand with humility
and relief that I am not damned
with the sins of war.
by Contributing Poet Peter D. Goodwin Copyright © 2015
VWP 2015 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
It's The P B I
The P B I
the P B I
the Poor Bloody Infantryman
that’s what the Americans don’t understand
the old man intoned
it all comes down to the P B I
The P B I.
The Poor Bloody Infantryman.
He had never talked of war before
never used strong language
Bloody!
We were sitting together, in his study
he is leaning forward
his tin leg stretched out.
When his nation called, my Grandfather followed
fought in France until a German shell took his leg
and for the rest of his life he walked with a limp
dragging a heavy metal leg
attached to his body with a heavy harness
and now he was telling me how the Americans
should be fighting their war in Vietnam
with men and courage
it’s a hard slog and it all rests
with the P B I,
The Poor Bloody Infantryman
not long distance bombing raids
for once the bombs stop
it's the B P I that does the job.
The Poor Bloody Infantryman.
He was a war hero (I suppose)
a strong man with a strong moral compass
a compass so strong so straight
he was an antique.
I did not want to discuss war
not his war
nor the war I was dodging
and I did not want to explain
to a man who had fought for two years
and only returned when maimed
why I was avoiding war.
I did not ask him about his war
nor did I ask him how he was wounded
where he was wounded, instead
I told him I had to go
I had things to do.
I never saw him again.
Now I know nothing about his war.
His wounds.
His life.
by Contributing Poet Peter D. Goodwin Copyright © 2015
VWP 2015 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
A Family Tradition, Abandoned
A young man, ready
to embrace the future
heard the call of duty
went to war
and was killed.
His sister named her first born
after her dead brother, who
a generation later
heard the call of duty
went to war and was killed.
His sister named her first born
after her dead brother, who
a generation later
heard the call of duty
but did not go to war
and so lives to write this poem.
by Contributing Poet Peter D. Goodwin Copyright © 2015
VWP 2015 First published in VietnamWarPoetry.com
Bio: Peter D. Goodwin divides his time between the streets & vibrant clutter of New York City
and the remnants of the natural world along Maryland's Chesapeake Bay,
discovering in the dislocation of environments and cultures the creative edge
where words rekindle their spark.
Poems published in the anthologies: September eleven; Maryland Voices; Listening to The Water:
The Susquehanna Water Anthology; Alternatives To Surrender; Wild Things–Domestic & Otherwise;
This Path; From The Porch Swing; The Coming Storm as well as in various journals including
Rattle, Memoir (and), River Poets Journal, Delaware Poetry Review, Yellow Medicine Review,
Twisted Tongue, Poetry Monthly, Main Street Rag, LochRaven Review, Sliver of Stone, Greensilk Review.
and the remnants of the natural world along Maryland's Chesapeake Bay,
discovering in the dislocation of environments and cultures the creative edge
where words rekindle their spark.
Poems published in the anthologies: September eleven; Maryland Voices; Listening to The Water:
The Susquehanna Water Anthology; Alternatives To Surrender; Wild Things–Domestic & Otherwise;
This Path; From The Porch Swing; The Coming Storm as well as in various journals including
Rattle, Memoir (and), River Poets Journal, Delaware Poetry Review, Yellow Medicine Review,
Twisted Tongue, Poetry Monthly, Main Street Rag, LochRaven Review, Sliver of Stone, Greensilk Review.
Except where otherwise attributed, all pages & content herein
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Westerly, Rhode Island, USA