The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
by Randall Jarrell

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 flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

This has always been one of my favorite poems. Great imagery in such a compact little poem.

"wet fur froze" "nightmare fighters" "black flak"
Simple but powerful imagery.

And then that last line. The idea of a dead soldier being washed out of a turret with a hose just underscores the fragility of life and especially the senseless nature of war.

Nice choice, Azumi. Haven't read it in years, but it was nice to do so again.

__________________
"Even though I'm no more than a monster - don't I, too, have the right to live?" -- Oldboy (2003)

my favorite poems

__________________
online shopping
spy camera
china wholesale