There is no poem here, just my uncle
in the first hours of August 6th, 1945
watching in darkness the Enola Gay gain speed
on runway Able, North Field, Tinian Island.
Mid-morning the sky – a blue and turquoise axe handle –
swings down a flaming red blade
on Hiroshima. He said they saw the light
1,500 miles away, a second dawn.
No poem. Talked with the ground crews,
went to mess, played poker
with his tail gunner
and the navigator.
Will meaning come later, if ever?
If he drew to a flush of hearts, he does not remember.
Or if Tokyo Rose played Blue Skies
on the radio.
The Sunday Muse
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This is an amazement of a poem. Very sobering to think of that flash of light like a second dawn. It is incomprehensible, the things humans do to each other. The supposedly “wild” ones must think we are all mad. (Sort of proving it in Canada these days.)
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Thank you!!
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What an evocative poem. Good write!
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The axe, Hiroshima, your Uncle the brutal memory seen through the destruction of an axe….this is all brilliant and soul stirring Qbit! We are now waiting for your book of poems to be published!!
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Thank you Carrie!
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I imagine that image stays with one for a lifetime, the axe of fire against the sky. Frightening to think about. Grievous and far reaching story of truth.
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Those last lines–man. I really admire where you took this, and the axe metaphor for the sky worked perfectly–the relative brevity just provides more force to the swing, and at the end I’m seeing a thousand years of evolution boiling down to the biggest stick and the most murderous heart, while the unaware tribe gets called in to make it happen ‘for the greater good.” Fine writing, qbit.
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Thank you. I’ve never known how to write about this piece of family/human history, how any art (or artifice) of mine wouldn’t take away more than it could add. I was surprised it found expression here but am glad for it. Hopefully “less is more.”
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Grim and immediate.
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Very clever metaphor qbit.
Thanks for dropping by my blog today
Much love…
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I would hate to be carrying this memory, it would haunt me over and over. You told it well, Quebie.
..
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I cannot imagine. The ‘realness’ of your poem touched, deeply.
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A thought-provoking musing, and a vivid tumble of imagery, Qbit. Beautiful write.
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Brilliant and startling, just as the flash from the detonation. This is my favorite:
“Mid-morning the sky – a blue and turquoise axe handle –
swings down a flaming red blade”
Still can’t wrap my mind around it either…
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Thanks. There isn’t really any rational way to process it, or at least I haven’t found one.
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You’re welcome.
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“Mid-morning the sky – a blue and turquoise axe handle –
swings down a flaming red blade
on Hiroshima. He said they saw the light
1,500 miles away, a second dawn.”
Gorgeous writing, q!
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