greatpoetry | Entries tagged with brian turner

duathir.livejournal.com

Cross-post from

war_poetry:

Here, Bullet

If a body is what you want,
then here is bone and gristle and flesh.
Here is the clavicle-snapped wish,
the aorta's opened valves, the leap
thought makes at the synaptic gap.
Here is the adrenaline rush you crave,
that inexorable flight, that insane puncture
into heat and blood. And I dare you to finish
what you've started. Because here, Bullet,
here is where I complete the word you bring
hissing through the air, here is where I moan
the barrel's cold esophagus, triggering
my tongue's explosives for the rifling I have
inside of me, each twist of the round
spun deeper, because here, Bullet,
here is where the world ends, every time.

By Brian Turner

blue-thundering.livejournal.com

Four contemporary poems on war and its consequences:

( Sadiq, Brian Turner )

( Helmand, John Hawkhead )

( A Poem For Gaza, Remi Kanazi )

( War Metaphysics for a Sudanese Girl, Adrie Kusserow )

kelachrome

A Soldier’s Arabic

This is a strange new kind of war where you learn
just as much as you are able to believe.
E. Hemingway

The word for love, Habib, is written from right
to left, starting where we would end it
and ending where we might begin.

Where we would end a war
another might take as a beginning,
or as an echo of history, recited again.

Speak the word for death, Maut,
and you will hear the cursives of the wind
driven into the veil of the unknown.

This is a language made of blood.
It is made of sand, and time.
To be spoken, it must be earned.

Brian Turner

bennmorland.livejournal.com

Song of Napalm
Bruce Weigl (b. 1949/01/07 in Lorain, Lorain Co., Ohio)
Bruce Weigl, from Archaeology of the Circle: New and Selected Poems (1999)

for my wife

After the storm, after the rain stopped pounding,
We stood in the doorway watching horses
Walk off lazily across the pasture’s hill.
We stared through the black screen,
Our vision altered by the distance
So I thought I saw a mist
Kicked up around their hooves when they faded
Like cut-out horses
Away from us.
The grass was never more blue in that light, more
Scarlet; beyond the pasture
Trees scraped their voices into the wind, branches
Crisscrossed the sky like barbed wire
But you said they were only branches.

( Okay. The storm stopped pounding. )

2000 lbs.
Brian Turner (b. 1966 or 1967)
Brian Turner, from Here, Bullet (2005)

Ashur Square, Mosul

It begins simply with a fist, white knuckled
and tight, glossy with sweat. With two eyes
in a rearview mirror watching for a convoy.
The radio a soundtrack that adrenaline has
pushed into silence, replacing it with a heartbeat,
his thumb trembling over the button.

***

( A flight of gold, that’s what Sefwan thinks )

Current Location: Annandale, Virginia
Current Music: Top Gear on BBCA

kissingdaylight.livejournal.com

I read this is today's Washington Post with the note "A poem currently being passed around among American soldiers in Iraq."

Here, Bullet
If a body is what you want,
then here is bone and gristle and flesh.
Here is the clavicle-snapped wish,
the aorta's opened valves, the leap
thought makes at the synaptic gap.
Here is the adrenaline rush you crave,
that inexorable flight, that insane puncture
into heat and blood. And I dare you to finish
what you've started. Because here, Bullet,
here is where I complete the word you bring
hissing through the air, here is where I moan
the barrel's cold esophagus, triggering
my tongue's explosives for the rifling I have
inside of me, each twist of the round
spun deeper, because here, Bullet,
here is where the world ends, every time.
--Brian Turner

I'm encouraging a discussion of this poem over at my journal - if anyone would like to leave their thoughts.

Current Mood: contemplative

triccie.livejournal.com

If a body is what you want,
then here is bone and gristle and flesh.
Here is the clavicle-snapped wish,
the aorta’s opened valves, the leap
thought makes at the synaptic gap.
Here is the adrenaline rush you crave,
that inexorable flight, that insane puncture
into heat and blood. And I dare you to finish
what you’ve started. Because here, Bullet,
here is where I complete the word you bring
hissing through the air, here is where I moan
the barrel’s cold esophagus, triggering
my tongue’s explosives for the rifling I have
inside of me, each twist of the round
spun deeper, because here, Bullet,
here is where the world ends, every time.

--Here, Bullet, Brian Turner

gardenwaltz.livejournal.com

Here, Bullet
by Brian Turner

If a body is what you want,
then here is bone and gristle and flesh.
Here is the clavicle-snapped wish,
the aorta’s opened valves, the leap
thought makes at the synaptic gap.
Here is the adrenaline rush you crave,
that inexorable flight, that insane puncture
into heat and blood. And I dare you to finish
what you’ve started. Because here, Bullet,
here is where I complete the word you bring
hissing through the air, here is where I moan
the barrel’s cold esophagus, triggering
my tongue’s explosives for the rifling I have
inside of me, each twist of the round
spun deeper, because here, Bullet,
here is where the world ends, every time.

----------
I was lucky enough to be able to attend a reading by Brian Turner. He served for seven years in the Army, including one year in Iraq where most of this book was written. He also has an MFA from the University of Oregon. His book of the same title has won numerous awards.

citizenwind.livejournal.com

Audio:

http://www.fishousepoems.org/archives/brian_turner/2000_lbs_live.shtml

Text

2000 lbs.

Ashur Square, Mosul

It begins simply with a fist, white-knuckled
and tight, glossy with sweat. With two eyes
in a rearview mirror watching for a convoy.
The radio a soundtrack that adrenaline has
pushed into silence, replacing it with a heartbeat,
that of his thumb, trembling over the button.

*

( Read more... )

citizenwind.livejournal.com

Here, Bullet

If a body is what you want,
then here is bone and gristle and flesh.
Here is the clavicle-snapped wish,
the aorta's opened valves, the leap
thought makes at the synaptic gap.
Here is the adrenaline rush you crave,
that inexorable flight, the insane puncture
into heat and blood. And I dare you to finish
what you've started. Because here, Bullet,
here is where I complete the word you bring
hissing through the air, here is where I moan
the barrel's cold esophagus, triggering
my tongue's explosives for the rifiling I have
inside of me, each twist of the round
spun deeper, because here, Bullet
here is where the world ends, every time.

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I Eat Poetry

Entries tagged with brian turner

Brian Turner, 'Here, Bullet'

A Solemn Remembrance Day to You All

(no subject)

A Soldier’s Arabic

Two American War Poems

Here, Bullet by Brian Turner

Here, Bullet (Brian Turner)

Here, Bullet

Brian Turner

Brian Turner

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