RED FLOWER AMONG THORNS

RED FLOWER AMONG THORNS


Scratching thorns-dare tear my sleeves
Walking endlessly amidst dreary wet dismal leaves
Nothing but gloom, guns and of course the marauding
What is this red flower on this hill I am spotting?
Could it be?
A single rare beauty,
so all alone in this war?
It is so-
Had I not seen it
You'd never know
And upon my life-I want to see more,
Works of art!
It's what God has granted us
But in this country
I feel its plagued as thus-
To have but one red flower
Upon my platoon's-
Doom march
Through this jungle,
Which the death napalm will be sure to starch!
For I find
I am the distinguished and brave,
Young man of the hour-
For want of a nail the war was lost,
For want of a red flower
Among thorns
My life was lost-
And thus did sour.




*note: this is my humble response to a beautiful letter written by a Marion Lee "Sandy" Kemper (1942-1966)

-LETTER-
LETTER TO AUNT FANNIE ADOUE
MARION LEE KEMPER {OCTOBER 20, 1966}


This short letter that Marion Lee "Sandy" Kemper (1942-1966) wrote to his aunt from the jungles of Vietnam hauntingly captures life's fragility. Kemper, a good student and Peace Corps volunteer who came from a well-to-do family in Galveston, Texas, could easily have avoided the Vietnam War by going to graduate school. Instead he enlisted in the Marines, rose to the rank of second lieutenant, and was awarded two Purple Hearts. On November 11, 1966, three weeks after composing this letter, Sandy Kemper was killed in Quang Tin, South Vietnam. He was 24 years old.


��������Dear Aunt Fannie,
��������
��������This morning, my platoon and I were finishing up a three-day patrol. Struggling over steep hills covered with hedgerows, trees, and generally impenetrable jungle, one of my men turned to me and pointed a hand, filled with cuts and scratches, at a rather distinguished-looking plant with soft red flowers waving gaily in the downpour (which had been going on ever since the patrol began) and said, "That is the first plant I have seen today which didn't have thorns on it." I immediately thought of you.��������
��������The plant, and the hill upon which it grew, was also representative of Vietnam. It is a country of thorns and cuts, of guns and marauding, of little hope and great failure. Yet in the midst of it all, a beautiful thought, gesture, and even person can arise among it waving bravely at the death that pours down upon it. Someday this hill will be burned by napalm, and the red flower will crackle up and die among the thorns. So what was the use of it living and being a beauty among the beasts, if it must, in the end, die because of them, and with them? This is a question which is answered by Gertrude Stein's "A rose is rose is a rose." You are what you are what you are. Whether you believe in God, fate, or the crumbling cookie, elements are so mixed in a being that make him what he is; his salvation from the thorns around him lies in the fact that he existed at all, in his very own personality. There once was a time with the Jewish idea of heaven and hell was the thoughts and opinions people had of you after you died. But what if the plant was on an isolated hill and was never seen by anyone? That is like the question of whether the falling tree makes a sound in the forest primeval when no one is there to hear it. It makes a sound, and the plant was beautiful and the thought was kind, and the person was humane, and distinguished and brave, not merely because other people recognized it as such, but because it is, and it is, and it is.
��������The flower will always live in the memory of a tired, wet Marine, and thus has achieved a sort of immortality. But even if we had never gone on that hill, it would still be a distinguished, soft, red, thornless flower growing among the cutting, scratching plants, and that in itself is its own reward.


���������I found this in a book I checked out from the library yesterday-the book is called: WHY FREEDOM MATTERS, The Spirit of the Declaration of Independence in Prose, Poetry, and Song from 1776 to the Present

Reviews

[Dani California]

I am in tears Edmond. Not only is your poem beautifully touching in every way,
but the letter is one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking things I have ever
read. I have to save this somewhere...

Wow. I am completely blown away. By both.
I need to compose myself now...

I don't have words to do this piece justice.
Just know that it touched me deeply...
thank you.

[Charlène Boutin]

I love the vocabulary you use- it is one I dream of possessing one day. And the poem is so... beautifully bittersweet! If I wanted to see more works of art, I know you are well capable of writing art with words. This is astonishingly beautiful.

[Freedom]

this is very beautiful..full of passion and feeling. I haven't read much poetry with this kind of strength, and for that, i appreciate it more. Incredible work as always. ^_^

[emz]

I absolutely love this.... The poppy is indeed a thornless flower but they grow in the most hostile of environments.. this proves their strength and integrity just like a soldier.... bloody good poem my friend



xx