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Memo Pencilled On a Helmet Skull
Korea, 1952-1953
By tunnel trip to Moji Down the southeast coast of Honshu Past heaven soaring Fuji and the tranquil Inland Sea Then by naval transport Out the port of Sasebo And through the island studded sea lanes To Pusan in Korea
Korea Ancient Chosen “Land of the Morning Freshness” Where the GI is furnished the exquisite pleasure Of being rinsed in a heavy dew of his own perspiration On a hot and humid day In the Chosen land. And so here we go again Sweating out the boredom and the tedium The new faces and the strange land The hurry up and wait The heroism, the horror The endless drive of the foreign campaign As once again we man the frontier garrisons Against barbarian assault (Oh Mother of Sorrow, when will this agony end?)
The eternal sameness of moving up Through the wreckage and debris of war By slow train to Taegu (Where the pensive peasant “boy-san” In the immemorial squat of the Orient Watches the long limbed anthropoids Litter his station platform With the tin can offal of their C rations) And on past the graceful architecture Flaunting its tattered rice paper windows As the ghosts and gods of other days Look down on a renewal of conflict. How have the mighty fallen From the high days when the Mongol Horse Thundered out of Asia And the Emperors of East and West Paid tribute to the Tartar Khan.
Out in the boondocks Out in the sandhills and rice paddies (Uuh, that Rice Paddy #5!) Where the public piss call is universal And sex squats by the side of the road With its pudenda hanging out Unpretty, exotic, the not-so-mysterious East Free of Victorian taboo and neo-Puritanism And with a fine appreciation for the sensuality Of a woman’s neck and shoulders (Not too surprisingly where women have legs like children) And out in the broiling sun of summer So hot you wonder how it is possible to live When you are being cooked alive. This is a miserable existence but
“I am a combat soldier
I’ve got my combat boots on!”
(Ai, yi-yi, yi, yi!)
And up in the mountain passes
Where the dust rolls and billows and smothers Choking you until your stomach revolts And coating your throat with a fine metallic lining That only a can of cold beer can cut If you can find one And then if you are very, very lucky A cold shower in the evenings So that just once a day you can Splash and revel and shout with anthropoid delight At being “20° Cooler Inside!”
In the evenings you drink Scotch and chlorinated water In the mornings you shave out of your helmet In water that smells green with chlorine And you stride forth into the noonday sun With your head in a spray of aerosol DDT Dignified by the unconscious arrogance Of the man born in freedom To whom it has never occurred That others may not share his childlike faith That all our problems can be solved with the clean simplicity Of a hard right to the chin.
In the high hills of Korea, in the valley south of Ch’unch’on, there stands the fire cleansed remains of an institution of learning. Here one will find in rain stained mortar and weed grown halls a silent testimonial to the desecration of destruction. Here in the gapetoothed walls the lidless windows stare with an idiocy whose mindless agony fails to comprehend this awful hurt. Here where former years beheld the golden promise of youth even the chalk marked paneling has been burned from the walls as if to erase forever the intelligible communication of generation unto generation. Here where one may savor the ultimate consummation of tyranny, here where the teaching voice is stilled, the books are burned, the guiding mind is dispossessed. Here where one may see and touch and feel the imprint of the vandal, the new barbarian, the tyranny against all rights of men. Here let us see the face of the enemy, that tyranny will destroy what it cannot possess, that terror is a weapon and violence a way of life. Here where wind and shadow mark the passage of the hours on the flame drenched masonry and sunlight streams upon the futility of passive security there comes a moment of silent dedication. Here, in the high hills of Korea, in the valley south of Ch’unch’on, where time is meaningless in the chaos of desolation, let us vow that we will never cease until we have wiped the blasphemy of all tyranny from the face of the Earth.
Then comes the rain And the typhoon Karen Striking in out of the China Sea Slashing, tearing, flooding, gorging Collapsing waterlogged bunkers along the MLR Undercutting the never ending work of the Engineers Turning the dust into splashing silt Mining the roads into chuckholes And over the steep cut road banks The water pregnant hills begin to slide.
Ammo, AMmo, AMMo, AMMO You can’t fight a war without ammo! And somewhere up along the MSR The road is blocked with a slide.
“OK, Myers, OK. Lay off the panic button. I can hear you screaming from here What am I supposed to do, Clean it off with my elbows and fingernails? Half the convoys are already lost on the other side And the ones on this side can’t get through anyway. Take it easy, we’re working on it. And keep The Chinaman busy.”
This don’t show me much, But if you can’t go over it you gotta go around it. OK, that’s east to TEN Corps Or southwest towards Seoul. Check the Truck Battalion 3 The southern route is open but no info on the east They’re working on it That’s fine, that’s great I’ve got troubles I haven’t even heard about And we’ll send convoys in both directions And hope that something gets through. Down 17 to Kap’yong, swing north on 17A Keep them rolling Keep pushing it Over two mountain passes and up the winding Pukhan-gang And my heart rides with them For a slip of the wrist and you’re over the bluff On the cliff road east of Kap’yong. Or right on 29 to the junction 22 hundred hours CHECK! Now they’ve turned north on 103 Up the jumbled slopes of Puyang-san Whining-clawing-rolling-winding Tearing-yawing-roaring-grinding Sliding-clutching-heaving-praying
“Come on you Jimmy six-by” “Come on you son of a deuce-and-a-half”
Sturdy trucks those GMC’s Six wheels down and six wheels driving Wheeled by the sons of the “Rolling O” Wheeled by the bastard “Double Clutchers” MOVE IT! GET YOUR FUCKING ASS IN GEAR! We’ve got a WAR to fight Up here! OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Snap-shit, Charlie I have got you maxed! MOSHI MOSHI, HAI! NO SHIT! YOU’RE KIDDING FAR FUCKING OUT!
“You calls, we hauls We got 2 by 2’s, fo’ by fo’s, 6 by’s, semi’s And those great big mother-fuckers that go Chug’chug’chug’chug’chug’chug’chug’ chug'” Far into the night
All the way to Hwachon Either way to Hwachon All that’s left of Hwachon Which is four walls and a piss pipe And then on to the ROK’s.
When we first came here they told us “You’ve had it. This is the Central Front. II ROK Corps. All you’ve got in front of you is ROK’s. All The Chinaman has to do is sneeze And they’ll take off like a herd of turtles.” But that was before the ROK’s got artillery. Sure The Laundryman hit the ROK Divisions. Those “high powered American Divisions,” More glory to them, Had BIG guns to play with All the s’koshi ROK’s had were guts and bayonets. Now it’s a different story. Now the ROK’s have boom guns too 105’s and ace-double-nickles And even a few 8? American batteries to back them up. (On a clear night in Ch’unch’un You can see the muzzle flash of the 8 inch HOW’s
FIRE!
(Orange stab winking into darkness) 20 miles away, looking north, There Just to the right of Ch’unch’on Hill) October in the Kumhwa Ridges And The Chinaman decides to push. (Damn!) This is it (again) This is the frontier in flame. Up along highway 6 to Chorwon, Kumhwa and the Iron Triangle. And there is Joe Chink up on Pappa-san Breathing down your neck And dropping in his marker rounds (one . . . two . . . three . . .)
TIME ON TAR-GET!)
“Look, Jonesy, we gotta have more VT’s. You know we can’t stop them without VT’s! Yeah, yeah, I know. Take it easy. You’re working on it.” Well, that’s all she wrote. The ROK’s, are they holding? Hell, they’ve got to hold. And with their 105’s to back them up they will hold. (Maybe this is what Einstein meant when he said “In the next war we’ll throw ROK’s at them.”)
Barrage Flame in the night Artillery thunder rolling in the mountains. What are they doing? What’s happening? Is it good enough? And the stories that come filtering back: The Kay-MAG adviser the ROK’s knocked down And covered with their own bodies When the barrage came crashing in. Not just about to lose that MEE-gook adviser! (Oh ya better believe it, boysan) The choppers lifting through the acrid smelling smoke Like pollywogs in hell Bringing the dripping bundles of shredded flesh Back to the forward MASH
How rough can it get?
“And keep that ammo humping, GI!”
Sure, sure, got it rolling
Hubba-hubba all the way. It’s at times like this that the walls start closing in (Ya gotta watch those walls!) This squirrel cage is going nuts And Odd John the Panic Button Pusher Is on the phone again.
“How much 105 r’ya sending up tonight?” “None, sir, we cleaned out this morning.” “Wal then get some 155 on the road.” “Can’t, sir, that’s all gone too.” “DON’T ARGUE WITH ME, SEND 40 TRUCK LOADS!” “YES, SIR!”
Just like they say
“All the world be crazy save thee and me And right now I’m not so sure about thee.”
So you take it out with a GI gripe And work off some of the steam With your own little Rabelesian ribaldry
Or, “The Sheik of Sockcho-ri.” Singing nonsense under your breath While the world rocks And you push that ammo forward with body english
“Oh, I’m the Sheik—not the Freak—but the Sheik of Socho-ri! For I just love kimchee! At night when you’re asleep On your hot floor I’ll creep (Without no pa-i-yants on!)”
Just like when we were sweating out the landings in Normandy And sang with the British paratroopers
“Aoh, I don’t want to join the Army
I don’t want to go to war.
I just want to ‘ang around
The Piccadilly H’Underground Living on the earnings of a
‘igh class laidy ——“
But that was another campaign long, oh very long ago. Now we live in the Atomic Age and the roads are just as dusty.
Then comes that snow “that just won’t stop” And the first touch of that searing Siberian wind Sweeping down over the frost fingered ridges of Korea Where alien stars look down upon An alien desert land And alien winds blow alien snow Across the alien sand. “Now is the time of all good men” To come and bring their hibachis.
(Soliloquy spoken beside a Korean mound burial)
I am a Centurion of the Legions (echo: “ave caesar!”) I spoke strange oaths in many foreign tongues And home is where I hang my helmet skull.
I am a Centurion of the Legions I have campaigned for my country to the ends of the Earth And the term of my service is the measure of my devotion.
I am a Centurion of the Legions. I have stood the watch on Chotto Matte’s Castle Where the wild mares breed in the border marches And Peace I have known as a lull in an endless storm.
I am a Centurion of the Legions. I bring discipline to anarchy and order out of chaos And I look with the bleak eyes of experience On the crumbling transience of eternity. I am a Centurion of the Legions. I hold back the Ages of Darkness And I stand my ground when those about me turn and flee Crying, “Blow it out your tailpipe. We got better things to do Than wasting our days and years upon those barren hills. These slopies got no regard for what we’re doing anyhow.” Dai’jobel. Cutta, djeska, bali-bali. I am a Centurion of the marching Legions In my combat boots and piss pot I stand naked Before the onrushing years of forever And down the endless corridors of suns and winds And men of Rome And men who call their Asia home And men from East And men from West And men who follow the Eagle’s crest And men from far And men from near And men who shout their challenge clear And men who died in the long ago And men who’ll live in the Space below Tramping down through the winds and days The sweat and heat and the humid haze
To the rolling pound of the kettle DRUMS!
WHAM! BAM! DOUBLEDY DAMN! Flex and stride with a rolling cam WHAM! BAM! DOUBLEDY DAMN! Stride and swing from the knee-o.
And the nasal skirl of the screaming pipes
WHEE! WHEE! LOOK AT ME! A TOM CAT FREE! IN A TALL PINE TREE! O WHEE! WHEE! LOOK AT ME! A BAGPIPE CAT IN A TREE-O!
ee-
ee
tol tul tul tul tul tul tul tul
( oh ee oh ee )
DUM DUM
lee
ee
toh tul tul tul tul tul
( oh ee ee ee-DUM!)
DUM tul
Till all those columns join in one And all the men since Time’s begun Of noble brow and broken face Of every breed and time and place Who’ve fought to keep their people free Or died opposing tyranny From Inchon to Sockcho-ri From The Punch Bowl to Normandy With men whose names begin with Lee And men who end their names with “ski” With red and white and golden green And every color in between Who throngly band in memory When we recall our misery The long nights in the cold and rain The longer years of broken pa-IN!
May God have mercy on our souls This is our destiny This is our fate And this is my affirmation!
I am a Centurion of the Legions of Freedom all free men my comrades all nations my brothers all life is a boon of the Goddess Our Mother at our term we return to Our Maid of the Star Drifts there is no dread hereafter there is the dissolution of the body and eternal ecstasy in the kisses of Our Goddess there is death for the dogs of Sensate and Reason. there is no bond that can unite the divided but love all else is a curse. there is no higher rank than Centurion of The Legions! there is no higher honor than Legionnaire of The Legions! ave The Centurion! ave Our Starborne Goddess Mother! ave The Legions
R & R I & I A & A L & L For five glorious days (Oh you know it!) Shop for the home folks Visit the shrines See the sights Walk the Ginza And by the Imperial Moat on a winter evening Watching the traffic swirl around the sweeping turns With the red fire flies of their running lights “Whatsamatta you, mishangay?” “Tak’san kugema, GI!” The Frozen Chosen on a Saturday night The Light Colonels and their albino moose (“Don’t look now, but she’s a ’round eye!'”) And the American women in their social islands Insulated and self-isolating The 121st Evac at Yong Dung Po
“Captain, you know you’re not supposed to have
that (Korean) girl on this dance floor!”
(sic transit gloria mundi) Like it says in the phrase book “Tall, robust, with hazel eyes and finely chiseled features.” (No, they were not chiseled with a broken beer bottle) Condition Green And it’s Bedcheck Charlie with his Washing Machine The “Dear John” letters “Dear John,” that’s all she wrote “Dear John, that’s all” she wrote And little Johnny Peters took his trusty carbine And blew his brains out.
“What do you hear from the Old Folks at home?”
“Save your money boys. Hard times’ ahead.
There’s agonna be snow balls in Hell!”
MIG Alley And the Sabre Jets thundering over “Like Archangels in their might!” Ch’wibong-san at Kwandae-ri In the rain. Taeryong-san at Ch’urch’on Baking greenly in the heat. And Kwanak-san south of Yong Dung Po On the road to Suwon Glaciating in the snow. These I remember And endless miles of unpaved roadbed In a jeepo (The Laundryman! The Laundryman!
I’ll be washed as white as the driven snow
By The Launrdyman. The Laundryman.)
And now to leave this bloody place Out Back Home The Big R Riding the 8 Ball Express And singing a little nursery rhyme So happy you don’t make good sense
Extinguishing themselves on the downsweep Tokyo in the mist at dusk And then back to the squirrel cage.
X Corps The East Coast Cold, wet and miserable So far up in the hills They have to shoot beans at you with a howitzer. Wonju And Yong the Rain Dragon Writhing slowly on the hump backed ridges. The Moon Festival With fire dancing on the hills And the long arching streaks of light As they swing their fire pots far out To scare away the darkness. Yanggu Pass Up 29E into gooney bird country The rock walls The dead villages north of 38 Marking a roll call in limbo Nasan Tojong-dong Songa-ri Chong-ni Yongha-ri Yach’on-ni Yumok-tong Yonhwa-dong Kaoch’ang-ni Oejok-kol Imdang-ni And on north to Heartbreak Ridge Or right to The Punch Bowl Sand Bag Castle, and The Laundryman.
Thoughts Arrows in the night Here in the land of Moscow Mollie Mona the Mongolian The Honey Buccaneers The Rice Paddy Daddy And the “A” Frame Pappa-san. The charge of the Korean moose To the cry of “She-e-e Ain’t Got no YO-YO!”
“An-ya-hasha-meeka
Ko-nop-sim-needa
ON YOUR HORSE, AMIGO!
Me-am-hawhm-neeta.
Caun-ma-na-yo
Caun-mn-ma-na-yo
Caun-ma-na-a-a-YO!”
EE-chee-bahn #’ACK’in One Mo sko’shi, GI, MEE-gook moosey-may EE-so! E-ee-YAH-hoo!
Exultingly shouting (to the sound of fife and drum)
“Last night I slept in the wilderness
The wolves were howling ’round me
But tonight I’ll sleep in a feather bed
With the girl I left behind me.”
um- dul- tum- Ta- um- tum- tum dul- tum- tum tum- Ta- tum Tum- tum Ta- tum- dul- Tum- um- tum- dul- tum- Ta- ah- tum- tum- um-tum dul- Ta-dul- dul- um um- Ta- tum-
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