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Not Twenty, but two or three

 
 
Letty
 
Reply Fri 3 Oct, 2008 04:51 am
Question one: Why can I not find Bink Noll's "Lunch on Omaha Beach"?
Question two: Will we ever be able to get updates?
Question three: Did I do something wrong when I attempted to tag the TOS and got, "ASK A QUESTION."
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Type: Question • Score: 0 • Views: 1,126 • Replies: 4
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jespah
 
  2  
Reply Fri 3 Oct, 2008 03:26 pm
@Letty,
Letty wrote:

Question one: Why can I not find Bink Noll's "Lunch on Omaha Beach"?
Question two: Will we ever be able to get updates?
Question three: Did I do something wrong when I attempted to tag the TOS and got, "ASK A QUESTION."


1. http://www.amazon.co.uk/House-Poems-Bink-Noll/dp/0807111988 (possibly)
2. Answers to questions like this are here: http://blog.able2know.org/
3. I have no idea how you could possibly attempt to tag the Terms of Service as there is no place to put a tag.
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Fri 3 Oct, 2008 04:10 pm
@jespah,
Thanks, Jes. It will take me some time to review the explanations that Craven and Nick have indicated.

What I meant by TOS involved a thread that someone started concerning it, and I attempted to tag it and it didn't work; ergo, I just went for the question thing. Dummy Letty may have hit the wrong button, however.
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Fri 3 Oct, 2008 05:57 pm
@Letty,
P.S. Someone came on A2K and the radio thread trying to find that poem by Bink Noll. He wanted to read it while he and his charges cleaned up the beach. That's why I was searching for the poem itself. Odd that one may find so many poems by searching the web, but not that one.
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Letty
 
  1  
Reply Mon 9 Mar, 2009 03:44 am
Found it!

Lunch on Omaha Beach

The killers are killed, their violent rinds
conveyed, and the beach is back to summer.
I eat sausage with bread. Full of ease, the sea
Makes the sound of cows chewing through high grass.


They're deposited in government lawn
Set with nine thousand decencies of stone
To wet the eye, shake the heart, and lose
Each name in a catalog of graven names.


They are wasted in the blank of herohood.
They are dead to fondness and paradox.
They're all the same. In the field of lawn
Above the beach, they're put away the same.


They should be left exactly here below where
Death's great bronze mares shook earth and bloodied them,
Where violence of noise isolated each boy
In the body of his scream, and dropped him.


No worn Norman hill should be scarred and smoothed
To suit officials' tidy thoughts for graveyards
But the wreckage left, shrinking in rust and rags
And carrion to dust or tumuli.


To honor my thoughts against shrines, to find
The beast who naked wakes in us and walks
In flags, to watch the color of his day
I spill my last Bordeaux into the sand.


Watching, I wonder at the white quiet,
The fields of butter cows, my countrymen
Come to study battle maps, blue peasants
Still moving back and forth, the day's soft sea.

Another serendipity!
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