Bataan Death March : it's called "They"
Byron Black
austin-ghetto-list@pairlist.net
Sun Jun 6 02:28:07 2004
Thanks, Jon. This is a saver.
But it's not the poem I'm referring to. The one I'm trying to remember
essentially had to do with the eerie and unending presence of the experience
among veterans, even after they were back in a 'normal' American
environment.
Cheers,
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB
----- Original Message -----
From: "Jon Ford" <jonmfordster@hotmail.com>
To: <austin-ghetto-list@pairlist.net>
Sent: Sunday, June 06, 2004 12:31 PM
Subject: RE:Bataan Death March : it's called "They"
> "Bataan Death March"-- i found it right away:
> "THEY"...a story in verse of the Death March of Bataan during World War II
>
> This story was lived by Jesse Knowles and written in April, 1943,
while
> he and several hundred other Americans were Prisoners-of-War of the
Japanese
> in Mukden, Manchuria. During the march from Mariveles, on the southern end
> of the Bataan Peninsula, to San Fernando, 55 miles away, 76,000 American
and
> Filipino prisoners of war were bound, beaten, or killed by their Japanese
> captors. Some were bayoneted when they fell from exhaustion. Some were
> forced to dig their own graves and were buried alive. Only 56,000
prisoners
> reached camp alive. Thousands of them later died from malnutrition and
> disease. In August, 1945, the Russian Army liberated the prison camp in
> Mukden and the first Americans they saw were at the Harbor of Darien,
> Manchuria, when the U.S. Navy loaded the prisoners aboard a ship for the
> long-awaited trip home....to the U.S.A.
>
>
>
>
> Strange things were done under the tropic sun
> By the men in Khaki twill
> Those tropic nights have seen some sights
> That would make your heart stand still
> Those mountain trails could spin some tales
> That no man would ever like
> But the worst of all was after the fall
> When we started on that hike
>
> T'was the 7th of December in '41
> When they hit Hawaii as the day begun
> T'was a Sunday morning and all was calm
> When out of nowhere there came the bombs
> It didn't last long but the damage was done
> America was at war with the rising sun
>
> Now over in the Philippines we heard the news
> And it shook every man clean down to his shoes
> It seemed like a dream to begin
> But soon every soldier was a fighting man
> Each branch was ready to do its part
> Artillery, infantry, Nichols and Clark
>
> And then they came on that Monday noon
> They hit Clark field like a typhoon
> That Monday night the moon was clear
> They razed Nichols from front to rear
> As the days went by more bombers came
> And soon only a few P-40's remained
>
> Then the orders came and said retreat
> That no man would be seen on the city streets
> So across the bay we moved at night
> Away from Manila and out of sight
> Deep into the jungles of Bataan
> Where 15,000 were to make a stand
>
> Here we fought as a soldier should
> As the days went by we spilled our blood
> Tho' the rumors came and went by night
> That convoy never came in sight
>
> April 7th was a fatal day
> When the word went around that we couldn't stay
> That the front line was due to fall
> So the troops moved back one and all
>
> The very next day the surrender came
> Then we were men without a name
> You may think here's Where the story ends
> But actually here's where it begins
> Tho' we fought and didn't see victory
> The story of that march will go down in history
>
> We marched along in columns of four
> Living and seeing the horrors of war
> And when a man fell along the way
> A cold bayonet would make him pay
> For those four months he fought on bataan
> Then they'd kill him 'cause he couldn't stand
>
> The tropic sun would sweat us dry
> For the pumps were few that we passed by
> But on we marched to a place unknown
> A place to rest and a place to call home
> Home not that you might know
> But home to man that suffered a blow
>
> Then to O'Donnell Camp en masse
> Some never back thru' those gates to pass
> In Nipa huts we lived like beast
> Bad rice and camotes were called a feast
>
> Our minds went back to days gone by
> When our throats were never dry
> Of our wives, our mothers, and friends
> Of our by-gone days and our many sins
> And about four thousand passed away
> And how many more no man can say
> For no tomb stone marks the spot
> Where thirty to fifty were buried in lot
> Piled together as a rubbish heap
> The remains of men
> Who were forced to retreat
>
> Now I want to state and my words are straight
> And I bet you think they're true
> That if you gotta die it's better to try
> And take them with you too
>
> It's they that took us that fatal day
> It's they that made us pay and pay
> It's they that counted us morn and night
> It's they that again we wanted to fight
> It's they that made us as we are
> But it's not they that'll win this war
> For the men in khaki will come some day
> And take us back to the U.S.A.
>
>
>
>
> >From: "Byron Black" <blacky@cbn.net.id>
> >Reply-To: austin-ghetto-list@pairlist.net
> >To: <austin-ghetto-list@pairlist.net>
> >Subject: Fill a Veen
> >Date: Sun, 6 Jun 2004 02:56:24 +0700
> >
> >I taught with Phil Levine at Fresburg state from 1967-69. He was
> >peripherally (fearfully?) involved in the antiwar thing.
> >
> >Always enjoyed his company and nice (if somewhat cynical) take on
> things.
> >
> >Good poet too.
> >
> >By the way I'm looking and looking without success for a poem called
> BATAAN
> >DEATH MARCH and it's not by Randall Jarrell but it's like one of his
> poems,
> >and I've gone 12 dimensions and sideways in Google to try and unearth
it
> (or
> >the poet). Something about "barebacked streets" in the USA
> bringing to mind
> >the death march.
> >
> >Any, er, ideas?
> >
> &
>
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