LA home based learning- poem analysis

We Slept With Our Boots On

They unloaded the dead and maimed right before our eyes
They washed out the blood, we loaded our ruck’s and then took to the skies
Over the mountains, villages, and valleys we flew
Where we would land we had not a clue
Bullets are flying, the LZ is hot
We’re leaving this bird whether we like it or not
30 seconds they yelled, Lock N Load and grab your shit
Get ready to go and make it quick
My heart is pumping adrenalin through all of my veins
I run as fast as I can through the lead rain
The noise is tremendous, terror I can’t define
The only reason I survived that day was divine
I kept pulling the trigger and reloading and pulling some more
You do what you have to do, with that I will say no more
We fought from the valleys to the mountain peaks
From house to cave, to car to creek
Dirty and tired and hungry and scared
We slept with our boots on so we were always prepared
Those majestic mountains so steep, so high they kiss the skies
The Hindu Kush has changed so many lives
Up the mountains with heavy loads we trod
Who knew hell was so close to God
Beauty and terror are a strong mixed drink
So we drank it like drunkards and tried not to think
Good men and bad men, Mothers lost son’s
Everyone loses their innocence when they carry guns
Washed in the blood, and baptized by fire
I will never forget those who were called higher
They say blood is thicker than water, well lead is thicker than blood
Brothers aren’t born they’re earned. In the poppy fields, the tears, and the mud
And when I get to heaven to Saint Peter I will tell
Another Paratrooper reporting for duty sir, I spent my time in hell


Steve Carlsen


Task 1:
Background information
Steve Carlsen was born and resides in Dowagiac, Michigan. He joined the US Army in October 2000, went through Infantry Basic Training and Airborne School. He was deployed to Kosovo in November 2001 for peacekeeping operations, and following that, to Afghanistan in December 2002 to take part in the war.He was honourably discharged from the army in 2003, and currently attends Southwestern Michigan College, where his professor, Dr. Michael Collins, challenged him to write about his experiences. Therefore, the poem is written from Steve's firsthand experiences, most likely in a negative light.

LZ: Landing Zone

Hindu Kush: 500-mile long mountain range located in Afghanistan to Pakistan

http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/2010warpoetry.html

Task 2:
The poem is written from a first-person point of view, as opposed to poems in second-person point of view, which often describe the scene in general instead of from the perspective of a single individual. This suggests that the writer has memories and has experienced the war firsthand, which is further confirmed and supported by his background information- his history as a soldier in the war.

The poem is written in past tense, thus implying it is a recollection by the writer, set in Afghanistan, supported by the mention of the Hindu Kush as well as the writer's background information (having fought the war in Afghanistan). The poem narrates the writer's feelings and experiences as he fights battle after battle day after day, revelling in the thrill of the fight but also overshadowed by the fear ("beauty and terror are a strong mixed drink"). The poet does not mention much of the enemy they were fighting on the physical plane, but instead reveals the true enemy to originate from the emotional and psychological aspect of their thoughts. Therefore in this case the theme is Man vs Oneself, where the writer struggles with glorifying the war ("washed in the blood, baptised by fire") and rejecting it out of guilt and fear ("everyone loses their innocence when they carry guns"). "Lead is thicker than blood, brothers aren't born, they're earned"- this shows that the writer's perception of the war has been slightly warped; he glorifies the brotherhood formed with his comrades through battle and bloodshed. The writer makes his stand unclear until the last 11 lines in which he reflects and lastly concludes that war= hell ("Another paratrooper reporting for duty, sir I spent my time in hell").

The poem follows an AA BB rhyming pattern where the last word of the first line rhymes with the last word of the next line. The writer narrates the scene in a oxymoronic and contradictory manner (e.g. "Beauty and terror are a strong mixed drink" and "who knew hell was so close to God"). The writer also manages to bring out the desperation, the rush, and the turmoil of war through the fast pace of the poem in which the writer and his comrades continuously rush from place to place, fighting chaotic battles ("We fought from the valleys to the mountain peaks, from house to cave, to house to creek"). Adjectives such as "tremendous" and "dirty, tired, hungry, and scared" are used to describe the battle and its effects and outcomes.

I feel that this poem does manage to bring out the essence of war through the writer's thoughts and experiences. The rhyming pattern gives the poem a slightly "catchy", fast-paced rhythm which aids in the description of war and the battle in general. The writer also manages to bring out his inner turmoil, (thrill vs fear) and finally rejects war in the concluding lines of the poem. Ultimately, the theme is Man vs Oneself.

War- a personal response (descriptive)

The soldier lies amidst the wreckage, his faint heartbeat ebbing away, with his two comrades racing frantically to save his life. Blood flows freely from his battered, worn face, like an old mask that has been worn for far too long. He feels the familiar weight of the ammunition resting upon his chest, and the rifle lying by his side. One comrade is bent down with despair, mourning the soon-to-be loss.

How many more will suffer his fate, never to see the light of day or feel the warmth of his family again, to die on a battlefield of death and despair, when they can pass away peacefully on their deathbed, surrounded by the love of family, surrendering their lives to the so-called noble cause of war? How many more families, Vietnamese or American, who suffer the heart-wrenching pang that comes with the loss of a family member? How many more times must the bloodstained blade of war fall again and again to severe threads of lives, and along with them, love? Compared to the care and warmth of friends and family, war seems puny, insignificant, and immature. Why kill each other when we can live happy lives in harmony? For our own reasons that we deem "right"? Are there truly weapons of mass destruction, or do we seek to seize oil supplies for our own good? Why impose idealogies on others and reinforce them with violence? Are we so immature, so dependent on the opinions of others, that we cannot stand others taking another path, not doing things "our way"? Yet, in spite of all this, war is being fed like a furnace being stoked, and one day, as H.G. Wells once said, if we do not end wars, wars will end us. There is only one fuel, one fuel for the fires of war that ignites the sparks of hate and rage. Us. Our volition. The choice whether to ignite the fires of war or to extinguish them lies within us.

War- A personal response (Narrative)

The world faded in and out of focus. The soldier's consciousness teetered on the edge of the void, yet somehow managed to grip on. His unfocused gaze slid past the wreckage which once was the Viet Kong headquarters building, to the rifle lying on his limp hand, and focused on the pair of bright green eyes, which were filled with such intense emotion that the soldier was momentarily jolted to alertness. He tried to sit up, but a nerve-wracking pain surged through his abdomen, and he gave a hoarse cry of agony. All around him, the ground was littered with bloody corpses, some twisted and some scorched, as though a monstrosity of some kind had passed by and carelessly scattered corpses like ashes over the battlefield. In his half-conscious state, the soldier heard voices, voices that were filled with emotion that threatened to overwhelm him with crushing pressure.

"The explosion... Viet Kong escaped... secret tunnel"

"Splinter...punctured vital organs...not...live"

"Johnson...Johnson..."

The voice called to him, filled with emotion, and it took all his willpower to resist the pull of the void. The voice, the voice of his friend, whom he had fought side by side with, whom he had promised he would live through the war. Then he thought of his family and his children, whom he would never see again. To think he would die on this battlefield of death and despair, instead of on his deathbed, living with his wife and children to a ripe old age. He looked around the battlefield for one last time. How many more were there like him, he thought. How many who would not live to see the light of day or feel the warmth of family? He gazed, once more, into those green eyes, from which tears now freely flowed, and mouthed his friend's name, as his parched throat could not voice a word. Then he drew his thoughts and feelings around him like a shroud, and , with one last smile, with an explosion of emotions, let go of his life.

Fried egg and ham sandwich

You will need 8 slices of white bread, 0.125 kg of cheddar cheese , 0.25 kg of sliced pre-cooked ham, 4 eggs, 0.028kg of butter. Butter both sides of each slice of bread with 2 tablespoons of butter.


Heat the remaining butter in a pan and crack each egg into the pan about 5 cm away from each other after the butter has melted. Season the eggs to your taste with salt and pepper and pan-fry them for 2 to 3 minutes till the yolk is runny and the white is firm. Meanwhile, get down to constructing the sandwich by spreading the melted butter over the bread and dividing the cheese among four slices of bread. Divide the ham into four portions and place them on top of the cheese, followed by the four fried eggs. Place a piece of bread over each of the four "stacks" to complete the sandwich. Pan-fry the sandwiches on both sides until they turn golden-brown. Serves 4 (a sandwich for each person). To be served warm.


http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/emeril-lagasse/fried-egg-and-ham-sandwich-recipe/index.html

Letter to Survivors

661, Bukit Timah Road ( 269734 )

Hwa Chong Institution

29/3/2011

Dear Ryuzaki,

News of your predicament has travelled swiftly, far, and wide. After reading the news articles, whether online or printed, I felt compelled to write this letter to comfort and encourage you in the light of this recent string of disasters. It is to my understanding that the earthquake and tsunami have had a tremendous impact upon Japan, especially the coastal cities such as Tokyo, Iwaki, and Mito. These natural disasters triggered a series of explosions in the Fukushima reactor, located in the Fukushima province your home was located in. Iam glad that no harm has befallen you and that you have evacuated the area lest you fall prey to the deadly, creeping cloud of radiation.

Based on what I have read from live recounts, once the disaster starts, you feel as though you have lost total control of your life. The grip of terror that encircles you when you feel the ominous rumble of the quake, like an obstreperous child throwing a tantrum, the cloud of uncertainty that hangs about you, the desperate rush for food rations, news, and the assurance that family members are safe and unhurt. These cannot be entirely explained in words. Even the aftershock mimicks a sort of morbid replay of the quake, as though the quake is speaking to you, taunting you about not being in control.

I rejoice in the fact that you live and are unharmed, and urge you to overcome these fears. One thing that sets humans apart from animals is their consciousness: their ability to think and feel and will. Strengthen your resolve and your will; do not let your determination for self-preservation crumble, yet find the compassion and be willing to sacrifice in order to help others.

My hopes go with you.

James

Setting

It began with the wind. The wind from another age that unleashed a fury the likes of which had never been seen before in any other blizzard. The wind ripped apart the sky shook the earth, screaming at the very boundaries of reality. The trees bowed and trembled before its fury, and

the whispering of their leaves quickly turned to shrieks of pain and fear. The wind sang of conquest and death, and pounded the forest with snow and ice.

Then the wolf emerged.

Its long mane of black fur rippled in the wind, and its eyes were the colour of the purest gold, indicating its great age. Its legs were lean and muscular from running, ears pricked, listening intently. It flicked its tail and then spread its jaws, tasting the air. The wind ceased instantly, dying down to a whimper. It blew about in apologetic circles around it, stirring the snow around its feet. The wolf ignored it, and then suddenly its eyes flared. Just the merest suggestion of his quarry's scent drifted onto its tongue, and it drank in the air, trying to detect any other remnants. Then it found the trail, and followed it. Behind it, ravens followed in the hope of having a meal of fresh meat. Then, as it reached the end of the path, it bared its teeth in what was unmistakably a savage grin.

The hunter had found its prey.

Becoming a Singaporean

Note: The following story is completely fiction.

“What are you doing?!” the Japanese soldier demanded. He was a tall, dark, burly man built along the lines of a professional wrestler. The otherwise handsome face was twisted into an ugly snarl of hatred and rage. His breath smelt of alcohol and cigarette smoke. But it was his uniform that distinguished him from any other military man. This was no ordinary soldier of the Japanese Imperial Army; this was one of their military police and secret service, the Kempeitai. “S-sir, I was merely giving that man some bread.” The Japanese leaned in closer, and his foul breath filled the space between us. “That man is an enemy of the Emperor and our army. Surely you would know better than to aid one of our enemies, boy?” I gulped and nodded. “You know what happens to traitors, don’t you?” He sneered. “Y-yes,” I stuttered. Those who committed the slightest offence were subjected to terrible torture or decapitation at the Kempeitai centre. “Now don’t ever let me catch you around here again, or I’ll skin you alive!” I hurriedly picked up my basket and trotted off down the alley.

“Stop!” the Kempeitai suddenly ordered. I froze. “Turn around slowly.” I did as ordered. The soldier frowned. “Are you Chinese, boy?” he growled. I felt as though an ice-cold claw had grasped my heart in an iron grip. “Me, sir?” I squeaked. “I sell and deliver bread. No harm to anybody!” The soldier grunted. “What’s your name?” “I’m, uh, Ali. Yeah, Ali.” “Ali… hmm…” The soldier rolled the name around in his mouth. My heart pounded madly. “I’ve never heard of you. Now get out of here and never let me see you again!” He finally snarled. “Yes, sir.” I picked up the basket and ran out of the alley. The soldier walked off in the opposite direction. I waited around the corner until I was sure he had gone. Then I turned and ran toward the crippled Chinese soldier in tattered clothes whom I had offered bread to. “I’m-…” “Xiaoshu, yes. I know you. Done a few undercover jobs for us, eh?” I offered him a canteen of cool water from the basket, and a loaf of bread. After he finished drinking, he continued, “The location you are seeking is not too far ahead. Just continue going straight, and then take a left turn until you reach a dilapidated old hut set on a hill. From there, turn right until you reach a wire fence, which marks the boundary of the place you seek. Good luck, comrade.” I stood up, and was about to leave, but then I turned, helped the man up, and supported him, limping to a deserted shop house. “Don’t bother about me,” he said urgently. “What is the life of one compared to millions?” “We’re all in this together,” I told him. “Never leave a man behind. The Kempeitai would torture you if they knew what you have done. Besides,” I grinned. “What have we got to lose?”

The soldier’s directions proved to be accurate. I walked straight, and then reached a junction where I took the left turn I was told to. Every time a saw the Kempeitai I crouched and hoped with all my might that they didn’t find me. The path slowly faded to the more ruralised country areas where shrubbery and trees grew untamed. Somewhere on the way, I suddenly realized that I was trekking uphill. The hut that the soldier had described appeared as a tiny brown dot on the horizon. When I reached the top, I groaned and flopped to the ground, gasping. Then a loud creak made me spring to attention. Then I realized with horror what I was really looking at.

The inside of the hut was splattered with blood and bits of flesh and what looked like brains. The dwelling was invaded with the putrid smell of decomposition, and on the floor lay a British soldier, his face still locked in a death scream, intestines spilling out onto the floor beside him. His eyes were open, glazed with fear, and a neat hole in his chest and the bloodstains on his mouth and chest were evidence enough that his lungs had been punctured and he had gagged on his own blood. With a trembling hand, I closed both his eyes. Now, he looked almost asleep… except for the entrails spilling out of his torso. A sense of fury overcame me, and I rode that wave of hatred and righteous anger until it threatened to burn out my heart. This Japanese scourge must be wiped from our lands at once! Too many have died at their hands and more soon will! I brushed my hands on my trousers and walked on.

At last I reached my destination. I poked my eye through one of the holes in the fence, and saw a huge, sprawling military compound. A grin broke across my face. This was the secret military base we were looking for! The radio transmitter used by the Japanese to intercept Allied messages was located in there. To seize control of the base meant to seize control of their access to Allied communications. We could use the transmitter to call for help! It was the key to our freedom. I removed a small two-way radio from my pocket and pressed a button. At first it there was a long burst of static, then I cleared my throat and spoke. “Force 136, do you read me? This is operative codename Little Mouse. Our target has been confirmed.” There was silence on the other end. Then… “Mouse, we read you loud and clear. This is agent Lim Bo Seng. We will deploy military units to that specific area immediately. Roger out.”

As I put down the two-way radio, I felt a sense of honour and loyalty for what I had done for my country. I was proud to be a Singaporean.