I’m going to stick with the war theme for a few more days, while I celebrate National Poetry Month–seems appropriate. This one is undoubtedly familiar to anyone who studied poetry or literature beyond a cursory look. I’ve included some images for those of you who may not know what a ball turret is–to make it a little easier to let Jarrell’s imagery work for you. My grandfather was a flight engineer on a B-24 Liberator in Africa beginning in 1942.
The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner by Randall Jarrell
From my mother’s sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.