“And in the end, of course, a true war story is never about war. It’s about sunlight. It’s about the special way

that dawn spreads out on a river when you know you must cross the river and march into the mountains and

do things you are afraid to do. It’s about love and memory. It’s about sorrow. It’s about sisters who never

write back and people who never listen.” How to Tell a True War Story

Further our understanding of the Vietnam War experience from a soldier’s perspective through poetry

Critically think about the effect the poems have on your reading of the book by reading, discussing and ranking the poems by how well they connect to the book and help you to further your understanding.

Listen to/look at the poems with an open and focused mind

Activate the knowledge you have gained from the characters, events and descriptions in the book as you recognize similar events, emotions and experiences in the poems we read today

For each poem, write down connections to the book on your sheet

When all poems have been read/discussed you will rank the poems from 1 to 7 as to how well they allude to the big ideas presented by Tim O’Brien in our book.

Which poems help explain the Vietnam soldier/war best?

TED Talks and blogs. Can these perspectives help you make a connection to the poem and the book?

Class discussions. Have we touched on an idea that was echoed in a poem?

What it means to tell a true war storyThe things they carried (as a concept)The climate of the war in Vietnam and in the U.S.Your own reading and interpretation of the bookCharacters, events, emotions, etc.The story-truth and the happening-truth

Could there be a poem-truth?

The next step you take

May lead to an ambush.

The next step you take

May trigger a tripwire.

The next step you take

May detonate a mine.

The next step you take

May tear your leg off at the hip.

The next step you take

May split your belly open

The next step you take

May send a sniper’s bullet through your brain.

The next step you take.

The next step you take.

The next step.

The next step.

The next step.

You have stopped for a break, stand up

To put your gear on and hear shots,See the flash of the muzzles.You have been followed.The whiteness of the branches That have been cut along the wayTells you you’re on a new trail,But the sergeant is a stateside G.I.:Barracks inspections, rules and

regs.You are probably surrounded.There are five others beside you.You are twenty-three.You look quickly around you:The sky, the trees.You’re far from home.You know now that your lifeIs no longer yours

First Encounter

Leroy V. Quintana

I had a man in my sights

and I pulled the trigger.

I knew he would fall,

but I didn’t think

he would get back up

and run like a wounded deer.

We followed the blood trail

and found only an abandoned pack.

The lieutenant took the cash,

the men divided the food,

Intelligence was sent the love letters

and I got the credit

for a probably kill

Intelligence reported the love letters

were from a woman in the southern provinces.

Which meant she was arrested,

beaten, raped, locked in a tiger cage,

forced to eat her own excrement

and beaten again.

If she confessed, she was executed.

If she refused to confess, she was executed.

It was a funny war,

I shot a man.

I killed a woman.

Roll him over carefullyAlign his body

on an axis, east to westFold his hands across his

chest close his eyes

He is goneBut we remember

and talk softlySomeone gathers his gearAnother wipes his face

We cannot explainThisAvoiding each other’s eyesNo one told usWe did not know.

To come to thisAfter so long a short lifeA child surrounded by childrenPlaying---

The reason he died?He and the platoon came uponThree Vietnamese children, ages three, five and eight,Who were playing with some tied-together piecesOf nice, shiny plastic that they had found in the grass.The Lieutenant stood stillBut ordered the rest of the platoon to fall back.Then he asked the kids to put their toy,A double booby trap, down gently,But they did not understandAnd pitched it to him,And it bounced once and went boom,Gutting all four of them to shredded death.A Congressman, upon hearing of the incidentFrom a newspaper reporter,Asked the reporter one question:“Was the booby trap theirs or ours?”And his question was the answer.

We had a deal, he and I,Of no bullshit between us.If one of us got wounded,The other wouldn’t lie.So when he got hitAnd he asked me, “How’s my leg?”I looked him straight in the eyeAnd told him, “It’s fine.”It looked fine to me,Laying over there,Looked as good as new.

Hello, David- my name is Dusty.

I’m your night nurse.I will stay with you.I will check your vitals

every 15 minutes.I will document

inevitability.I will hang more blood

and give you somethingfor your pain.

I will stay with youand I will touch your face.

Yes, of course,I will write your motherand tell her you were brave.

I will write your motherand tell her how much you loved her.

I will write your mother and tell her to give your bratty kid sistera big kiss and hug.

What I will not tell heris that you were wasted.

I will stay with youand I will hold your hand.

I will stay with youand watch your lifeflow through my fingersinto my soul.

I will stay with youuntil you stay with me.

Goodbye, David- my name is Dusty.

I am the last person you will see.

I am the last personyou will touch.

I am the last personwho will love you.

So long, David- my name is Dusty.

David- who will give me something for my pain?

It’s practically impossibleTo tell civiliansFrom the Vietcong.

Nobody wears uniforms.They all talkThe same language. (and you couldn’t

understand them even in they didn’t).

They tape grenadesInside their clothes,And carry satchel

chargesIn their market baskets.

Even their women fight;And young boysAnd girls.

It’s practically impossible

To tell civiliansFrom the Vietcong;

After a while,You quit trying.