this diary is dedicated to all who suffer because of war and other disasters
cross-posted at DailyKos, Booman Tribune, European Tribune, and My Left Wing.
image and poem below the fold
Three Local Organizers & David Fisher at Camp David Fisher
Bring Them Home Now Bus Tour – Sep. 14, 2005 – Albany, NY
21 year old, Spc. David Fisher of Watervliet, NY; assigned to the 1st Battalion, 101st Cavalry Regiment, New York Army National Guard, Newburgh, N.Y.; killed Dec. 1 while his unit was on patrol in Baghdad and the Humvee in which he was riding rolled over.. Maureen, seen here holding his picture, is a librarian at his high school where my own son went to school. His grandparents joined us at Camp David Fisher. His Mother gave permission to use his name for the camp. She was not ready for a public appearance of this nature but sent a letter which Maureen read when she and I accompanied the Bus Tour members to a meeting with Congressman Mike McNulty who has recently joined the Out of Iraq Congressional Caucus, signed on to H.R. 55 an exit plan for Iraq, H. Con. Res 197 no permanent bases in Iraq, and H.R. 551, the student privacy protection act. Congressman McNulty, an early supporter of the war is now firmly in our camp. Have you visited the office of your Congressman and asked them to sign on?
(photo courtesy of Andrew C White at BooMan – scroll)
more about David Fisher
Lighter than a feather
by Diana Bridge
I
His voice was a broken tile
in a classical setting,
a clay edge grating against sky.
Now his silence speaks to
the classified space
in the front of the square.
II
A man in a corduroy hat is spinning
over the sea. Gu Cheng,
feeling light with a poem.
This was in the early days when,
the glaze not yet dry,
he would sit watching sharp
incredible outlines
rise out of the harbour
needing such a harbour
to displace waves
of pale terracotta branded with
the tight stamp of a seal.
Did he think he was like
Any young man clearing out a pigsty
Or a property?
He was his mother’s obstinate child.
III
He left behind a set of graded bells.
He left behind
the slow build of stories,
tiles placed across the centuries,
each one taking off diagonally
from the one before.
His pain trickled down
through the floor boards.
Though he left with a poem
in his arms, he left
behind too much.
IV
Now he’s lighter than a feather,
less material than snow.
In the Duke’s hunting lodge
the stories fall in cryptic patterns
Cold blows the north wind,
Thick falls the snow.
Take my hand and go, love
Until the striped deer is back
With its scholars and poets gather
in the garden once more.
– – –
view the pbs newshour silent honor roll (with thanks to jimstaro at booman.)
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read This is what John Kerry did today, the diary by lawnorder that prompted this series
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