Carl Palmer
CARL PALMER wrote to me:
“I sent you the poem, Dan, after reading about your dream. I felt it connected, supported.”
“While serving in the military, in Germany, I toured Dauchau, outside of Munich. Emotions resurfaced upon President Obama’s visit to Buchenwald, the shooting at the Holocaust Museum, the wheel-chaired prison guard’s return to face his crimes and then your revelation, all back-to-back, all recent. This prompted me to write/send you this poem.”
“This site has an author interview that covers my life’s biography and more. The poem was first published in The Houston Literary Review.“
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Wheel-chaired into the lobby
from his assisted care room,
the elderly Jewish gentleman
squints into bright camera lights,
accepts the lottery check,
smiles at the television crew.
A newspaper reporter asks,
Was this a computer pick
or did you already have
some numbers in mind?
He focuses on her microphone,
as his hand rubs the sleeve
of the frayed gray sweater
covering his faded blue tattoo
~Carl Palmer~
[Dan's comment: At first glance, this poem might seem to have little to do with leadership -- the story of an old man caught in an ironic redemption: lotteries either kill you or make you rich. It reminds me of another lottery -- for the draft -- in which I personally participated. I was nineteen years old and the Viet Nam war needed more bodies for the body counts. My friends and I sat next to a radio listening for our birthdays to be called. If they were announced early on, it meant trying to get into the National Guard, fleeing to Canada, or going to war. If they were announced later, it meant safety and the continuation of college. Our game was to keep drinking until we heard our numbers come up. Mine was 319, very high, long into the drawing, and therefore very safe. I had a three day hang-over and woke up feeling guilty. It took awhile to figure out what the guilt was about.
These are experiences that inform consciousness; that inform the empathy needed to lead. The world can be a cruel or beneficent place, and that may depend on a roll of the dice. At the existential moment, given any roll, we learn to choose for ourselves and others what our lives will stand for.]
Comments
Comment from Lenard W. Eccles
Time: October 23, 2009, 9:06 pm
The Thoughts Generated from Carl’s poem Brought me back to the time when My Uncles were engaged in combat during wwll the grulling interrigation of people and the deevestating crimes against the Jewish people. the Poem itself is a Powerful reminder that the old gentilman is remembering as he is asked the questions. Not wanting to answer them. Thanks Carl
Ole Lenard
Comment from C Walle
Time: October 24, 2009, 9:42 am
What a beautiful page and such a strong poem. So glad I saw this. War news is often focused on the soldiers. Not much is mentioned about the civilian survivors, or non-survivors. Glad to see this type of poem which tells “the other side”.
Comment from Byron Murray
Time: November 2, 2009, 11:27 am
Dan and group
Does this evoke memories and voices. The poem reminds me of one of my friends who was in the regiment that liberated a death camp. When he talked about it you could tell the wounds from the memories were deep. He never really got over it. He was a recovering alcoholic with several falls from the wagon (as they used to say). One of the memories he had was of the stacks of bodies that began to move where two of the prisoners had crawled under to hide from execution. About Vietnam, I was a draftee. I knew my number was coming up and I was talking with an Air Force Recruiter and had filled out all the paperwork when I received my draft notice. I took it to the Air Force recruiter and he walked over to the draft board to see if he could get my name off the list (reminds me of other lists). He got me off the list and into the Air Force. If he hadn’t I was heading for Canada. And yet at times I feel guilty because I had friends that went in and served in Vietnam and some did not come back and some that did were never the same. But I still feel that guilt. One of my best friends who went told me not to worry or feel guilty. He said, “You didn’t miss a thing buddy.” I still remember a saying during the sixties about war: “I have become my enemy.” I have endeavored since then not to become my enemy but to undersand we are all human and part of the web of life. We are connected and we are all brothers and sisters. There is a lesson from a student of the Buddha where he takes grains of sands and throws them away and then asks – which one is the Buddha. That is what war represents to me – throwing those grains of sand away.
Comment from Byron Murray
Time: November 2, 2009, 2:11 pm
Just to clarify. In the first sentence of my post it was my best friends Dad who was in a regiment that liberated one of the death camps. l
Comment from Rob M. Miller
Time: December 19, 2009, 7:19 am
Great poem, well-titled, provocative.
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