When I Have Fears (#48)

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love!—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.
--John Keats

I was just going to give you the first two lines of that fine sonnet by John Keats and then felt that would be unfair...to Keats and to you.

At some point, at some time in my life, for some reason, my existence stopped revolving around Vietnam. I don’t know exactly when and, quite certainly, Vietnam has not receded into some quiet place, some framed photo to place on the corner of a table and watch while people pick it up and nod. Vietnam remains a visceral part of me and, I suspect, everyone who went there.

But it is no longer the central part of who I am. I keep thinking that some day in what I hope is some remote future, the headline of my obituary will read: VIETNAM VETERAN AND POET DIES. That’s okay if that’s how I defined my life, but it really isn’t. Somewhere in that brief notice, I would hope some acknowledgment might be made of my service and even of my later opposition to the war; I just don’t think it’s central to my life. This is more than a little morbid and I do apologize for that.

It’s just that I don’t believe I fit the image that headline would foist upon me. You see, we all do have a stereotypical image floating back in the back of our minds that the words Vietnam veteran conjure up. Right now: grab a pencil (or use your computer) and write ten words or phrases that come to mind when you hear those two words! Well, “old” might be one of them. "Bitter" could well be another. Perhaps, "mercurial and violent."

I’ve been back from Vietnam, and I do mean all the way back, since 1968, a little more than 44 years ago. Vietnam was one year in my life, marching against the war was another six years. So, seven whole years thinking about the war in some way or another. And a few more, cumulatively, writing about it.

Part of this is my own damned fault. I have written about the war since I started writing poems, essays and short stories. I don't regret that. I once wrote a really, really bad novel about it, A Position at the Rear. Okay, I’ve read worse, but it was still pretty bad. Next month even, I have an essay coming out in Voices de la Luna about the death penalty in Texas and how we in Texas are all responsible for the close to 250 killings perpetrated by Rick Perry and his cronies and the other killings by his predecessors. You know what I’m talking about: the killings applauded by the Tea Party crowd. In the essay I link those killings and the sense of group responsibility to the death of a young man I located in the hills surrounding Dak To, Kon-Tum Province, Viet-Nam, Republic of. So, yes, I am somewhat responsible.

But I have written almost as much about the brutal killing of James Byrd, Jr., and last week’s execution of one of his killers, Lawrence Russell Brewer. And I have written about a pond in Africa and nature essays and poems about the Big Thicket of Southeast Texas and the area around Wakulla Beach, Florida. Lately, I have been focusing a lot of attention on completing a book about the Old Spanish Trail Highway. It became US Highways 90 and 80—way back in 1927. So, why focus on one part of a person’s life? Aside from all that, I have had a long (and continuing) career as a librarian and English teacher, and as publisher of more than 125 books from Pecan Grove Press. I have recently celebrated the 38th anniversary of my marriage with Susan and have a son, 31-years old, who is a successful computer programmer/developer.

Uh, believe me, I am okay. Just thinking, reflecting. I've been writing this kind of stuff for forty years!

I was profiled in the San Antonio Express-News a few years ago. The writer was supposed to write about the 25th anniversary of Pecan Grove Press but focused pretty much on me instead. The phrase I kind of objected to was “crusty veteran.” Well, yes, I might be a little crusty and I am a veteran, but I preferred the rest of the article. Marian Haddad wrote a really nice profile of me for The Texas Observer a few years ago and did mention my Viet-Nam year but focused on other things I consider more important. She started with Reflections from Pete’s Pond (in Botswana, Africa) instead of with the Viet-Nam material. Marian referred to me as a “literary icon” of San Antonio and I had a plaque made for my office door: “H. Palmer Hall: Unknown Icon.” It's still mounted there.

Well, I really don’t care all that much. And I am, in fact, fairly proud of what I've written about that tragic little country and our part in its tragedy though I haven't made any of the anthologies of contemporary war poetry or, even, Viet-Nam War poetry. I won’t be around to read whatever is written anyway.