Wonderings

Reading Here, Bullet is a bit confusing at times for me because I don’t always understand what’s happening in the poem. That may be because like Tim O’Brien says, we as civilians can never fully know or understand what life was like during war. No amount of listening to stories being told can give us the full comprehension or meaning or emotions that are intended for the listener to absorb. Reading this collection of poems is also disturbing. The tragedy of what becomes daily life for the Iraqi civilians and American soldiers alike moves my soul to a place of compassion and wonderment. Why is physical war waged? Why does it last for so long? Are the solutions to the problems so deeply hidden that it takes years to fully unearth? Why is it that the innocent always seem to suffer most? I don’t understand. Everyone has learned from the past that war is nasty, ugly, devastating and brings out the worst types of evil, so why engage in it? The book’s namesake poem really spoke volumes to me. The graphic and anatomically correct description of what happens when a bullet reaches its target is, for me, cringe worthy. The bullet is like Hannibal Lector; its path is violent, it’s sadistic, and has no remorse. It’s like the author has no control over the actions of the bullet. He is a puppet being strung along by the puppet master. The author does not enjoy his work, but only does as he is commanded. There is a death inside of him for every round of bullets he releases. He is still human. His heart is still intact. He has had enough, and yet he continues on because the master is pulling on his strings.