| 1. Alone I arrive, walking from Frederick over the gap onto this burnished landscape out to a knoll to see before me countless writhing rows of indiscernible shapes gathered in terrible rituals mid fire and smoke that darken the sun— I hear sounds now: from distant corners cannon in rhythmic thudding, and from the fields where movement takes place the dire muffled rumbling of drums. From behind, couriers gallop past hoofing sod aloft straightway into throngs to where ruffled flags sway, to men mounted high with swords drawn, about to unleash their flexing lines to collide with columns coming on. I watch them shift and fan then clash head on as distant volleys crackle in long orange ribbons where smoke is rising— after which shattered lines rejoin like healed limbs, smaller now but whole, to thrust once more into spiraling bursts of yellowy orange. Is that a cornfield on the distant plain not far from where the spire stands? I see stalks moving like men advancing and falling back in wild infernal whirling, savage yelling ripping through space. Before my eyes that field of green being reaped now by frenzied swathings, turns brown, then grayish, is slashed and shredded, then ravaged in geysers of fire. I see you, man in blue, your back to me— in haste your lines plunge forward like waves, cresting and curling to splash in smoky spume onto a road that cuts the fields in two— alas, facing you I see four fixed columns of reddish gold bursting as one repelling your forward drive— you fall where carnage itself piling high will stave all further slaughter. And far off to my left a long snakelike movement bloats at a bridge behind which the hills with fire erupting, hell’s crucible spurting its flow of fiery orange from ten thousand pores toward that stony arched crossing. On this side those clotted masses ever surging and retracting propel one small bluish artery into that brimming inferno to lunge its way forward, unscathed, as if being ushered through a slender shielding sheathe. |
| 2. From what vision am I awakening? These are but fields, hills. There a church, a bridge. But hear the silence— Listen to it speak— of homage, of loss, of gratitude. Silence hovering over sacred soil, a canopy spread over rituals once performed here on these red-drenched fields, sanctuary now for your sacrifice, your offering, your oblation, to make us whole. Forbid all levity here! Bar all distraction! Ban every cloaked entrepreneur! Granite, even marble disturb. There is no enactment no fitting into frames. Silence alone befits this hallowed space. . . As does the hidden violet that blooms for you in spring you who left your life here unknown, unsung that September seventeen eighteen hundred and sixty-two, brothers mine from New Hampshire, Wisconsin and Maine. As does the windhover standing perfectly still high above the plot where you fell, wings outspread, living crest of valor your marker on high resting brothers mine from Texas, Carolina and Rhode Island. As does the lark climbing on eager wings as morning dawns lilting glissandos of gratitude for that struggle you ended for us who followed, gentle brothers mine from Texas, Mississippi, and Tennessee. As does the ancient tree on the slope standing yet on weary feet, the áged veteran, presenting arms, still saluting you whom he saw fall, about to fall, last of all gallant brothers mine from Pennsylvania, Ohio and Arkansas. As does the solitary woman— with grace she walks the fields, her head erect her feet treading softly on soil beneath which a spirit you breathed into it still seeps from which she takes strength to live, revered brothers mine from Louisiana, Georgia and Alabama. As do the murmuring waters in the stream winding through these Maryland fields, the living, pulsing emblem, the banner unfurled, Holocaust inscribed thereon but Antietam called, awe-full word to make present the deed you rendered beloved brothers mine from Vermont, Virginia and New York. 3. As I turn now to leave mighty towers of white clouds rise mid rumblings of distant thunder off to the west beyond these silent fields. On parting from this landscape the pace quickens, there is no laming. Led unawares to this temple of silence, I have been awakened. What here has happened, implanted, will wax— from this day forward this intruding awareness will my every doing transform to fit into my changed world. Next Home |
| Visit to Antietam |