New Guinea Jungle

[kozmikdave]

(This is a song)

I’m not very sure
if I killed in the war -
I was just a mechanic
who straightened bent planes.
But a pilot I saved -
more foolhardy than brave -
pulled him out of the wreckage
with a fire taking hold.
No I wasn’t a hero!
He was one of my mates.
I wasn’t a hero -
I felt like a failure -
safe in the workshops
in New Guinea jungle.

The Japs with their snipers
were killing our fighters,
but the kick from our rifles
was taking its toll,
so a spring I invented,
its recoil prevented.
No time to patent.
It was claimed by a major.
So I wasn’t a hero
because they were my mates.
And I wasn’t a hero -
I felt like a number -
safe in the workshops
in New Guinea jungle.

When I signed for the Air Force
I dreamed of the glory
of joysticks and ducking
and diving and soaring.
But the doctors were thorough
with Japan’s Ishihara.
They all kept me grounded
to peer into green mirrors.
And I could have been a hero
I would have done it for my country.
Yes, I could’ve been a hero -
not just a zero -
flying bold missions
over New Guinea jungle.

[camus]

As is often the case, when reading this song/poem a song sprung to mind, see below.

The first few lines really drew me in:

I’m not very sure
if I killed in the war
I was just a mechanic
who straightened bent planes.

Then I was hoping for more of the same - existential questioning - cannon fodder metaphors - but as you stated it is a song - oh what can be lost in song!

Billy Bragg - Everywhere

Dig in boys for an extended stay
Those were the final orders to come down that day
Waiting to be saved in the Philippines
You'll wait forever for the young Marines

Now I believe to be here is right
But I have to say I'm scared tonight
Crouching in this hole with a mouth full of sand
What comes first the country or the man

Look at those slanted eyes coming up over the hill
Catching us by surprise, it's time to kill or be killed

Over here, over there, it's the same everywhere
A boy cries out for his mama before he dies for his home

All my life I wanted to be
As clever and strong as my best friend Lee
We grew up together along Half Moon Bay
Lee was Japanese, born in the USA

When Tommy was fighting Jerry along the River Seine
Me and Lee wanted to do the same
Then they bombed Pearl Harbour at the break of day
I was headed for these islands while Lee was hauled away

They said look at his slanted eyes, he's guilty as guilty can be
Sent here as enemy spies to sabatage the Land of the Free

I never got home, my platoon was never saved
That little fox hole became my island grave
Lee got out of jail but a prisoner he remained
Till he ended his own life to lose that ball and chain

And they said Oh Little Slanted Eyes can't you forgive and forget
And he said, Oh Mr Friendly Ghost
Can you catch water in a net?

[kozmikdave]

Gidday

Love the Billy Bragg lyrics, however the song was written from my memory of my father's war efforts. His was one of frustration at not being able to fly because he was colour blind. He was obsessed with planes until his death. (We had one under the house when I was small. He later became a champion glider pilot.) The war to him was almost inconsequential because he was not able to get into the thick of it.

Wouldn't mind some ideas for tightening it up if anyone is willing to oblige.

Cheers
Dave

[Carmel]

I’m not very sure
if I killed in the war -
I was just a mechanic
who straightened bent planes.
But a pilot I saved -
more foolhardy than brave -
pulled him out of the wreckage
with a fire taking hold.
No I wasn’t a hero!
He was one of my mates.
I wasn’t a hero -
I felt like a failure -
safe in the workshops
in New Guinea jungle.
I found the first stanza to have great flow and indeed the first few lines drew me in. I also served in the Air Force, and so I felt very close to how your father felt, viewing the work of the pilots and feeling as if your work sometimes is of no consequence. I thought you brought out the feelings very well.

The Japs with their snipers
were killing our fighters,
but the kick from our rifles
was taking its toll,
so a spring I invented,
its recoil prevented.
No time to patent.
It was claimed by a major.
So I wasn’t a hero
because they were my mates.
And I wasn’t a hero -
I felt like a number -
safe in the workshops
in New Guinea jungle.
I expected this stanza to be a bit less factual and more on the emotional side. It is clear you are telling a story, but I thought you could have made it a bit more personal, as if it was your own, so the reader can have the same connection with the words as your father must have.

When I signed for the Air Force
I dreamed of the glory
of joysticks and ducking
and diving and soaring.
But the doctors were thorough
with Japan’s Ishihara.
They all kept me grounded
to peer into green mirrors.
And I could have been a hero
I would have done it for my country.
Yes, I could’ve been a hero -
not just a zero -
flying bold missions
over New Guinea jungle.
Again, very factual writing. I do like the way you structured the piece and you did bring great flow and wit to the text. All I was missing is the undercurrents that would show what was going on inside the character. Also, like you stated, your father went on to become a champion - why not write another stanza, about the view of things from years ahead into the future?

I truely appreciated the story you had to tell.


Carmel

[twoleftfeet]

Dave,

Did your Dad find some fulfillment in his gliding?
If so, maybe you could add a verse to end on more of a feel-good note
as Carmel suggests.

The 'plane under the house (!?) sounds interesting.....

[kozmikdave]

Gidday

Good to see a forum for lyrics at last.

Carmel and Geoff, thanks for the feedback. I will revisit it based on your crits, however, it does tell the few stories that my dad told and as I was pretty young at the time of telling, and I will relate these:

But a pilot I saved -
more foolhardy than brave -
pulled him out of the wreckage
with a fire taking hold.

Dad was almost courtmarshalled for going against orders and rushing into a burning plane. Shots from the CO were fired over his head. He ended up in a different location with a promotion because of it.

The Japs with their snipers
were killing our fighters,
but the kick from our rifles
was taking its toll,
so a spring I invented,
its recoil prevented.
No time to patent.
It was claimed by a major.

Aussie soldiers used Enfield 303s (I think?) and there was a lot of shoulder dislocation due to the "kick" when they were fired. Dad was an engineer and designed a damper spring to alleviate the problem. He refused to get a patent because he thought it would be available sooner if not held up by patents pending, etc. At the end of the war, he saw a newsreel with a Major getting a medal for its invention.

But the doctors were thorough
with Japan’s Ishihara.
They all kept me grounded
to peer into green mirrors.

Blue-green colour-blind!

I don't have much else and it all fits the music (bluesy) pretty well and I don't want to make it any longer, but will have a go at a few mods. At least I know it works OK as it is, if it falls over.

Cheers
Dave