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No ThanksBy Bonnie Caracciolo (reviewer)
No Thanks 1969 was the year I graduated from high school. It was the year represented by two-thirds of the names on The Wall. It was the year Nixon promised us "peace with honor." This was also the year during which most of the collection of poems was written by rg cantalupo, (the pen name of Vietnam veteran, poet, author, and playwright Ross Canton). Reviewing poems is often an impossible task. Recalling school days in English Lit and being required to interpret the words and thoughts of another was daunting, to say the least. The best I can do is share a couple of the many poems in this powerful collection and try to humbly describe what a woman, a non-veteran was able to glean from them. I can tell you this—I had to set the book down more than once to clear the weight of sorrow from my chest. The emotional, raw sharing of memories too painful to speak, perhaps, just as difficult to write no doubt. We imagine a young grunt dropped into the vat of roiling hell that was to become his personal nightmare. His buddies disappearing before his eyes – one by one – moved to remember them and their memories, their hopes and dreams. They all had nickname—as if to remain arm's length with the real flesh and blood human. From the chapter The World - Want
Baby San wanted horses
Devil wanted his girlfriend
"Lonnie"- Lonnie, the name
and the ones before, us
green bullets igniting the air
could not have, till it was Reading these poems feels like stumbling into someone's private lair, a place protected by its foreign feel and yet, torn open like the familiar somehow. The author carries us from his first days in country to a year or so of his return. The pain growing, then the numbness setting in as he sees his buddies die. He alone—survives. 11/11/69 Devil? Devil, can you hear me?
Spike? Lonnie? Baby San?
Can you see whose eyes
Can you see whose hands
This is Bravo
Do you read me
We're red—charging
Bravo Alpha Romero
Bravo Alpha Romero
Come in Dragon 2/4,
Fire! Fire! Fire!
Ooh God! Ma ma.
Medic! Medic!
Leave that one MEDIC!
Hold on, Lonnie.
You're alright,
Just close your eyes
Devil?
Is that you
Is that your hand, Cantalupo/Canton carries us through the various "rites of passage" as he remembers his last day with his girlfriend lazing on a beach gazing at the passing clouds as if there wasn't a care in the world. Suddenly, like the half million men who were run through the grinder—that was the Vietnam War—their lives float between the real and the surreal. This collection is a glimpse into the horrors of war and the blessings of camaraderie—desperate for sanity and survival—carrying one another across the rice paddies and through the jungles of a hell that no one should know. Untouchable like the reflection in a mirror. Surely combat veterans who found themselves in the War can relate to these fragile lines and messages. Those of us who were on the outside looking in share the sorrow and loss of a generation forever divided. Welcome home rg cantalupo/Ross Canton. There is a singular emptiness that drifts in and out of every line. And the question remains:
The rice, the bamboo shoots, Why? Bonnie Caracciolo is a supporter of VVAW and a longtime thorn in the side of the Empire. She lives in Boston, MA.
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