4/5 Baghdad: Artillery
hissed overhead
slammed into wheatfields,
spewing shrapnel into the
air.
You could hear debris wheeze
whirling in the sky like
lawnmower blades.
Indiscriminate death and the
bitter smell
of chordite filled the air.
of chordite filled the air.
Kurdish fighters stood amid
a field of daisies
& poppies glowing
scarlet as drops of blood.
The exodus began before
dawn.
Anything to escape the city.
Anything to escape the city.
Desperate, unsettled scenes:
no electricity, no water, no fuel.
no electricity, no water, no fuel.
After a night spent in
darkness,
they were bumper to bumper,
many in tears.
In the desert, water is more
precious than oil,
than blood.
than blood.
4/5/03
IRAQ notes;
Taking Iraq fire in a wheat field culled from the Chronicle 4/5/03 (Anna Badhken)
Artillery hissed overhead, slammed into a field with a thunderous crack shaking the ground, spewing shrapnel into the air. Journalists threw themselves facedown into a wheat field while poker-faced green Berets casually studied the clouds of smoke rising from the crater.
“that was a pretty good one, “ said Jack
“that one was close.”
“It’s best when you can hear it,” said Scott.
“If you don’t hear it, then you’re in trouble.”
You could hear the debris wheeze,
whirling in the sky like lawn mower blades,
ready to deliver indiscriminate death.
The bitter smell of chordite filled the air.
With rifles painted light green, Special Force troops and Kurdish peshmergas elude death in the rolling hills of northern Iraq.
“nNt a problem, “ said Jack, “All you need is a radio, a gun and a good attitude.”
On the Zab al-Kabir River, Iraqis left behind their ammunition, their fuel, their cars and their dead.
Kurdish fighters stood amid a field of daises and poppies glowing scarlet like drops of blood.
“The peshmerga know this land like the backs of their hands. They are from here.” Jack said
The Iraqis retreat to the ridge overlooking the Khazer River.
“They got range on that last one, it’ll be interesting up here when they get us bracketed,” said Jack, who asked that his real name not be used. Another Iraqi shell slammed into a wheat field.
“That was close. They look like Volkswagens flying over you.” Jack explained.
“Don’t you have a round trip ticket?” one of the reporters asked.
“Oh, I’ve got one all right, I just don’t like the itinerary. Let’s go kick some ass!”
* * *
Meanwhile in America, a mother is visited by plainclothes police because her son played music at the SF anti-war rally on Mar 16, he sang: You can bomb the world to pieces but you can’t bomb it into peace.”
--Michael Franti, Spearhead
RESIDENTS FLEE FROM BATTLEGROUND
The exodus began before dawn. Baghdadis piling pots & pans, B&W TVs, radio, colorful bedding, stoves, cans of gas, water, bags of flour, rice, tea, into taxis, rigs, broken down VWs—all plastered with bumper stickers saying “God is greatest, “anything to escape the city. The war is here. An understatment. First sweltering day of spring. Knots of people waiting for rides squat besides their TVs and carpets and luggage on sidewalks soaking up the sun. Desperate unsettled scenes. No water, no electricity. No TV, only radios. Long before sunrise, after a night spent in darkness, residents snarled the main road out of Baghdad. They were bumper to bumper, headed for the pastures and orange groves of Diala. Chaotic lines at gas stations like dendritic patterns of trees. Several men pushing a red cattle truck carrying 8 women in black chadors. “We’ll come back maybe tomorrow, maybe a week, maybe a month. It all depends on God,” said Jassim. “War is death,” he says. Hopelessness has become a constant theme. Fatalism is a leading sentiment along the road to Diala and the women and children are scared. Um Abbass, his mother, is impatiently screeching, “Hurry, hurry.” Vehicles of every description loaded with men, women, children and all their possessions fled in a river of traffic several miles long. He got in his car, leaving his home behind. For how long he didn’t know. “That depends on God,” he said. But it was time to go. He looked out the window and said good-bye.”God save you. God save us all.”
HOW REPORTER MICHAEL KELLY KILLED
In the desert, water is more precious than oil. In the fertile Crescent, the land between two rivers, the idea of civilization sprouted. In the land of Hammurabi, in the land of Nebuchanezze, where Alexander met his end, a humvee rolled into a canal outside the Saddam Hussein airport drowning Michael Kelly and the driver He was the first US journalist to die in the war. The airport was renamed BaghdadInternational Michael Kelly who wrote “Martyr’s Day” after the 1991 Gulf War was killed on a Friday.” Karmic debt. He said “There was a real sense fate the last gulf war that witness had been lost.” Another witness has been lost. On St. Patrick’s Day, he said, “My gut feeling there is some degree of danger, but here you’re literally surrounded by an army to keep you out of danger.” He hadn’t counted on the water or driver error.
* * *
At ease in the Euphrates River, US soldiers take the opportunity to bathe near Karbala, dusty boots rest on the reedy shore like Moses’ cradle.
* * *
Without power residents depend upon word of mouth.
Across this city, the absence of information has become more deafening than the rumbling sounds of war. Baghdadis are missing the TV broadcasts from both sides. They are packing up for a quick get away.
* * *
At the onset of war, three units crossed the Euphrates
to seize the Rumaila oil fields, they paused, low on supplies, and a sandstorm howled across the country. The marine colonel was relieved of his post. The heat wave will reach its peak today with temperatures well over 100°, with high winds and sandstorms will be thick enough to decrease visibility with chance of local showers in the northern mountains where the Kurdish are waiting to claim booty.
Cluster bombs.When the bomb is dropped, air passing over its tail fins causes it to spin, separating the bombs outer shell, releasing smaller bomblets that deploy parachutes to ensure a better angle of attack. They are designed to explode into 300 fragments, but may fail to detonate if they did not hit a hard surface.
A rain of bomblets on the desert sands, each one capable of exploding into one fragment for each day of the year.
Dragoman (DRAG-uh-man) noun,an interpreter or guide. [The word took a scenic route to its present form via French, Italian, and medieval Latin/Greek, from Arabic tarjuman, from Aramaic turgemana, from Akkadian targumanu (interpreter).]
IRAQ notes;
Taking Iraq fire in a wheat field culled from the Chronicle 4/5/03 (Anna Badhken)
Artillery hissed overhead, slammed into a field with a thunderous crack shaking the ground, spewing shrapnel into the air. Journalists threw themselves facedown into a wheat field while poker-faced green Berets casually studied the clouds of smoke rising from the crater.
“that was a pretty good one, “ said Jack
“that one was close.”
“It’s best when you can hear it,” said Scott.
“If you don’t hear it, then you’re in trouble.”
You could hear the debris wheeze,
whirling in the sky like lawn mower blades,
ready to deliver indiscriminate death.
The bitter smell of chordite filled the air.
With rifles painted light green, Special Force troops and Kurdish peshmergas elude death in the rolling hills of northern Iraq.
“nNt a problem, “ said Jack, “All you need is a radio, a gun and a good attitude.”
On the Zab al-Kabir River, Iraqis left behind their ammunition, their fuel, their cars and their dead.
Kurdish fighters stood amid a field of daises and poppies glowing scarlet like drops of blood.
“The peshmerga know this land like the backs of their hands. They are from here.” Jack said
The Iraqis retreat to the ridge overlooking the Khazer River.
“They got range on that last one, it’ll be interesting up here when they get us bracketed,” said Jack, who asked that his real name not be used. Another Iraqi shell slammed into a wheat field.
“That was close. They look like Volkswagens flying over you.” Jack explained.
“Don’t you have a round trip ticket?” one of the reporters asked.
“Oh, I’ve got one all right, I just don’t like the itinerary. Let’s go kick some ass!”
* * *
Meanwhile in America, a mother is visited by plainclothes police because her son played music at the SF anti-war rally on Mar 16, he sang: You can bomb the world to pieces but you can’t bomb it into peace.”
--Michael Franti, Spearhead
RESIDENTS FLEE FROM BATTLEGROUND
The exodus began before dawn. Baghdadis piling pots & pans, B&W TVs, radio, colorful bedding, stoves, cans of gas, water, bags of flour, rice, tea, into taxis, rigs, broken down VWs—all plastered with bumper stickers saying “God is greatest, “anything to escape the city. The war is here. An understatment. First sweltering day of spring. Knots of people waiting for rides squat besides their TVs and carpets and luggage on sidewalks soaking up the sun. Desperate unsettled scenes. No water, no electricity. No TV, only radios. Long before sunrise, after a night spent in darkness, residents snarled the main road out of Baghdad. They were bumper to bumper, headed for the pastures and orange groves of Diala. Chaotic lines at gas stations like dendritic patterns of trees. Several men pushing a red cattle truck carrying 8 women in black chadors. “We’ll come back maybe tomorrow, maybe a week, maybe a month. It all depends on God,” said Jassim. “War is death,” he says. Hopelessness has become a constant theme. Fatalism is a leading sentiment along the road to Diala and the women and children are scared. Um Abbass, his mother, is impatiently screeching, “Hurry, hurry.” Vehicles of every description loaded with men, women, children and all their possessions fled in a river of traffic several miles long. He got in his car, leaving his home behind. For how long he didn’t know. “That depends on God,” he said. But it was time to go. He looked out the window and said good-bye.”God save you. God save us all.”
HOW REPORTER MICHAEL KELLY KILLED
In the desert, water is more precious than oil. In the fertile Crescent, the land between two rivers, the idea of civilization sprouted. In the land of Hammurabi, in the land of Nebuchanezze, where Alexander met his end, a humvee rolled into a canal outside the Saddam Hussein airport drowning Michael Kelly and the driver He was the first US journalist to die in the war. The airport was renamed BaghdadInternational Michael Kelly who wrote “Martyr’s Day” after the 1991 Gulf War was killed on a Friday.” Karmic debt. He said “There was a real sense fate the last gulf war that witness had been lost.” Another witness has been lost. On St. Patrick’s Day, he said, “My gut feeling there is some degree of danger, but here you’re literally surrounded by an army to keep you out of danger.” He hadn’t counted on the water or driver error.
* * *
At ease in the Euphrates River, US soldiers take the opportunity to bathe near Karbala, dusty boots rest on the reedy shore like Moses’ cradle.
* * *
Without power residents depend upon word of mouth.
Across this city, the absence of information has become more deafening than the rumbling sounds of war. Baghdadis are missing the TV broadcasts from both sides. They are packing up for a quick get away.
* * *
At the onset of war, three units crossed the Euphrates
to seize the Rumaila oil fields, they paused, low on supplies, and a sandstorm howled across the country. The marine colonel was relieved of his post. The heat wave will reach its peak today with temperatures well over 100°, with high winds and sandstorms will be thick enough to decrease visibility with chance of local showers in the northern mountains where the Kurdish are waiting to claim booty.
Cluster bombs.When the bomb is dropped, air passing over its tail fins causes it to spin, separating the bombs outer shell, releasing smaller bomblets that deploy parachutes to ensure a better angle of attack. They are designed to explode into 300 fragments, but may fail to detonate if they did not hit a hard surface.
A rain of bomblets on the desert sands, each one capable of exploding into one fragment for each day of the year.
Dragoman (DRAG-uh-man) noun,an interpreter or guide. [The word took a scenic route to its present form via French, Italian, and medieval Latin/Greek, from Arabic tarjuman, from Aramaic turgemana, from Akkadian targumanu (interpreter).]
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