ReVisioning the 1992 Biljmer Plane Crash, Amsterdam (& the Asiana Crash at SFO)

This morning, as I was outside in the garden, I thought I heard or felt something—more like a percussion than a sound—and I said to myself, Jeez, it feels like a bomb just went off—or a plane crash. I live near the Oakland Airport which is across the bay from the San Francisco airport. I laughed at my silliness and chalked it up to an overactive imagination.

But I was uneasy, sensing that some disaster had occurred. I came inside to check the news only to find my Twitter feed going crazy.

What I saw on my screen: a tweet from Samsung executive, David Eun: "I just crash landed at SFO. Tail ripped off. Most everyone seems fine. I'm ok. Surreal..." And he posted a photo of the crippled jet. Asiana Airline accident today at SFO. Oh no! So I wasn't imagining things.

There were 290 to 350 passengers on board from Seoul to SFO. Someone said: it's a hard landing, no landing gear. Another eye-witness said the plane struck the seawall, then the tail ripped off, and it cartwheeled off Ramp 28. (I think it just slid off the tarmac). The fuselage also caught fire as people fled the plane, sliding down the inflatable emergency ramps. Suitcases were scattered everywhere like flotsam. Or maybe it was a herd of Goats R Us weed-whacker goats rubbernecking.

As I followed the grisly news reports, an image I thought I had forgotten, came to mind. Another plane crash, from long ago, in another country. So, I let my fingers do some web walking as I waited for the news to unfold.

In 1992, I witnessed an Israeli cargo airplane crash in Amsterdam. An El Al Boeing 747 plane circling from Schiphol Airport was flying unusually low over the IJsselmeer, when I heard a pop overhead, and then a big splash right next to me.

We walked along the Durgerdam, admiring the sunset. —Wiki

My friend Vinz said we were just outside the village near the Durgerdam bus stop. Durgerdam is 7 km east of Dam Square. We were walking along the dyke of the IJsselmeer, admiring the colors on the water, the October sunset in North Holland. Everything on fire. Beauty everywhere.

We were walking on that peninsula above the red dot at Durgerdam —Wiki

I thought the splash I heard was an improbable seal or an even more unlikely whale breaching—not even remotely possible in the artificial enclosed lake, that is the IJssel, which is a branch, or tributary of the Rhine. I laughed at my foolish notion. OK, one helluva big fish, then.

But as the events unfolded, I quickly put it together that the pop I heard was the El Al Boeing 747 plane's right wing engine exploding, and the splash—the engine falling into the water. That was awfully close, that engine could've fallen on us, had the plane been over land (as the flight map I posted below suggests—but it's wrong). 

Then, we watched, stunned, as the eastbound plane veered hard right over land and plowed into two high rise buildings of Bijlmer. The fireball as it struck the apartments was like an atomic blast—we could hear and feel it from miles away. I took photos of the fireball but I couldn't override the automatic camera flash—and so, I got nothing on film.  

We made our way back to the crash site. The Boeing 747 crashed into the Bijlmermeer, near the Elsrijkdreef- Bijlmerdreef T-intersection. I remember looking up in a linden tree to see an airplane seatbelt, a melted Barbie doll, and fuel dripping from the leaves like rain. I took more photos and there was no way home but to walk. All transport from Biljmer was cut off. All busses were being used as ambulances.

Why did the El Al pilot bank 90° right, into the housing project instead of flying over the IJsselmeer (formerly the Zuiderzee) where he could've crash-landed on the water? Surely the pilot knew he was in trouble long before he reached land.

At 6:35 pm, the first officer radioed to ATC: "Going down, #1862, going down, going down, copy, going down." In the background, the captain was heard instructing the first officer in Hebrew to raise the flaps and lower the landing gear. —Bijlmerramp, Wiki

They say 48 people died a the Bijlmerramp—but we saw busloads of bodies leaving. There was a huge population of undocumented illegal immigrants living there as well—and everyone was at home in time for Sunday dinner.

We were walking along the shore to the north of the final green line. Pilot was flying over the water when the right engine fell off. He banked and turned. Everything in slo-mo. This map is wrong, as we were near Durgerdam, walking east, the plane passed me on the right, not the left side.

Then came the cover-up. What was in the plane: fertilizer, petro-, and bio-chemicals? Bomb fixings? No news, no answers anywhere. I was interviewed by Amsterdam Underground Radio—the reporter was positive it was some sort of conspiracy but I didn't feed the beast of paranoia. Merely reported what I saw, and deduced. Too well trained by my editor, Nick Valentine, to let the crazed reporter lead me.

From GoogleEarth

Today's crash at SFO brought the memory of the Biljmer crash back in startling clarity. Another Boeing. Two people have been confirmed dead & at least 130 injured, with 41 in critical condition. Such a tragedy. Amazing that so many survived. We should not be witnessing things like this. It brings back the vivid images of 9/11 as well. The things we can never erase form our minds, leaving us shellshocked.

Will the final verdict also be metal fatigue as well? Or pilot error? Or both? My cousin is a mechanic for United at SFO. Maybe we'll get another picture from the mechanics who will be working on the plane. I'll post later, if we do. Meanwhile, if you landed at this blog in error, I've posted some Asiana links below.

BANTU COMBINATIONS on Haiti with Jim Byrd (some imaged from Mantle)

The Haiti Junta Takes Over

Rivers were here before there were mountains.

The corner of the eye sees constellations
better than looking directly at the stars.

President for life, in death, his remains
scattered in the streets.

Shifting sand slides off rocks like water after the thaw.

The trade winds carry news,
smoke can be seen on the horizon.
There are great issues which have divided us before
and there are issues that will continue to divide us again.

The sky opened up and they were gone in a flash.

They made small talk on the way to the airport.

Suitcases held tribute of their sins.
Like street fighters, mountains with sharp edges
jockey for position in the sky.

Impossible to deepen that night,
the colors of fish became a song to fisherman,
who leaned from their boats.
Hundreds toasted rum bottles,
spewing liquor on each other's heads in the form of baptism.

Rain dampens the burning palace tonight.
In dreams, old friends come to visit.
They took marble chips from the tomb for souvenirs

Bantu combinations
Maureen Hurley, Jim Byrd
2/8/86

My lines only

The Haiti Junta takes over

Rivers were here before there were mountains.

The corners of the eye see the stars more clearly.

Shifting sands slides off rocks like water after the thaw.

There are great issues which have divided us before,
and they will divide us again.

The sky opens up and they were gone like a flash.
Like street fighters, mountains with sharp edges
jockey for position on the horizon.

Impossible to deepen that night,
hundreds toted rum bottles,
spewing each other like baptisms of whales,
they took marble chips from tombsfor souvenirs.

Maureen Hurley


Jim's line only

President for life
his remains scattered on the street
the trade winds carry news.
Smoke can be seen on the horizon.

They make small talk on the way to the airport.

Suitcases help tribute to their sins.

The color of fish became a song to fishermen
who leaned from their boats.

Rain dampens the burning palace

Tonight, in dreams, old friends are revisited.

Jim Byrd


Bantu combinations 2

Like a tidal interstice, the seasons drift

Another page falls from the calendar

Clouds have no answers

Tree branches leading to meet the ground

Dig deep into the earth
as if your life depended upon it

Inside the skull of night
I hesitate to disturb the spider's web.

Inside my blood, inside my blood,
like the Nile, journeys are recalled after dark

The plans of thieves are revealed
as a hole slowly falls in on itself
floating face down, the surface of water
can be felt as blue skin.

Maureen Hurley Jim Byrd
2/8/1986
at The Hiding Place
(over huevos rancheros)

My rewrite

another page falls from the calendar
like title interstices,
like the seasons
tree branches lean to meet
the most painted roof
dig deep into the earth
as if your life depended on it

After dark, the plans of thieves
are revealed as a hole slowly falls in on itself

Inside my blood, ancient journeys
like the faces of Ophelia
floating face downward
beneath the blue skin of water.

Seasons drift in the tidal moods
dig deep into the earth
as if your life depended upon it
Inside my blood, inside my blood
rusted buckets carry pinholes of light
Escaped notes vibrate in the air
like telephone lines in the storm
Bees carry the skull of night into the hive
until the black one comes,
and darkness reveals the plans of thieves
for those who float face down
A cloak of blue skin
seeps beneath her fingernails like ink.



It was a tumultuous week: right after the Challenger disaster, there was a revolution in Haiti, Baby Doc was overthrown, Bobby Kaufman had died. My boundaries between worlds were pretty thin. It was as if I was hearing voices, and hearing the news before it was news. Since my mother really did hear voices, I was not very happy with this outcome. But as it turned out, I WAS getting the news poetically, in strange dream sequences. I madly wrote it all down as it was coming in, and it eventually became MANTLE. You can see some of the many revisions here: First Draft of Bob Kaufman poem, Mantle.
Added 11/16