Why Use Poetry in a Novel? Part IV
In Chapter Thirty-Three, page 273 of Boot: A Sorta Novel of Vietnam, Bill McCloud adroitly applies his poetry to the paradox of Schrödinger's Cat (SC). SC was basically a thought experiment. If you had a box and you told someone there was a cat in the box, then asked is the cat alive or dead? Well, of course, you have a 50/50 chance of answering correctly, but the truth is that the cat is neither alive nor dead until you open the box. This paradox is juxtaposed against the naming of things. Why do parents spend so much time on naming a child? It bestows dignity upon the child. It says you are an individual among the herd, and it will give meaning to the child’s existence later. It also gives meaning to the namer’s existence and becomes a mode of sacramental communion with the world. I loved the irony of this poem because my protagonist is named George Orwell Hill. But even more than the observation that they are both Hills, only different, is the fact that George Orwell was known for all the new words and concepts he named in his novel, 1984.
That hill has a name to
separate it from all the
other hills that have their
own names or no name
It’s just a hill What we
gave it is just a name
But it’s hard to separate
the deaths on that hill
from all the other deaths
on all the other hills
And all the names of all
the dead on all the hills
Bill’s final poem is in the Epilogue on page 315 and concludes the story. Only Bill McCloud could capture so succinctly how much Viet Vets are both prisoners of their experiences and how problematic it has been for those vets to transition back to normality while finding a place in their hearts to honor those they fought with and against. The Vietnam War cast a giant shadow over our country. The least desirable characteristics of our country made themselves manifest during this time of self-exploration and social upheaval in America. The shadow that the Vietnam War cast is one that we should continue to examine and understand.
As they walked away people
would nod at them as if
they knew But the
farther they walked the
fewer nods they received
until they were out of the
shadow of that long wall
Until Next Time,
I Remain,
Just an old Zororastafarian buckaroo finally understanding why I don’t want a Coronavirus test…
