Ulaan Baatar
a poem by
James Strauss
It’s twenty-eight in Ulaan Baatar this day
And it’ll be ten tonight.
Mongolia bridge
no bridge at all,
Leather tents gone
night shines bright.
Chinese came and left,
Soviets the real event,
Until broken away.
Gobi sand freedom,
Islam there now,
Not much in sharing,
Not everywhere.
Buddhist’s prevail,
Caring in not caring,
God’s not their kingdom.
Saying Ulaan Baatar,
The words like a prayer,
Whatever intent.
Madonna’s lament,
Her singing words poem,
And it feels like home.
It’s twenty-eight in Ulaan Baatar this day,
Written Ulan Batore another way,
Way back there day,
When globes were round,
Instead of poor and rich ground,
Turning slowly but still,
Sagging with freedoms,
Most issued for pay.
It’s twenty-eight in Ulaan Baatar this day,
And it feels like home,
In the USA.
Wisdom, empathy, poetry are the result of deep memory,loss and the miracle of soul.The dynamic pulse of our planet. Thank you for your share.
You are most welcome John. In this case, a lot of world travel too!
Nice to get a comment about it because that’s about all a poet of any stature has to
run on!
Semper fi,
Jim
I was E-5 US Army 68-71. I cannot personally identify with the struggles you had during the same time frame but do identify with what you have written (30 Days…). Many took away from the humanity of our friends as well as enemies by calling them gooks, zips, slants, etc. It makes it easier to kill without addressing their humanity.
Luckily I have been able to meet and become friends with several different nationalities and people groups and have developed a more World view. A few times I have felt liked, a few times appreciated, and a few times used. I still know that my life would probably be worthless in certain areas of Chicago, Memphis, Atlanta, LA and that list can go on.
All wars dehumanize because it is so hard for humans to want to kill other humans. No matter how
bellicose apes of the tribe of humankind might try to make it appear that we killed each other willy nilly to
get this far it simply isn’t true. We got together to do things and take advantage of our differential intellects and talent.
The competition is severe, that much is true, but killing one another is not as common as is romantically portrayed.
Natural causes is the big killer but all those people who died today will not be in the news. There are about two and a half million
people who die ever year on this planet. Of that number only about one to two percent die of people killing one another.
Anyway, aside from all that dehumanization, I want to thank you for coming aboard here to say something.
Semper fi,
Jim
When I read the title of the poem I immediately wondered if it was of Mongolia you were thinking. About 2003 we met and became quite involved with 3 ladies from Mongolia who had learned English and were provided a semester at a local university. In that short time we learned a tremendous amount about them, their culture, and their lifestyle. One now lives in Ulan Baatar. She is a Christian. Another was from the Steppe area but was schooled in Moscow and Poland. She loved the music at church and was there for every service. The third lady tried to acquire as much money as possible to take home. They were on student visas.
Your poem brought back memories of them and that short period of time when they became a part of our life. Bob
The Mongolians are like the Montagnards, the Zulu, the Santa Domingo Indians…and other tribal peoples wherein the evaluative
quality of the actual person is taken into full consideration, not just the talk or a few actions. It is always extraordinary to be among
them. I never felt liked by them. I felt appreciated. Different. Pretty great, really.
Semper fi,
Jim