Here, Bullet

Last year I heard an interesting interview by Philip Adams on Radio National with American war poet Brian Turner. Turner has served in Iraq and his poetry describes his experiences there. During the interview he read the title poem from his collection of poetry, Here, Bullet. I found it moving and confronting. To say he reminds me a little of Wilfred Owen might be going too far, but there is something of the same feeling of immediacy. You can find out more about Turner here.

Here, Bullet

If a body is what you want,
then here is bone and gristle and flesh.
Here is the clavicle-snapped wish,
the aorta’s opened valves, the leap
thought makes at the synaptic gap.
Here is the adrenaline rush you crave,
that inexorable flight, that insane puncture
into heat and blood. And I dare you to finish
what you’ve started. Because here, Bullet,
here is where I complete the word you bring
hissing through the air, here is where I moan
the barrel’s cold esophagus, triggering
my tongue’s explosives for the rifling I have
inside of me, each twist of the round
spun deeper, because here, Bullet,
here is where the world ends, every time.