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Poetically Yours - Ep. 6 "9/11" And Bonus Poems

Susan Schubert

Welcome to Poetically Yours, where you'll hear the voices of Illinois poets as they share their words about the world around them. This week features Susan Schubert. Her poem is called, "9/11."

9/11 (Nine Eleven)

The time is drawing near It has been almost 20 years. I remember it distinctly A call from my sister “Turn on your TV, We are being attacked.” One tower, in flames Minutes later, collapsing Down to the ground. Another plane hit the next tower Buildings fall as people jumped Aghast, we held our breath. A plane hits The Pentagon Our leaders taken away to safety Flights stopped as another Plane hits a field. We are crying now Gasping for air. Who did this to us? How could this happen? Brothers in arms, we put out Flags to show we are one. Together, as Americans Standing tall, find the culprit. We are at war, attacked Remember this day The minutes, the hours When our country Fell to its knees But undivided we rose. Happened after Pearl Harbor, A nation undivided To fight for what we have Our country, our people Does it take a war To make us see we can be One Nation, undivided?

Susan Schubert is a member of A-Town Poetics in Aurora, Illinois. She is a published author, with two memoirs written, available on Amazon .com. They are “The Way I Remember It: A Memoir of a Trip to Europe 1971” and “My Place of Dreams: A Love Story.”

Schubert has won accolades for short stories and photographs.

She has poems published in the Kane County Chronicle newspaper and anthologies by Fox Valley writers. Her poem “Aurora” is on a mural in downtown Aurora.

In her earlier days, Schubert sang and played percussion in a rock and roll band.

Schubert lives in St. Charles, Illinois with her dog, Moe.

In remembrance of 9/11, WNIJ is sharing two poems by a couple of northern Illinois poets. This next poem is by Cynthia Guentherman. It's called, "Those Who Jumped."

Those Who Jumped

For some there was no rescuing fireman’s hand no smoke-filled hope-filled stairway but only the inferno licking at their ankles and maybe in that numbing cold fear the fists and feet kicked in before the mind could whisper “wait” and so the window became their final doorway. Or maybe there was time to choose a few more seconds of life and so, they shut their eyes pictured the loved one and silently shouted “good-bye dearest sweetheart” or else in desperation maybe they thought there really would be any safety net stretched by some unknown someone, any friendly tree branch to miraculously snag and bounce gently down. Or maybe their minds focused on an old gospel hymn swing low, sweet chariot lift me up or I’ll fly away and those poor little wingless sparrows prayed for the Father’s arms to sweep them up and so, He did.

This last poem was written by John Bradley. It's called, "The Falling Man."

The Falling Man

There’s the Falling Man. Sleek. Anonymous. One leg bent. Upside down. Surrendering to his fate. And then there’s the man falling — Latino. Goateed. Tall. Thin. In his 30s or 40s. Beneath his white tunic an orange shirt. A food service worker. At Windows of the World Restaurant, at the top of the North Tower. Observe how the Falling Man complements the two towers, verticality on verticality, note the critics. Thanks to Richard Drew. Who framed the Falling Man for me and you. Whether we wish to look upon the Falling Man or not. While the other man, the man falling, plunges 32 feet per second per second. Traveling at 150 mph. This man does not fall for me or you. In these other photos taken by Drew of the man falling, we see his body in a violent spasm, tossed sideways, arm thrown out. Photos that went unpublished. Because we prefer to see, don’t we, the Falling Man, not the man falling. Maybe they’re just birds, honey, a mother trills to her child that morning bodies kept falling. Maybe two hundred. Maybe more. Yes, we know the Falling Man and the man falling are the same man. But we can’t seem to hear one say: I’m called the Falling Man because I’m no longer falling. Because you won’t let me finish my fall.

 

  • Yvonne Boose is a 2020 corps member for Report for America, an initiative of the GroundTruth Project. It's a national service program that places talented journalists in local newsrooms like WNIJ. You can learn more about Report for America at wnij.org.
Yvonne covers artistic, cultural, and spiritual expressions in the COVID-19 era. This could include how members of community cultural groups are finding creative and innovative ways to enrich their personal lives through these expressions individually and within the context of their larger communities. Boose is a recent graduate of the Illinois Media School and returns to journalism after a career in the corporate world.