Author: Dennis Maulsby

Interviewed by: W. H. McDonald – President of the MWSA

W. H. McDonald: Dennis Maulsby, the foremost veteran war and Iowa poet. He is also a former Army officer in Vietnam who survived the Tet Offensive in 1968. He writes all kinds of poetry but is best known for his award winning poetry related to his personal experiences in that war.

Question: Your poetry all seems very personal and perhaps related to your own experiences at least emotionally. Is this the case for the most part?

A: All my Vietnam poems spring from the personal emotional impact of the war and its relentless memories. Some of the poems have some elements that I did not experience directly, but relate to our common experience, both as soldiers and civilians.

Q: Your war poetry strikes right into the heart and soul of that war and many are very emotionally and spiritually moved when they read it. How and when did you write those poems? Were these reflections back across time and from memories or did you take any notes or write while in Nam?

A: My memories of Vietnam have not dulled with the years. At night in dreams, or in pensive moments, they have refreshed themselves too many times. Perhaps, this is the way it is with all of us.

There is no question that PTSD has plagued me since Nam. My first six months after being dumped back into civilian life were hell. I learned that this was an affliction that must be worked constantly, like an alcoholic — one scrabbling day at a time. In casting around for ways to cope, I discovered that creative activity pushed the demons back. I sculpted, painted, knotted rugs, built furniture, remodeled, learned guitar and banjo . . . all worked for a time, but none had any staying power.

Six years ago, I joined a poetry group and the creative writing process has been the most successful therapy. I can only speculate on the reasons. For me, the other crafts had a beginning and an end, limitations that allowed the curse to regain its power in-between each transition. However, I believe writing to have an almost limitless canvas, especially in English.

There are over a million words in the language, as compared to French, for example that gets by with somewhat less than four hundred thousand — pauvre Francais. The various combinations, arrangements and permutations of a million words with new ones being added everyday must be almost infinite. Certainly, enough to last my lifetime — so, I will be a poet, a short story writer and perhaps, a novelist.

I also had great good fortune of being supported by an exceptional local poetry group. Writing the material was good therapy, but reading to a group increased the healing value by several orders of magnitude. If you are still wrestling with your experiences in Nam try writing and join a local group. They were the ones that encouraged me to assemble the book and helped with the editing and layout. I owe them a lot.

Q: How do you get your ideas for a poem? Do you start off with a theme and know where you are going with the idea or do you just allow your creative thoughts wander across the keyboard looking for the right words to come to you? What is that process and how do you create new poetry?

A: Most of my early ideas came from 0300 to 0430 sweat-soaked dreams about my experiences or nightmarish variations on them, some from daydreams or flashbacks.

At this time the process is more normal and poetry ideas come from observations of people and places around me. Thought and research flesh out the details.

I have also attended summer workshops at the University of Iowa for the last five years. They have a Summer Writing Festival consisting of one week or weekend workshops on most every type of writing (poetry, novels, short stories, screenplays, memoirs, children’s books, etc.) all taught by experienced authors. People come from all over the world for these sessions.

Look on their web site (http://www.continuetolearn.uiowa.edu/iswfest/html/welcome/) or check out your area universities for similar programs, nothing like learning the craft.

Q: Are there some subjects that you cannot write about or would not write about dealing with the war or other areas of your life?

A: I must write. I can’t stop or restrict the scope of the writing. I have learned that my memories of Vietnam are an affliction that must be worked constantly.

Q: You have done many interviews and poetry readings on the radio and in person—do you find more satisfaction with the reading or speaking your poetry or do you feel that your poems are better understood or emotionally felt in the quiet solitude of the written page when the reader encounters them on paper?

A: It is my belief that poetry and much prose are really performance arts. Look back at our cultural roots prior to the wide spread use of books and reading, people were entertained in groups by stories, poetry and music. When people hear and see aspiring poets they buy their books, almost nothing else is effective.

Book reviews and advertising sell some books but when I read in person about 75% of the group will buy one. I don’t think that this is an isolated phenomenon.

Poets

Women chase passion with fingers burned at every touch.

Men seek answers; their hairy arms beat delicate work.

With bent legs and hooked arms the raggedy, addicted lovers

of the Muse climb the spirit wall for glimpses of truth and insight.

They write and chant ~ daylilies bloom with each word.

In the past:

Wolf-cloaked Shamans created visions with heavy bronze words.

Lively ringed Wise-women rustled amber skirts to time their stories.

Harp-bright Minstrels brought fire to earth in song and rhyme.

Honored ones, always seated by the right hand, whether

in doab and wattle hovels or oak beamed Great Halls.

Dennis Maulsby

Q: What other subjects does your writing take on besides war?

A: Almost anything, as a major poet (don’t remember which one) once said, “Poetry will not bring you the news, but it will explain the news.”

I have written on race relations, genetics, horses, death, evolution, the Tango, being a man, my son, my wife, plagues, dogs, bricks, the plains, the events of 9/11, barbers, and even mutant dust bunnies.

Q: Do you have any new poetry books coming out in the near future that we can look forward to?

A: I have enough poems for another book, but I am currently writing short stories. They are all fiction about Vietnam. I am writing one in each of the popular genres: gothic horror, murder mystery, action, western, deal with the Devil, etc. The same protagonist inhabits all the stories. Once the manuscript is done, I’ll test it with some publishers. One short story has already been accepted for publication in a literary journal.

I’ll go back to a second poetry book some day. My plan has been to proceed from poetry to short stories, than to a novel (after retirement).

Q: As a child growing up was writing and poetry a part of your life at all? Did you write poetry in high school or college for example?

A: Yes. However, I am glad my high school and college poems have been lost to posterity. I was an avid reader though and devoured most printed material indiscriminately: poetry, myths and legends, westerns, sci-fi, history, psychology, the Bible, Greek plays, etc.

Q: What was your childhood like? How were you in high school and college?

A: Iowa schools were tough and thorough. The state still has the highest literacy rate in the U.S. I particularly liked History and English and the higher forms of math. I discovered drama as a high school senior and have acted in and worked on plays now and then and probably will do more in the future.

All in all, however, I did not enjoy my educational experience. I felt throughout that I was too restricted by the teachers and curriculum.

Q: Did you have a good relationship with your parents?

A: Among my earliest and most frequent memories are those of my mother leaning forward in the corduroy overstuffed chair in our small living room, book opened in her lap reading aloud. We were flooded, she and I, with light entering the old two-story though a dark-framed rectangular window. Dust motes danced in Brownian motion in the beam, our bodies absorbing heat on one side and cooling in the shadow opposite. Her dress, at times polka-dotted or gingham patterned, fleshed out even further the plumpness of her arms and cheeks. The house also seemed to listen to the voice, intruding only with its musty scent, sometimes touched with the boiled cabbage smell of last night’s dinner. I sat on the rug cross-legged, the writing and pictures upside down from my vantage point, the two of us posed as a faux Norman Rockwell painting.

My father was not an encouraging type.

Q: Being an officer in combat must have taken its toll on you as a young man. Do you ever think back and wonder what happened to some of those “boys” you were in charge of back in Nam?

A: My greatest fear as an officer was the possibility of having to write letters home to the parents of boys that had died under my command. I did everything I could to keep them safe and still accomplish our mission. It was an impossible task, of course.

The stress generated from that impossibility was at times unbearable. It was then that I decided not to make the military a career.

(Fictional letter from the Maulsby short story )

Mrs. Rachel Willis

Miss Susanne Willis

1235 Delgado Street

Los Angles, CA

8 August 1967

Dear Rachel and Susanne,

By now you will have received notification of the death of your son and brother. I hope it will be some comfort for you to know that at least one other will share the depth of your sorrow. Bobby and I knew each other for only a few months, but the experiences we shared bound us into a brotherhood stronger than most blood relationships.

I was present at the time of his death. If it had not been for his decision to defend me, I would not have survived. Bobby was a fine man and good friend. I also believe that he had finally come to terms with most of his youthful troubles. As a result he went calmly into whatever afterworld awaits us.

You must be hearing and reading that this is a wrongful war and that our soldiers are being sacrificed without cause. Whatever history decides about this conflict, you must never believe that his loss was without meaning.

People in the military have obligations above those civilians normally recognize. As a soldier, Bobby’s duty was to serve his country to the best of his ability. But beyond duty are “bravery and self-sacrifice,” qualities we owe and give only to fellow soldiers. These freely given virtues are never expended in vain, or somehow become less valued, even if the conditions under which they are offered are judged to be wrong.

Sincerely,

Rod Tiegler

1st Lieutenant, USAR

175th MI Company

Q: Can you tell us a little about your Army career – how long was it and what did you do and where did you go?

A: (Extract from the Maulsby short story Free Fire Zone)

It was my last few weeks of college; nothing my professors could do now could stop me from graduating, much to their surprise. The only fly in the ointment: I had received a letter from the hometown draft board inquiring about my health and future plans. During a visit to mother and stepfather, I stopped in at the board office. The elderly lady that manned the desk reminded me of a cornhusk doll, small pale wrinkled face with pastel clothes that rustled when she moved.

“I received a letter from your office, am I due to be drafted?

“Are you going on to graduate school?” she asked in a prim librarian’s voice.

“No,” I responded as my hand jingled the $1.92 in coins in my pocket. It was the last of my money; I had made it last just long enough.

“Are you married, any dependents?”

I answered “no” to those and several other questions. Miss Cornhusk finally informed me that I would beyond doubt be drafted. The notice would come sometime in the six-week period after graduation. She advised that, since I was prime material for Uncle Sam and no employer would hire me, I should talk to a recruiter and see if I could cut a deal. And, oh, by the way, I would be sorely disappointed if I thought my family’s high social position in the community would get me off.

I enlisted in Army Military Intelligence as a private. Uncle Sam sent me to Ft. Leonard Wood for basic and then to the Defense Language Institute for a year and a half of Russian language training. Fifteen of us also learned how to take Russian voice on a modified court stenography machine. We went to Washington, D.C. for further work on this experiment and training at National Security Agency at Fort Mead in code breaking and electronic intelligence. Later, as a Specialist Fifth Class I applied for OCS and was accepted for the Infantry Officers’ course at Fort Benning.

After graduating fourth in my class of 144 out of 434 starters. I was reassigned to MI and sent to Vietnam. I spent six months in the field, living in the Vietnamese village of Trang Bang west of Saigon providing combat support for the 25th Infantry Division. My men were scattered around the countryside operating out of fire support and Vietnamese military bases.

My second six months in Nam was with an intelligence company at Bien Hoa. I was there during Khe San and the Tet Offensive. My greatest disappointment during this time was the fact that we told Westy that the offensive was about to start days before it did. Our company even gave him the enemy order of battle and which units were to attack each base and population center. We were not believed.

My total service time was four and a half years.

Q: Knowing what you do now, would you have gone to Vietnam like you did back in 1967?

A: I would have gone, but we made a lot of serious mistakes there, both political and militarily. I hate to say it, but it appears that our current political leaders have learned little from our sacrifice.

Q: How much is poetry and writing a part of your life? Do you write something every week or month? Do you belong to any poetry groups or organizations?

A: I write often — both poetry and prose — because I must. I belong to the Iowa Poetry Association, the Military Writers Society of America, the Society of Great River Poets, the Fellowship of Quakers in the Arts, and Poets and Writers.

Q: Was there anything in your earlier life that changed you spiritually and emotionally and created the very you that people now know besides the war – or was that the greatest test of your life?

A: I have always been a spiritual person, my Quaker heritage responsible. The ability to meditate and listen for God to speak has been a sustaining power.

Only trauma can significantly change adult personalities. When I returned from Nam, even my parents didn’t know me. The war did that to me, it began my greatest test. It isn’t finished yet.

Q: Your book “Remembering Willie, and all the others” is a powerful award-winning book of poetry. Have to ask if there was someone you have in mind for that title name from your own outfit?

A: Willie is a composite of several almost-soldiers. They shouldn’t have been there. During the buildup of U.S. forces entrance standards were lowered. Willies were fine simple people, but they hadn’t the makings of a soldier.

There were times in Nam, however, when Willie became a metaphor for you and I, children impossibly over our heads and capabilities.

Q: What advice do you have for those writing poetry and thinking about doing a book of poems?

A: If you have any ambition that way, do it. Again, it has been magnificent therapy for me. If it works for you, go for it.

Q: Is there something that you would like to give us that you have learned or picked up in your life that might inspire us or make us better people; or perhaps just something that you value in your own life journey?

A: You must honestly admit to your emotions. Sometimes that requires you to go mentally naked with friends or relatives, or to violate the restrictive code of manhood we were taught.

Bill’s closing remarks: Thanks Dennis for gifting us with such wonderful prose over the years and for taking the time to do this interview.

Thank you, Bill. I value the gifts of understanding and encouragement you have given me.