THE NIGHT WITCHES

 

NADEZHDA POPOVA...Dec. 27, 1921/ July 8, 2013

 

                         World War ll, "Night Witch", in Moscow, age 91.

"I sometimes stare into the blackness and close my eyes", Ms. Popova said in 2010.  "I can still imagine myself as a young girl, up there in my little bomber.  And I ask myself, 'Nadia, how did you do it?"

To the Nazis, they were the Night Witches.  The noise their canvas and plywood planes made had the sound of a witch on a broomstick.  So they said.

This was a compliment to the Russian women who piloted these planes, which previously were crop dusters.  They flew 30,000 missions over four years, dropped 23 tons of bombs on the German invaders of Russia, forcing them back to Berlin. 

The volunteers were mostly young women in their teens and early 20's.  They became legends, but now mostly forgotten.  They flew only at night, had no parachutes or radios.  Because they flew in open cockpits, they could count on frozen faces. If hit, their planes burned like paper.

Nadezhda Popova, one of the first volunteers, was inspired by revenge and patriotism.  Shortly after the Nazis invaded Russia, her brother and father were killed.  She flew 852 missions, and became a deputy commander of what was the 588th Night Bomber Regiment.  When Ms. Popova first volunteered she was turned down, as women were.  But an order was issued in 1941 to deploy three regiments of female pilots. Thus were born the Night Witches.

Their ability caused the Nazis to spread rumors that they were given pills and injections to give them "a feline's perfect vision at night", Ms. Popova said.  "This, of course, was nonsense."

To read more about Nadia, and the Night Witches, refer to "Flying For Her Country: The American and Soviet Women Military Pilots of World War ll. "  by Amy Goodpaster Strebe (2007).

Thanks to The New York Times for info in an article by Douglas Martin.

 

 

                            NADIA, standing amidst the "Night Witches".


COPYRIGHT/ All rights reserved/ 2013

http://www.minblu.blogspot.com
http://www.twitter.com/lynxny

MAGPIE...Prompt #176

                                                  SUPERMOON 2013/ Julio Cortez/ AP


THANK YOU, Tess...at Magpie Tales...


Salute

Today, July 7th, I'm saluting my father.  Who died on this day in 2001.  At the steadfast age of 95.  The beginning of days of reckoning, both national and personal.  2001.

He never knew...that his granddaughter gets cancer.  That the World Trade Center in his beloved New York becomes the apocalypse.  And he, Carl Golden, origin name Koppel Goldendrut, will go to heaven to find his mother.  Again.

Minnie Goldendrut lived and died in the shtetl of Roshkov in the Ukraine when he was ten.  My father was moved from one mean Russian street to the next, relatives just able to provide stale bread, thin soup.

My grandfather, as was done in those old days, abandoned the Czar's army, went to America, to New York, to find the assured streets of gold.  My grandmother, my father and three other sons were left behind.  But all to be sent for...whenever.

At the age of twelve, Koppel, useful to no one, Revolution over, starts the trek of the emigre'.  Money sewn into clothes, gets rowed across the Dnieper by a friend.  Romania and Russia shooting over his head.  Steps foot on Romania.  Let's go. 

A year of wandering, becoming a little man.  Ship departs for America from Trieste, Italy.  Steerage, thin soup, dry bread.  He's Koppel Goldendrut.  Here he comes!

There she is, in the harbor, his mother!  Holding a torch, calling herself Liberty.  "Momma it's me, I'm here.  Don't ever go away again.  I'll find Poppa, and then we'll go home!" 

Poppa seems to own Ellis Island, pushing his boy here and there.  Pulls Koppel's hat off, looks at his scalp..."If you have lice, they'll send you back.  Don't scratch.

" And you have a new name, Carl Golden.  I'm Morris Golden now, just a bootlegger.  Gin, in the bathtub.  You'll see."

Golden?  Familiar name?  Yes, that Golden.  Snapple sound familiar to you?  Streets of Gold, indeed.


Rest In Peace, my loving Dad.


COPYRIGHT/ all rights reserved/ 2013

http://www.minblu.blogspot.com
http://twitter.com/lynxny

MAGPIE...Prompt #175

                                                                        IMAGE by Musin Yohan


THANK YOU, Tess, at  Magpie Tales...


LEAVING

I'm still toiling,
my foot rooted mulishly in life,
each moment a crawl,
earth a strict master.

A stage in the round
mirrors my starts and stops.
Can that be a city of light
shimmering up ahead?

Within my heart,
a table is set
with salt and sugar in silver.
A bowl full up
with my time appears.
My mother stirs the healing broth.

A wafer of my soul
drops into cupping hands,
my last breath becomes dew.
Let God drink of me.


COPYRIGHT/ all rights reserved/ 2013


http://www.minblu.blogspot.com
http://twitter.com/lynxny

MAGPIE...Prompt #174

 

                                   STANLEY KUBRICK/ for Look Magazine/ 1949


THANK YOU, Tess at Magpie Tales...



GOT A MATCH?

Breathe deeply, baby,
prove that you're a real big man.
And it's good for you


too.


Copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2013


http://www.minblu.blogspot.com
http://twitter.com/lynxny

MAGPIE...Prompt #173

                                      THE PROMENADE, 1918, by Marc Chagall


THANK YOU, Tess..for Magpie Tales...


THAT WORD

Licking my lips,
I swallow the taste
of last night's kiss.

You said that word,
the one with the heart
of a mayfly.

Giving up gravity,
believing that I too
have wings, I flew.

Your choreography
thrust me skyward,
enough to tease the wind.


Copyright/ All rights reserved/ 2013


http://www.minblu.blogspot.com
http://twitter.com/lynxny

MAGPIE...Prompt #172

                                                      Charleston Farmhouse Door


THANK YOU, Tess...at Magpie Tales....


WHO'S THERE?

Are you the lover
who's bluster
whispered
a plea
at my door,
tapped a code
at the transom?
The wind says,
let me in.

Fingers twitch
at the latch.
Rust flakes
into tiny daggers.

Your hands,
cup a caress
in search of the heat
of Hades.
Hephaestus says,
let me in.

You whistle
a melody
that flows
beneath the door.
Once again
you chant a promise.
Let me in.


Copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2013

http://www.minblu.blogspot.com
http://www.twitter.com/lynxy

MAGPIE...Prompt #171

                           
                            WAKING, WALKING, SINGING, IN THE NEXT DIMENSION?
                                                     1979/ Morris Graves
                           

THANK YOU, Tess, at  Magpie Tales....



PANIC ATTACK

A wounded crow rushes
through the entry to my veins.
I'm waiting for the scream,
but my mouth won't do as it's told.

Damage flies swiftly on bright wings,
a blot of crimson forms a Rorschach.
I swear it looks like a velvet Jesus.

I feel the delirium soaring,
spreading to the field of stars.

Hovering bird clutches,
knows the way of return,
hushes the throb,
lets a zephyr blow through me.


Copyright/ All rights reserved/ 2013

http://www.minblu.blogspot.com
http://twitter.com/lynxny

MAGPIE...Prompt #170

                                                             PONYTAIL/ Last Exit


THANK YOU, Tess...at Magpie Tales...


BEGINNING

Before your face took shape
I saw a flow of will erupt,
nodded yes my baby,
I feel your heart alongside mine.

That vortex on the silver screen
is the spot where a blue eye will cry
if love doesn't pour over you,
run down each step of your being.

When your raven hair unravels,
I'll place a ribbon, invisible,
in a loop
that ties you close to me,

see to it that all love
decants like wine,
flows your way...
nine months to go.


Copyright/ All rights reserved/ 2013


http://www.minblu.blogspot.com
http://twitter.com/lynxny

MAGPIE...Prompt #169

                                    LIGHTHOUSE DANDELIONS/ Jamie Wyeth



THANK YOU, Tess..for Magpie Tales.....


TRINKET

Dung beetle feasts on
gold dust, becomes a scarab,
jewel for King Tut.


Copyright/ All rights reserved/ 2013


http://www.minblu.blogspot.com
http://twitter.com/lynxny

MAGPIE...Prompt #168

                                                                 PHOTO/ Togan Gokhakar


THANK YOU,Tess at Magpie Tales...


GRANDPARENTS

My Grandpa Jake fancied he looked like Bela Lugosi.  My Grandma Rebecca, who favored hats under all circumstances, learned a long time ago not to tell him to smile for a photograph.  Because he would likely have slipped some Times Square souvenir fangs into his mouth.  He enjoyed being inappropriate.

Rebecca, the gorgeous redhead in the family, wore a flower in her hair while giving birth to my mother.  It is said.

This particular day we went by ferry to the newly opened Wall of Names at Ellis Island.  Then a quick photo before they searched for their names.  Which I had submitted to be placed on the wall as a tribute to their discovering America.

A guard came by and told Grandpa to please put his cigarette out.  Grandma never had any success with this.  Truth be told, sometimes she puffed away on a Camel's.  And in the Russian way, while enjoying a glass of tea, some raspberry jam stirred into it.

Grandpa always rolled his own.  He had a small leather pouch for the tobacco.  And papers.  I thought he was a cowboy.  At 72nd Street and Broadway.  Years later his style of rolling remained with me.

I brought some note paper and lead pencils with me so that they could make a copy of their names from the wall.  On the trip back from Ellis Island they compared rubbings.  Grandma's hat was swept off her head by an extreme gust of wind.  Grandpa dropped his cigarette.  By then he was buying packs.  He grabbed at the brim, slightly crushing it.  He put it on Rebecca's head, backwards.  On purpose, of course.

He was a tailor, an entrepreneur, and a poet.  She baked bread and told scary fortunes.


Copyright/ All rights reserved/ 2013

http://www.minblu.blogspot.com
http://twitter.com/lynxny