Poet & Spymaster

[ishtat]

I don't know if anyone else has noticed but Michael Thwaites died on November 1st 2005. Born in Brisbane Australia in 1915 he won a Rhodes scholarship to Oxford in 1937.In 1938 he won the Newdigate prize for Milton Blind followed by the Kings Medal for Poetry in 1940.

After war service he worked as an English Lecturer until offered the post of Head of Counter-intelligence at ASIO (Australian Security Intelligence Organisation) in 1950. The head of ASIO Charles Spry who recruited him told him that inexperience didn't matter and said, You're a poet so you have imagination .That's what we want"

Thwaites remained in his post as spymaster for over 20 years but it did not stop him publishing poetry. He published The Prophetic Hour in 1940, Poems of War and Peace 1968, The Honey Man 1989 and Collected Poems 1932-2004 this year. he also wrote the hymn For Australia sung at the opening of the Sydney Opera House.

I like the idea that a Poet could head up the country's spy network and wonder which of Lit's poets might have a similar talent - any nominations

 

[Lauren Hynde]

A well-known Portuguese poet (well-known in Portugal, anyway) is currently running for President in January. His odds are not overwhelming, but they exist. It could be interesting.

 

[Angeline]

A well-known Portuguese poet (well-known in Portugal, anyway) is currently running for President in January. His odds are not overwhelming, but they exist. It could be interesting.

There's no poetry in American politics. Only satire.

Well and maybe tragedy.

 

[Tzara]

There's no poetry in American politics. Only satire.

Well and maybe tragedy.

Unfortunately, there sometimes is what looks to me like pretty good poetry, though dismal government. Perhaps the most famous example is this:

The Unknown
Donald Rumsfeld

As we know,
There are known knowns.
There are things we know we know.
We also know
There are known unknowns.
That is to say
We know there are some things
We do not know.
But there are also unknown unknowns,
The ones we don't know
We don't know.

—Feb. 12, 2002, Department of Defense news briefing​

Rumsfeld's verse has been likened to that of such accomplished and subtle poets as William Carlos Williams and Frank O'Hara. Men to whom the composition of poetry was a mere pastime and who were as such unburdened by the weighty responsibility of decisions on life, death, and torture that consume, one hopes, the the majority of Mr. Rumsfeld's intellectual cycles.

For more examples of Rumsfeld's linguistic brilliance, for more poetry (typically, my God, extempore!) from the man who should by rights be the true USA poet laureate, look here.

 

[Angeline]

Unfortunately, there sometimes is what looks to me like pretty good poetry, though dismal government. Perhaps the most famous example is this:

The Unknown
Donald Rumsfeld

As we know,
There are known knowns.
There are things we know we know.
We also know
There are known unknowns.
That is to say
We know there are some things
We do not know.
But there are also unknown unknowns,
The ones we don't know
We don't know.

—Feb. 12, 2002, Department of Defense news briefing​

Rumsfeld's verse has been likened to that of such accomplished and subtle poets as William Carlos Williams and Frank O'Hara. Men to whom the composition of poetry was a mere pastime and who were as such unburdened by the weighty responsibility of decisions on life, death, and torture that consume, one hopes, the the majority of Mr. Rumsfeld's intellectual cycles.

For more examples of Rumsfeld's linguistic brilliance, for more poetry (typically, my God, extempore!) from the man who should by rights be the true USA poet laureate, look here.

I know that site; I have it bookmarked. Those are my absolute favorite found poems, um Judy. Should I call you Judy? (that is Judy, yes?)

 

[Tzara]

I know that site; I have it bookmarked. Those are my absolute favorite found poems, um Judy. Should I call you Judy? (that is Judy, yes?)

"Professor Graham" is an appropriate form of address. You are excused in your ignorance.

Thank you.

 

[Angeline]

"Professor Graham" is an appropriate form of address. You are excused in your ignorance.

Thank you.

Well isn't she lovely. I thought it was a young Judy Collins--but the the eyes are all wrong, aren't they?

Anway I like Judy better. Can I call you Judy anyway?

Maybe I should get in touch with my masculine side; use this as an av:

http://www.nysut.org/newyorkteacher/images-photos/011010poetlaureate.jpg

Or I could just go lay down next to my masculine side, who is currently passing out--with the remote in a death grip--in front of a college basketball game.

Now I wanna listen to Who Knows Where the Time Goes

Across the evening sky, all the birds are leaving
But how can they know it's time for them to go?
Before the winter fire, I will still be dreaming
I have no thought of time.

Who knows where the time goes?
Who knows where the time goes?

Sad, deserted shore, your fickle friends are leaving
Ah, but then you know it's time for them to go
But I will still be here, I have no thought of leaving
I do not count the time.

Who knows where the time goes?
Who knows where the time goes?

And I am not alone while my love is near me
I know it will be so until it's time to go
So come the storms of winter and then the birds in spring again
I have no fear of time

Who knows how my love grows?
And who knows where the time goes?

Judy's cover of it is so beautiful.

P.S. You know she also sings a version of The Lake Isle of Innisfree (on the Who Knows Where the Time Goes album--erm cd). I'll bet you know that.

 

[Tzara]

Well isn't she lovely. I thought it was a young Judy Collins--but the the eyes are all wrong, aren't they?

Anway I like Judy better. Can I call you Judy anyway?

You can call me whatever the hell you please, of course.

Sorry. This un's a (probably copyrighted, yikes!) photo of Professor Jorie Graham of Harvard fucking U.

Here 'cause I'm yoost tryin' to provoke mister numbers.

Or I could just go lay down next to my masculine side, who is currently passing out--with the remote in a death grip--in front of a college basketball game.

Welp, me 'n me other are watchin' the DVD of O Brother, Where Art Thou and burning up construction scrap rather romantically in the fireplace.

O love, how sweet thou fling!

Cuddle close. It's how it's done.

 

[Angeline]

You can call me whatever the hell you please, of course.

Sorry. This un's a (probably copyrighted, yikes!) photo of Professor Jorie Graham of Harvard fucking U.

Here 'cause I'm yoost tryin' to provoke mister numbers.

Welp, me 'n me other are watchin' the DVD of O Brother, Where Art Thou and burning up construction scrap rather romantically in the fireplace.

O love, how sweet thou fling!

Cuddle close. It's how it's done.

I snuggle up and steal the remote.

 

[Tzara]

I snuggle up and steal the remote.

Zzzzzzzt, what?

...my masculine side, who is currently passing out--with the remote in a death grip--in front of a college basketball game.

Tell him I'll take Gonzaga at odds for fifteen bucks.

I miss baseball already.

 

[twelveoone]

You can call me whatever the hell you please, of course.

Sorry. This un's a (probably copyrighted, yikes!) photo of Professor Jorie Graham of Harvard fucking U.

Here 'cause I'm yoost tryin' to provoke mister numbers.

Welp, me 'n me other are watchin' the DVD of O Brother, Where Art Thou and burning up construction scrap rather romantically in the fireplace.

O love, how sweet thou fling!

Cuddle close. It's how it's done.

Oh, Iowa....

 

[Angeline]

Oh, Iowa....

Well they do have one of the best bookstores I've ever browsed.

 

[ETanker7]

oh really wow. sounds like a great inspiration.