The Election ain't over till the fat Muse sings

Norman Podhoretz’s  latest work of epic fantasy, entitled
World War IV,  declares another ‘Low dishonest decade’ 
to be upon us. He seems to have missed the greater relevance
of the poem with which that quote's author, W.H. Auden
wound  down World War II at Harvard’s first post-war 
Commencement in 1946:

         Under Which Lyre ?  
A Reactionary Tract for the Times. 
 It begins:                
 Ares at last has quit the field
The bloodstains on the bushes yield
        To seeping showers,
And in their convalescent state
The fractured towns associate
      With summer flowers …
And continues below Intercalated with its revision 
as a Neocon Recessional:  
                      
       What A Rich Pyre !  
A Tract Redacted by The Washington Times 
Norman at last has quit the field, 

The bloodstains left by Bushies yield

     To seeping showers,

As in their convalescent state

The Neocons associate

     With Thomas Powers



Encamped upon the college plain
Raw veterans already train
     As freshman forces;
Instructors with sarcastic tongue
Shepherd the battle-weary young
    Through basic courses 
 
Encamped upon the college plain

William Kristol can’t explain

     What Strauss endorses;

Nor Hanson with Laconic tongue

Shepherd the battle-weary young

     Through Persian courses



Among bewildering appliances 
For mastering the arts and sciences
     They stroll or run, 
And nerves that steeled themselves to slaughter 
Are shot to pieces by the shorter 
     Poems of Donne. 
 Among the shattered appliances 
Of the darker arts and sciences

     They stroll or run, 

As those that steeled themselves to slaughter 

Aim their laughter at the shorter 

     Odes of Frum 


Professors back from secret missions
Resume their proper eruditions,
     Though some regret it;
They liked their Dictaphones a lot,
T hey met some big wheels, and do not
     Let you forget it
.
Professors back from Baghdad’s frissons

Resume their proper eruditions,

     Though some regret it;

Although Kevlar can be hot,

They wore theirs indoors and do not

     Let you forget it.


But Zeus' inscrutable decree
Permits the will-to-disagree
     To be pandemic,
Ordains that vaudeville shall preach
And every commencement speech
     Be a polemic
So did we all, but Zeus' decree
About the will-to-disagree

     Is now pandemic,

Ordains all calls to Recht und Ordnung   

Should fall as flat as waterboarding   

     Though treason’s endemic.

Let Ares doze, that other war
Is instantly declared once more
    'Twixt those who follow
Precocious Hermes all the way
And those who without qualms obey
     Pompous  Apollo.
 Ares will doze. A worse war
Internecine flares once more

Twixt those who follow

Cheney all the way

And those who now with qualms obey

POTUS Apollo.

Brutal like all Olympic games,
Though fought with smiles and Christian names
     And less dramatic,
This dialectic strife between
The civil gods is just as mean,
     And more fanatic.
 Brutal like all Olympic games,
Though fought with smiles and Christian names
     And less dramatic,

This dialectic strife between

The Neocons could be foreseen,

     As more fanatic.


What high immortals do in mirth
Is life and death on Middle Earth;
     Their a-historic
Antipathy forever gripes
All ages and somatic types,
     The sophomoric
Who face the future's darkest hints
With giggles or with prairie squints
     As stout as Cortez,
And those who like myself turn pale
As we approach with ragged sail
     The  fattening forties.

What high immortals do in mirth
But amplifies the Beltway’s girth;

     Where a-historic

Antipathy forever gripes

All ages and somatic types,

     'Tis sophomoric
 To face the future’s darkest hints:
J- Pod scarfs another blintz

     As stout as Cortez,

So not to think, and thus turn pale,

On how a target like a whale 

      Invites cruel sorties

The sons of Hermes love to play
And only do their best when they
     Are told they oughtn't;
Apollo's children never shrink
From boring jobs but have to think
     Their work important.
 The Editors that we see today
Can only do their best and pray,
Wars really oughtn’t
From Euphrates ever shrink,
Lest someone somewhere pause to think
He’s not important.
If he would leave the self alone,
Apollo's welcome to the throne,
     Fasces and falcons;
He loves to rule, has always done it;
The earth would soon, did Hermes run it,
     Be like the Balkans. 
If such would leave the world alone,

Apollo would smile from his throne,

     Fasces and falcons;

Olympus loves to rule, has always done it;

Yet now see voters crowd the summit:

     Ron Paul walk-ins. 

But jealous of our god of dreams,
His common-sense in secret schemes
      To rule the heart;
Unable to invent the lyre,
Creates with simulated fire
      Official art.
 But jealous of their godlike dreams,
Some persevere in secret schemes

      To rule the heart;

Unable to invent the lyre,

Create with simulated fire

     Official art.

And when he occupies a college,
Truth is replaced by Useful Knowledge;
     He pays particular
Attention to Commercial Thought,
Public Relations, Hygiene, Sport,
     In  his curricula. 
 Athletic, extrovert and crude,
For him, to work in solitude
     Is the offence,
The goal a populous Nirvana:
His shield bears this device: Mens sana
     Qui mal y pense.
 And when in one Chicago college,
Truth's replaced by arcane Knowledge;

    Sense may take offence,

And Democracy's Nirvana:

Pay the price: Hart’s for Obama

    And Buckley Bush repents.

Today his arms, we must confess,
From Right to Left have met success,
     His banners wave
From Yale to Princeton, and the news
From Broadway to the Book Reviews
     Is  very grave.
 
Yet still our arms, we must confess,

At least on Fox show some success,

     Though  Islam raves

From Indus to Hormuz, and the news

In lesser New York book reviews

     Is very grave.
 His radio Homers all day long
In over-Whitmanated song
     That does not scan,
With adjectives laid end to end,
Extol the doughnut and commend
     The Common  Man.
 Rush Radio hammers all day long
Its over-Whitmanated song

     That does not scan,

With adjectives laid end to end,

Like rolling Oxycontin to commend

     Chicago Man.

His, too, each homely lyric thing
On sport or spousal love or spring
     Or dogs or dusters,
Invented by some court-house bard
For recitation by the yard
     In  filibusters.
Their Policy's no lyric thing,

Devoid of sport and love and spring

    All blood and bluster
In the White House Spartan bards,
Rehash 300 by the yard,
     In  filibusters.

In fake Hermetic uniforms
Behind our battle-line, in swarms
    That  keep alighting,
His existentialists declare
That they are in complete despair,
    Yet go on writing.
In fake Hermetic uniforms

Behind our battle-line, in swarms

    To warm the fighting,

Neo-existentialists declare

That they forswear complete despair,

    And go on writing.

No matter; He shall be defied;
White Aphrodite is on our side:
    What though his threat
To organize us grow more critical?
Zeus willing, we, the un-political,
    Shall beat him yet
No matter; they
shall be defied.
With Aphrodite at our side:
Though they admit Intel quite diseased
Zeus willing, honest NIE’s,
    Shall beat them yet.
Lone scholars, sniping from the walls
Of learned periodicals, 
    Our facts defend, 
Our intellectual marines,
Landing in little magazines 
    Capture a trend.
 Though aimed at heaven 
In the halls
Of Neo Periodicals
The tracer fire of small magazines
Often rips though grunt marines
As it descends .
 In our morale must lie our strength:
So, that we may behold at length
    Routed Apollo's
Battalions melt away like fog,
Keep well the Hermetic Decalogue,
    Which runs as follows--
In our morale must lie our strength:
So, that we may behold at length

    Routed Osama’s

Last battalions melt away like fog,

Eschew The Weekly Standard Decalogue,

    Of melodramas:

Thou shalt not do as the dean pleases, 
Thou shalt not write thy doctor's thesis 
    On education, 
Thou shalt not worship projects nor
Shalt thou or thine bow down before 
    Administration .
 Thou shalt not answer questionnaires 
Or quizzes upon World-Affairs, 
    Nor with compliance 
Take any test. Thou shalt not sit
With statisticians nor commit 
    A social science.
 Do not as the West Wing pleases, 
Write not any doctor's thesis  

    On abstinence education, 

Whilst electing, thou and thine

To lie, Anne Coulter-like, supine 

    Before Administration 

Neither fib to questionnaires 

Or quizzes on K-Street affairs, 

    Nor in compliance 

With statisticians fit

In false knowledge, nor commit 

    To deny science.

Thou shalt not be on friendly terms
With guys in advertising firms,
    Nor speak with such
As read the Bible for its prose,
Nor, above all, make love to those
    Who wash too much.
 Thou shalt not live within thy means
Nor on plain water and  raw greens.
    If thou must choose
Between the chances, choose the odd;
Read The New Yorker, trust in God
And take short views. 
Thou shall not be on friendly terms
With focus groups and PR firms
Who fear the Muses’ ardent touch
And read the Bible for its prose.
Nor, above all, make love to those
Who worship such.

Let them live beyond their means

On Tigris water and raw greens.

    If you must choose

Twixt candidates forsaken by Taft and TR's Muse

Trust in Reagan's God and Buckley's, not National Review's .
              
-- Russell Seitz
C. 2008 the Author;1946 Auden PBK  poem  courtesy 
 of  the President & Fellows of Harvard College.

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