What do you think about Dylan Thomas?

Being the centenary of his birth, there has been a lot of coverage of the life and work of Dylan Thomas on TV and radio recently. I like Thomas' work, but I'm unsure if I should!

There is an old saying that the main difference between a Jewish Joke and an Anti-Semitic Joke is who's telling it – are they laughing with us or at us?

I would love Under Milk Wood if it was laughing with us, and hate it if it was laughing at us.

There were comments on Twitter about the recent broadcast version on BBC Wales decrying the fact that it wasn't broadcast on the BBC through the UK. I'm glad it was only on BBC Wales BECAUSE that meant it was laughing with us.

I don't know what Thomas' intention was. I suspect that it wasn't to take the piss in a My People Caradoc Evans way; but there is little doubt that the play has been used in that vain.

So should I love him or hate him? I can't make up my mind!

Poems and Politics - TWAT - John Cooper Clarke

I love poetry, and I can recite a number of my favourite poems by rote. I can quote chunks of others, and if I feel the need to make a poetic quotation to support a point I have sufficient knowledge of poetry to enable me to find appropriate quotes.

Many of the poems that I know by rote were learned for the purpose of competing in Eisteddfodau. The ones that I remember best aren't the ones that were drilled, they are the ones who's meanings and structure were explained in detail before we even got onto learning them.

Poems learned in context and taught with enthusiasm can be a lifelong pleasure. Poems taught by rote because the National Curriculum says they must be taught could be counterproductive and put kids off poetry for life. So I give a half cautious welcome to Michael Gove's pronouncement that Children as young as five will be expected to learn and recite poetry by heart in a major overhaul of the national curriculum for schools in England. If it is done well English kids will have a huge benefit, if it is done badly English poetry will suffer a generation of despair.

I sincerely hope it's done well. If not, perhaps this poem by John Cooper Clarke might be the poem Mr Gove will be most associated with:

TWAT

Like a Night Club in the morning, you're the bitter end
Like a recently disinfected shit-house, you're clean round the bend.
You give me the horrors
too bad to be true
All of my tomorrow's
are lousy coz of you.

You put the Shat in Shatter
Put the Pain in Spain
Your germs are splattered about
Your face is just a stain

You're certainly no raver, commonly known as a drag.
Do us all a favour, here... wear this polythene bag.

You're like a dose of scabies,
I’ve got you under my skin.
You make life a fairy tale... Grimm!
People mention murder, the moment you arrive.
I’d consider killing you if I thought you were alive.
You've got this slippery quality,
it makes me think of phlegm,
and a dual personality
I hate both of them.

Your bad breath, vamps disease, destruction, and decay.
Please, please, please, please, take yourself away.
Like a death in a birthday party,
you ruin all the fun.
Like a sucked and spat our Smartie,
you're no use to anyone.
like the shadow of the guillotine
on a dead consumptive's face.
Speaking as an outsider,
what do you think of the human race

You went to a progressive psychiatrist.
He recommended suicide...
before scratching your bad name off his list,
and pointing the way outside.

You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart.
You’re heading for a breakdown,
better pull yourself apart.
Your dirty name gets passed about when something goes amiss.
Your attitudes are platitudes,
just make me wanna piss.

What kind of creature bore you
Was is some kind of bat
They can’t find a good word for you,
but I can...
TWAT

Poems and Politics- Liverpool Lullaby by Stan Kelly

A discussion on the Better Nation Blog about proposals for the Scottish Parliament to make smacking children illegal reminded me of this poignant poem by Stan Kelly. It is about an abused child who is likely to grow up to become a replica of his abusive father, but his Ma' still loves him to bits because he is her baby.

A fantastic poem, made into a fantastic song by Cilla Black:





Oh you are a mucky kid,
Dirty as a dustbin lid.
When he hears the things that you did,
You'll gerra belt from your Da.
Oh you have your father's nose,
So crimson in the dark it glows,
If you're not asleep when the boozers close,
You'll gerra belt from your Da.


You look so scruffy lying there
Strawberry-jam tarts in yer hair,
In all the world you haven't a care
And I have got so many.
It's quite a struggle every day
Living on your father's pay,
The begger drinks it all away
And leaves me without any.


Although you have no silver spoon,
Better days are coming soon
Our Nelly's working at the Lune
And she gets paid on Friday.
Perhaps one day we'll have a splash,
When Littlewoods provide the cash,
We'll get a house in Knotty Ash
And buy your Da a brewery.


Oh you are a mucky kid,
Dirty as a dustbin lid.
When he hears the things that you did
You'll gerra belt from your Da.
Oh you have your father's face,
You're growing up a real hard case,
But there's no one can take your place,
.... Go fast asleep for yer Mammy.

Poems and Politics "For those in Peril on the Sea" - William Whiting

A prayer for those whose lives are to be endangered by the latest cost cutting exercise from the heartless bastards in the Con-Dem Government who put money before humanity.

Eternal Father strong to save
Whose arm has bound the restless wave
Who bids the mighty ocean deep
It's own appointed limits keep
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in Peril on the sea

Oh Christ whose voice the waters heard
And hushed their raging at Thy word
Who walkest on the foamy deep
And how amidst the storm did sleep
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in Peril on the sea.

Even an atheist would agree that there is a better chance that God will take more heed of the needs of those in Peril on the Sea than either Cameron or Clegg!

Poems and Politics - To Autumn - Chris Bryant

My first poems and politics blog where I don't quote the poem. It is such a load of pretentious crap that it would embarrass me to post it!

Rhondda MP Chris Bryant's poem To Autumn can be seen here - if you love poetry please, please, please do not click on the link!

Poems and politics - Katherine Philips - Married People: “Suckers”

My son (born in wedlock) is asked to study this poem for his GSCE English exam; he has been ridiculed and bullied because of his response to it. He is a child of a married couple; his parents are – SUCKERS - according to the poet and the teacher's message – he is one of a minority in his class – a minority oppressed by the message of the poem!

It is a good poem; it makes a valid point. But is it the sort of poem that pubescent teenagers should be discussing as part of their exam projects?

Is this the way that we want our children to be introduced to the institution of marriage in school lessons?

Married People: “Suckers” – Katherine Philips

A married state affords but little ease
The best of husbands are so hard to please.
This in wives’ careful faces you may spell
Though they dissemble their misfortunes well.
A virgin state is crowned with much content;
It’s always happy as it’s innocent.
No blustering husbands to create your fears;
No pangs of childbirth to extort your tears;
No children’s cries for to offend your ears;
Few worldly crosses to distract your prayers:
Thus are you freed from all the cares that do
Attend on matrimony and a husband too.
Therefore Madam, be advised by me
Turn, turn apostate to love’s levity,
Suppress wild nature if she dare rebel.
There’s no such thing as leading apes in hell.

A good poem, but not the sort of message about marriage that I want my teen kids to learn.

It is not the sort of message about marriage and relationships that fits in with health education messages that the kids have.

Married People: “Suckers” -is a good poem for those of us who are old enough to appreciate it.

It is not a GCSE age poem and the person who put it into the 14/15 year old curiculum is a pervert who needs sacking!

It's that time of year again!

The time has come, the Walrus said,
To talk of many things:
Of shoes and ships and sealing-wax
Of cabbages and kings
And why the sea is boiling hot
And whether pigs have wings.


The time has also come to dig out the passwords for those long forgotten Hotmail, Yahoo and G-Mail addresses, so you can vote for yourself many times over in the:



Having nominated yourself, you might consider this blog as a bit of a filling in one or two of your selections in order to make up the numbers!

Poems and Politics Tommy – Rudyard Kipling

Listening to Elfyn Llwyd's speech to the Plaid Cymru conference on the plight of veterans reminded me of a poem published by Rudyard Kipling over 100 years ago called Tommy. The main refrain of the poem is that Tommy is a hero, a Saviour of 'is country when the guns begin to shoot, but when he is not fighting for Queen and Country he is seen as a right pain in the arse.

During my nursing career I cared for veterans from every conflict in the 20th century, from the Bore War to the second Gulf War. The patients' problems were many and varied, but all of them suffered from the underlying psychological difficulty of coping with the trauma of going from hero to zero.

Soldiers are cheered through the streets on march-pasts, given the freedom of the city, hailed in the tabloids, and then they are demobbed and become just ordinary blokes! That is traumatic in itself and is, of course, added to the traumas that these people have witnessed in the theatres of war.

In his coverage of the Plaid Conference yesterday Adrian Masters suggested that this is not the sort of issue that a nationalist party, like Plaid, might be likely to be seen supporting.

I disagree!

Wales has just under 5% of the UK population, but it has supplied between 8 and 10% of the UK's military personnel every year since at least 1911. There are few Welsh families without a close member who is serving or has served in the Armed Forces. Therefore the care of veterans is a Welsh issue and the care of Welsh vetrans is a nationalist issue, and I am pleased that Plaid has taken this issue on board.

That's the end of the rant. Here is the poem:

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool - you bet that Tommy sees!

Poems & Politics - Education for Leisure - Carol Ann Duffy

And here is a copy of the new poet Laureate's banned poem Education for Leisure

Education for Leisure - Carol Ann Duffy

Today I am going to kill something. Anything.
I have had enough of being ignored and today
I am going to play God. It is an ordinary day,
a sort of grey with boredom stirring in the streets.

I squash a fly against the window with my thumb.
We did that at school. Shakespeare. It was in
another language and now the fly is in another language.
I breathe out talent on the glass to write my name.

I am a genius. I could be anything at all, with half
the chance. But today I am going to change the world.
Something’s world. The cat avoids me. The cat
knows I am a genius, and has hidden itself.

I pour the goldfish down the bog. I pull the chain.
I see that it is good. The budgie is panicking.
Once a fortnight, I walk the two miles into town
for signing on. They don’t appreciate my autograph.

There is nothing left to kill. I dial the radio
and tell the man he’s talking to a superstar.
He cuts me off. I get our bread-knife and go out.
The pavements glitter suddenly. I touch your arm.

Poems and Politics - Causa Belli Andrew Motion

Congratulations to Carol Ann Duffy on becoming the first Scottish and first female Poet Laureate.

Here is outgoing Laureate Andrew Motion's controversial poem about the Iraq War;

Causa Belli - Andrew Motion

They read good books, and quote, but never learn

a language other than the scream of rocket-burn.

Our straighter talk is drowned but ironclad:

elections, money, empire, oil and Dad.

If I can find a copy I will post Carol Ann's even more controversial Education for Leisure latter on.

Poems and politics - Penddu's Better Song

Sing another song - why not sing the same one back at them!!

I saw the flight to the right that Blair took new labour,
I saw the hypocrite greed as they wined and dined,

They were my party
And as they deceived me, I watched as they closed down our mine

My, my, my, Aneurin
Why, why, why, Aneurin
I could see , the party was no more for me
But here in the Valley, the Tories the devil you see

On polling day when my doubts cleared away, I was waiting,
I crossed my vote on the form and I thought of the poor,

Hain stood there laughing Ho Ho Ho
I felt the vote in my hand and he laughed no more

My, my, my, Aneurin
Why, why, why, Aneurin

As they failed to service our health,
And plundered our national wealth
Forgive me Aneurin I just cant
vote Labour no more

My, my, my, Aneurin
Why, why, why, Aneurin

So before, they start another just war
Forgive me Aneurin, I just cant vote Labour no more,
Forgive me Aneurin, I just cant vote Labour no more

There must be some anti Labour minstrels out there who can sing this on YouTube!

Poems & Politics: A Man's a Man For a' that - Burns

As today is not only St Dwynwen's Day but also Burns Day, indeed the 250'th aniversery of the bàird's birth, I think that Burns deserves a Poems and Politics post.

His most political poem is probably A Man's a Man For a' that

Famous for its expression of egalitarian ideas of society, which may be seen as anticipating the ideas of liberalism that arose in the 18th century, and those of socialism which arose in the 19th century.

The song was sung at the opening of the Scottish Parliament, and also at the funeral of Donald Dewar, the original First Minister of Scotland.

The words 'pride o' worth' appear on the crest of the Scottish Qualifications Authority.

A Man's A Man For A' That

Is there for honest Poverty
That hings his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave-we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that.
Our toils obscure an' a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The Man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an' a that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man's a Man for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show, an' a' that;
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, star, an' a' that:
The man o' independent mind
He looks an' laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's abon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that;
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
(As come it will for a' that,)
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That Man to Man, the world o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.

Poems and Politics - Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

Those of you who eagerly await my pearls of wisdom are going to be disappointed until after Christmas. Apart from Christmas being a busy time for parents and apart from the MOF suffering from a stinking cold, I have a lot on my plate at the moment. The most interesting task being a War Pensions Appeal Tribunal next week that I am the rep for, which should prove significant to the Gulf War Syndrome debate whatever the outcome - details will be posted after the verdict!

The other thing that I am trying to fit in around my blogging time is a course on revising schooldays French. When I learned French at school I learned a lot of songs - Sur la Pont d'Avignon and Frere Jacques in class and - Mademoiselle from Armentieres in the school yard! Here is a French song that fits in with my Poems and Politics thread on the blog as it was used as an exit quote by Norman Lamont a long time ago - so it is political!



No! No regrets
No! I will have no regrets
All the things
That went wrong
For at last I have learned to be strong

No! No regrets
No! I will have no regrets
For the grief doesn't last
It is gone
I've forgotten the past

And the memories I had
I no longer desire
Both the good and the bad
I have flung in a fire
And I feel in my heart
That the seed has been sown
It is something quite new
It's like nothing I've known

No! No regrets
No! I will have no regrets
All the things that went wrong
For at last I have learned to be strong

No! No regrets
No! I will have no regrets
For the seed that is new
It's the love that is growing for you

Poems & Politics: In Flanders Field

When I am not blogging politics my other delight is family history.

My family tree is full of those who lost their lives in the First and Second
World Wars. Some are famous, like my cousins removed Hedd Wyn and Wilfred Owen. Others were just ordinary people like my great uncles John and Hugh Humphreys, my second cousin Thomas Bitton and my uncle Hywel Griffith.

Whatever the rights or wrongs of the two World wars I will Wear my poppy with pride and I will remember them!

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

John McCrae

Poems and Politics: Anglomaniacs Anthem

I haven't posted a Poems and Politics post for some weeks. How remiss of me, I apologise.

During the last few weeks we have been told that a crisis caused by Unionists is proof that Wales and Scotland can't survive as independent nations.

Apparently we can't survive because Billions of pounds have been poured into the City of London, to save the City - money taken out of Wales and other parts of the UK to shore up the City.

The truth is that Wales will suffer, and suffer disproportionately, in order to save London.

In order to justify our suffering for the grater good, we will be offered crumbs, again, from London and be expected to show gratitude!

We will be asked by Labour, Tory and Lib Dem MPs to see such crumbs of gratitude as Manna from London's heaven, part of the Union Dividend

Oh, we're looking up England's arsehole,
It's the prettiest view we know,
It's the height of our ambition,
It's where we want to go,
It's the finest sight in the universe
Though you seek both high and low,
So we're looking up England's arsehole
Waiting for the breeze to blow.

They tell us Wales is a nation
But we don't believe that story,
Though she's going bust we put our trust
In the Land of Hope and Glory,
So we're looking up England's arsehole,
There was never a view so fine,
Yes, we're looking up England's arsehole
Waiting for the sun to shine.

Here we crouch in our proper stations,
Obedient to her orders,
Though she's in the shite she'll see us right
If we earn our keep as warders,
So we're looking up England's arsehole,
It's the loveliest scene of all,
Yes, we're looking up England's arsehole,
Waiting for the manna to fall.

Harri Webb

Poems and Politics: Rev Eli Jenkins' Prayer

With a Welsh scientist intending to blow the world to smithereens today, a Welsh prayer is in order for this weeks Poems and Politics:

Rev Eli Jenkins' Prayer - Dylan Thomas (from Under Milk Wood)

Every morning when I wake,
Dear Lord, a little prayer I make,
O please do keep Thy lovely eye
On all poor creatures born to die

And every evening at sun-down
I ask a blessing on the town,
For whether we last the night or no
I'm sure is always touch-and-go.

We are not wholly bad or good
Who live our lives under Milk Wood,
And Thou, I know, wilt be the first
To see our best side, not our worst.

O let us see another day!
Bless us all this night, I pray,
And to the sun we all will bow
And say, good-bye - but just for now!*

*We hope!!!!

If you are able to read this post then the Rev Jenkins prayer will have been answered and the evil scientists will have been defeated.

If not - then blogging might be light as me and my computer are turned into goo and sucked into a black hole!

Poems & Politics: Rape - Adrienne Rich

Bethan Jenkins AM has an interesting post about rape, and the reaction to Helen Mirren's rather silly remarks about date rape.

Bethan and Helen's comments remind me of a poem I first heard read by my cousin Olwen Leavold a few years after it was published. My initial sexist reaction was bloody ridiculous, if a person has really suffered rape the last thing she would do is write a poem about it*. But Olwen reminded me of my fondness of War Poems - a catharsis for men who had suffered horrific experiences. If Wilfred Owen could write Dulce et Decorum after experiencing a gas attack - why shouldn't a woman be able to write something as moving after a rape attack?

Having been slapped down by my cousin and having looked at the poem again in that light, I think that this weeks Poems and Politics is, in fact, one of the most frightening and moving poems ever written:

Rape - Adrienne Rich

There is a cop who is both prowler and father:
he comes from your block, grew up with your brothers,
had certain ideals.
You hardly know him in his boots and silver badge,
on horseback, one hand touching his gun.

You hardly know him but you have to get to know him:
he has access to machinery that could kill you.
He and his stallion clop like warlords among the trash,
his ideals stand in the air, a frozen cloud
from between his unsmiling lips.

And so, when the time comes, you have to turn to him,
the maniac's sperm still greasing your thighs,
your mind whirling like crazy. You have to confess
to him, you are guilty of the crime
of having been forced.

And you see his blue eyes, the blue eyes of all the family
whom you used to know, grow narrow and glisten,
his hand types out the details
and he wants them all
but the hysteria in your voice pleases him best.

You hardly know him but now he thinks he knows you:
he has taken down your worst moment
on a machine and filed it in a file.
He knows, or thinks he knows, how much you imagined;
he knows, or thinks he knows, what you secretly wanted.

He has access to machinery that could get you put away;
and if, in the sickening light of the precinct,
and if, in the sickening light of the precinct,
your details sound like a portrait of your confessor,
will you swallow, will you deny them, will you lie your way home?

*note: I was only 16 years old then :-)

Poems & Politics: This Be The Verse - Larkin

Thanks to Jolly Roger for his parody of last weeks Poems and Politics, which can be found in the comments to that post and is worth a read.

This weeks Poems and Politics is inspired by a post by Glyn Davies the prospective Conservative Parliamentary Candidate for Montgomeryshire. Mr Davies wants his party, if it comes into government, to reintroduce a married couple's allowance for taxation purposes. The reason why he supports this allowance is to encourage good parenting because "We know that children with two parents, on average, perform much better"

Phillip Larkin offers an alternative view on parenthood:

Philip Larkin - This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

UPDATE

Jolly Roger's retort to Larkin is worth taking out of the comments section and adding to the main post:

Jolly Roger - This Be The Verse

So we fucked you up. Mum and Me?
We never mean to, nor have we.
We help you avoid the faults we had,
And try and stop you being so bad.

We weren't fucked up at any turn.
Life's stern lessons, we were glad to learn.
An ear for a clip, a back leg slap.
None of this Political Correctness crap.

I daresay that now PC accusers,
Would brand our parents as child abusers.
Despite this, right was learned from wrong.
And we passed this on to our family throng.

And now at life's Autumnal phase,
I've given and received much fulsome praise,
For the politeness, courtesy and respect,
That my children display and rarely neglect.

Even the grandchildren are much the same way.
And try and do a good deed a day.
I just hope that as this life will evolve,
This attitude will help many problems to solve.

I abhor the use of the whip or the lash.
But firm chastisement, far short of a thrash,
Is part of the Carrot and Stick regime.
That trains them for life's arduous dream.

No misery handed down by we,
Despite the Philip Larkin plea.
Our Human purpose? Procreate.
It's the sole reason for your existence, mate.

(c) Jolly Roger Publications.

Poems and Politics: Leisure W H Davies

Toque believes that Gordon Brown holidaying in Britain, this year and last, has put a curse on the weather. Apparently, Mr Brown use to go to Cape Cod for his holidays before becoming PM, Toque thinks that the weather might improve should Gordon Sod off back to Cape Cod.

Others have suggested that the reason why Gordon holidays in Britain is his inability to relax and take a brake from the pressures of office. A few months ago Ian Martin in the Telegraph suggested that Mr Brown should return to Cape Cod in order to have a proper break from office and gain the benefits that a proper holiday should give any hard pressured worker.

Apparently Mr Brown holidays in Britain now because he can't abide the idea of being too far away from the office in case a crisis brakes, and he takes a load of civil servants and advisers away with him so that he can carry on with the job throughout his family's holidays!

So this weeks Poems and Politics is a bit of sage advice for Gordon Brown from the Welsh poet and Supertramp William H Davies:

LEISURE

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare?

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep and cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this, if full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

Poems and Politics: Dulce et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

This poem is posted in response to the bombardment of adverts on S4C promoting the benefits of a career in the armed forces. The MoD claims that it doesn't target any particular section of society for enlistment as part of a political process. But S4C seems to be the only main channel on which recruitment adds appear in every single brake. Sometimes we have two, during Pobl y Cwm you can almost guarantee an ad from both army and navy.

If this isn't targeting a section of society for the political purpose of Britifying it, I would like to hear the MoD's alternative explaination.