To Whom It May Concern -- Adrian Mitchell

(Poem #28) To Whom It May Concern I was run over by the truth one day. Ever since the accident I've walked this way So stick my legs in plaster Tell me lies about Vietnam. Heard the alarm clock screaming with pain, Couldn't find myself so I went back to sleep again So fill my ears with silver Stick my legs in plaster Tell me lies about Vietnam. Every time I shut my eyes all I see is flames. Made a marble phone book and I carved out all the names So coat my eyes with butter Fill my ears with silver Stick my legs in plaster Tell me lies about Vietnam. I smell something burning, hope it's just my brains. They're only dropping peppermints and daisy-chains So stuff my nose with garlic Coat my eyes with butter Fill my ears with silver Stick my legs in plaster Tell me lies about Vietnam. Where were you at the time of the crime? Down by the Cenotaph drinking slime So chain my tongue with whisky Stuff my nose with garlic Coat my eyes with butter Fill my ears with silver Stick my legs in plaster Tell me lies about Vietnam. You put your bombers in, you put your conscience out, You take the human being and you twist it all about So scrub my skin with women Chain my tongue with whisky Stuff my nose with garlic Coat my eyes with butter Fill my ears with silver Stick my legs in plaster Tell me lies about Vietnam. -- Adrian Mitchell

I really have nothing to add today: this poem communicates its message
more effectively than any commentary could ever hope to do. So I'll
leave you with a

Biographical Note:

Adrian Mitchell was born in 1932 and educated at Oxford. After coming
down in 1955 he worked for some years on the staff of the Oxford Mail,
and subsequently with the London Evening Standard. Mitchell's early
poetry showed a fondness for tight stanzas and a use of myth, but there
was always a kind of agonised human concern about his writing which
marked him off sharply from his more tight-lipped contemporaries. This
concern has developed over the years into a full-fledged political
commitment, and there is no other poet in England who has more steadily
focussed his aesthetic aims through his social ones. It would not be too
much to say that a poem such as 'To Whom It May Concern' altered the
conscience of English poetry, and for many younger writers Mitchell is
already the elder statesman of literary protest. He has made enemies
through this, and there are still critics who refuse to accept his
importance. But there are few poets now writing who can command a wider
general audience, and none who can swing such an audience more
effectively from public laughter to near tears.

    - George Macbeth

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