!DOCTYPE html> html> head lang=”en-US”> title>Attack On The Ad-Man by A. S. J. Tessimond/title> /div> h1 class=”pageTitle”>Attack On The Ad-Man/h1> div class=”entry-content clearfix”> h2 class=”author”>by A. S. J. Tessimond/h2> div id=”content”> p>This trumpeter of nothingness, employedbr /> To keep our reason dull and null and void.br /> This man of wind and froth and flux will sellbr /> The wares of any who reward him well.br /> Praising whatever he is paid to praise,br /> He hunts for ever-newer, smarter waysbr /> To make the gilt seen gold; the shoddy, silk;br /> To cheat us legally; to bluff and bilkbr /> By methods which no jury can preventbr /> Because the law’s not broken, only bent./p> p>This mind for hire, this mental prostitutebr /> Can tell the half-lie hardest to refute;br /> Knows how to hide an inconvenient factbr /> And when to leave a doubtful claim unbacked;br /> Manipulates the truth but not too much,br /> And if his patter needs the Human Touch,br /> Skillfully artless, artlessly naive,br /> Wears his convenient heart upon his sleeve./p> p>He uses words that once were strong and fine,br /> Primal as sun and moon and bread and wine,br /> True, honourable, honoured, clear and keen,br /> And leaves them shabby, worn, diminished, mean.br /> He takes ideas and trains them to engagebr /> In the long little wars big combines wage…br /> He keeps his logic loose, his feelings flimsy;br /> Turns eloquence to cant and wit to whimsy;br /> Trims language till it fits his clients, patternbr /> And style’s a glossy tart or limping slattern./p> p>He studies our defences, finds the cracksbr /> And where the wall is weak or worn, attacks.br /> lie finds the fear that’s deep, the wound that’s tender,br /> And mastered, outmanouevered, we surrender.br /> We who have tried to choose accept his choicebr /> And tired succumb to his untiring voice.br /> The dripping tap makes even granite softenbr /> We trust the brand-name we have heard so oftenbr /> And join the queue of sheep that flock to buy;br /> We fools who know our folly, you and I./p>/div> p>br /> br> /body> /html>
Arthur Seymour John Tessimond (1902 -1962) was an English poet. He had a tumultuous childhood, ran from boarding school, went to work, somehow attended the University of Liverpool, avoided service in WWI and then discovered that he is unfit for military service after he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, which in those days was known as manic depression. A.S. Tessimond is a wonderful poet though maybe somewhat underappreciated poet. He died from in 1962 from a brain haemorrhage.