“A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.” —Robert A. Heinlein, Time Enough For Love
Welcome to the Renaissance Humans Newsletter, where I focus on sense-making and story-telling in the turbulent twenties. The Renaissance (“rebirth,” in French) spanned from the 14th to the 17th century and marked a period of cultural, artistic, and intellectual renewal in Europe. A Renaissance Human fosters curiosity, creativity, critical thinking, and character in a journey of never-ending learning. They cultivate Mind, Body, and Spirit, in service of Community, and oriented to the Transcendentals.
This post is a confluence of two circumstances. First, World Poetry Day was March 21st. But more importantly, it was inspired by Sam Alaimo’s recent essay on Combat Diving.
He eloquently captures the devotion involved in this type of diving, and ties it to the pursuit of mastery in other realms. This is my attempt to convey the craft of the Combat Swimmer, written in 2007. Revised over time, because as my old writing teacher George Lober used to say, paraphrasing Taylor Swift1, “poems are never finished, they are only abandoned.”
Night Ship Attack
My partner gives a final check,
On Zodiac’s heaving deck.
The Norfolk eve brings driving rain,
Veiling us in a wintry cloak.
Frogman weather.
We fall back into sullen waves.
A pause for trim and bubbles,
Then we’re off into the black.
Finning under a sleeping cove,
Sucking mud when motors whine.
Route legs pledged to memory,
Azimuth, time, tidal flow.
VENTID-TC is the acronym
For toxicity of the oxygen.
But all Frogmen they must affirm,
Are surly under Draeger’s spell.
Gloved hand squeezes my bicep,
To mark the home stretch.
As if to confirm his touch,
Dark depths morph to stygian hue,
Where light is alien concept,
Long-forgotten notion.
Under the target, trace to stern,
A barnacled path on seam of weld.
Marine life clicks and snaps,
Nature’s serene symphony.
If this were for real,
We’d leave something sharp and severe.
Tonight, we just leave a chemlight,
On a line hung by keen cadre.
Jade luminosity,
Glowing for all worthy viewers.
Dive pair three was here.
Paul Valery- https://quoteinvestigator.com/2019/03/01/abandon/
"Sucking mud when motors whine."
Definite love/hate relationship with this one.
Love this poem.