The news that American researchers, in the 1940s, infected the mentally ill and confined in Guatemala with syphilis (that was later treated though not necessarily cured) demanded a high-level apology, such as Clinton and Obama have since proffered. So far so good - except very troubling thoughts linger: how, after the atrocities of Nazi and Japanese WW2 medical research, could Americans involve themselves in such cold-blooded work? More to the point, does such untrammeled science still operate? Whenever scientists like Dawkins wax lyrical about the pure rational spirit of the scientist, it is right to recall such crimes against humanity; for science, unmoored from morality, even (say it!) faith, can grow monstrous very easily; for the human mind's forensic curiosity, still in its moral infancy, will pull wings from a fly to see it struggle. And call that knowledge.
THAT HANDSOME MAN A PERSONAL BRIEF REVIEW BY TODD SWIFT I could lie and claim Larkin, Yeats , or Dylan Thomas most excited me as a young poet, or even Pound or FT Prince - but the truth be told, it was Thom Gunn I first and most loved when I was young. Precisely, I fell in love with his first two collections, written under a formalist, Elizabethan ( Fulke Greville mainly), Yvor Winters triad of influences - uniquely fused with an interest in homerotica, pop culture ( Brando, Elvis , motorcycles). His best poem 'On The Move' is oddly presented here without the quote that began it usually - Man, you gotta go - which I loved. Gunn was - and remains - so thrilling, to me at least, because so odd. His elegance, poise, and intelligence is all about display, about surface - but the surface of a panther, who ripples with strength beneath the skin. With Gunn, you dressed to have sex. Or so I thought. Because I was queer (I maintain the right to lay claim to that
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