Bin Laden: The Mystery Man
after T. S. Eliot’s “Macavity: the Mystery Cat”
Bin Laden's a Mystery Man: he's called the Hidden Paw--
For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime — Bin Laden's not there!
Bin Laden, Bin Laden, there's no one like Bin Laden,
He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime — Bin Laden's not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air--
But I tell you once and once again, Bin Laden's not there!
Bin Laden's an Arab man, he's very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.
Bin Laden, Bin Laden, there's no one like Bin Laden,
For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square -
But when a crime's discovered, then Bin Laden's not there!
He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.
And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair -
Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Bin Laden's not there!
And when the Foreign Office finds a Treaty's gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair -
But it's useless of investigate — Bin Laden's not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
"It must have been Bin Laden!" - but he's a mile away.
You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.
Bin Laden, Bin Laden, there's no one like Bin Laden,
There never was a Man of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:
And whatever time the deed took place — BIN LADEN WASN'T THERE!
And they say that all the Men whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Ramzi Bin al-Shibh, I might mention Sheikh Khalid)
Are nothing more than agents for the Man who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!
T.S. Eliot
To see the book: “Old Possum’s Book of Cats” and the original poem “ Macavity: the Mystery Cat”, please see: http://coral.lili.uni-bielefeld.de/Classes/Summer97/SemGS/WebLex/OldPossum/oldpossumlex
PHOTO of T.S. Eliot courtesy of The Academy of American Poets:
http://www.poets.org
after T. S. Eliot’s “Macavity: the Mystery Cat”
Bin Laden's a Mystery Man: he's called the Hidden Paw--
For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime — Bin Laden's not there!
Bin Laden, Bin Laden, there's no one like Bin Laden,
He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime — Bin Laden's not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air--
But I tell you once and once again, Bin Laden's not there!
Bin Laden's an Arab man, he's very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.
Bin Laden, Bin Laden, there's no one like Bin Laden,
For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square -
But when a crime's discovered, then Bin Laden's not there!
He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.
And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair -
Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Bin Laden's not there!
And when the Foreign Office finds a Treaty's gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair -
But it's useless of investigate — Bin Laden's not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
"It must have been Bin Laden!" - but he's a mile away.
You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.
Bin Laden, Bin Laden, there's no one like Bin Laden,
There never was a Man of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:
And whatever time the deed took place — BIN LADEN WASN'T THERE!
And they say that all the Men whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Ramzi Bin al-Shibh, I might mention Sheikh Khalid)
Are nothing more than agents for the Man who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!
T.S. Eliot
To see the book: “Old Possum’s Book of Cats” and the original poem “ Macavity: the Mystery Cat”, please see: http://coral.lili.uni-bielefeld.de/Classes/Summer97/SemGS/WebLex/OldPossum/oldpossumlex
PHOTO of T.S. Eliot courtesy of The Academy of American Poets:
http://www.poets.org