Be honest: When you heard Donald Rumsfeld had released his “snowflakes,” your first thoughts were that the former defense secretary must have taken hostages at a Brooklyn Starbucks. In fact, George Washington University’s National Security Archive this week released a colossal trove—more than 900 pages—of Rumsfeldian memos from 2001, which were known back then as “snowflakes.”

Almost instantly, the Twitter tag #rummysnowflakes whisked us to the days when Rumsfeld was a media sensation, as America prepared to fight two wars with a tax cut tied behind its back. In Pentagon briefings, he regaled the nation with pithy comments about shaved gorillas and chickens in barnyards, and in 2002, he rendered to the world his oratorical masterpiece about “known knowns,” the things that we know we know. “We know there are some things we do not know,” he continued. “But there are also unknown unknowns, the ones we don’t know we don’t know.” A star was born.


It formed the basis of Pieces of Intelligence: The Existential Poetry of Donald H. Rumsfeld, my collection of his spoken verses. Like Andy Warhol’s “15 minutes of fame,” Rumsfeld’s “unknown unknowns” will be remembered long after Guantanamo Bay is underwater. But what about these newfound memos, an avalanche of words that until now have languished for 17 years in bureaucratic limbo? Is there poetry in the piles?

I have looked, and I am now choosing my words as carefully as possible:

It’s as if we found an NPR tote bag owned by Emily Dickinson!

People, this is poetry gold! The Snowflake Verses reveal an evolving bard, bursting with creativity—Rumsfeld wrote memos the way Donald Trump downs Diet Cokes—as he faced his personal unknown unknowns. Look closely, and you can see the roots of his future existentialism.


CONUNDRUM

In thinking through

one of the problems

between State and Defense,

we have to make sure

that none of your people

at the levels below you folks

end up clearing things

and then getting it up to you

and you not agreeing

and then we have to go back

and undo the clearance

with State and NSC.

Sept. 24, 2001, 6:23 p.m.

Throughout these verses, Rumsfeld paints himself as a solitary man, seeking to do right in a world gone mad.

FEAR OF THE GIFT


If I am going

to be giving gifts,

I have to know

what’s in them.

I can’t just

pass them out.

Nov. 5, 2001 (no time stamp)

On a daily—sometimes hourly—basis, he battles what we now describe as “deep state” forces that seek to devour him, as depicted in this dark trilogy on the shackles of time.

CALENDAR, PART 1

Every day I have to ask for my calendar.

I shouldn’t have to do that.

Tonight, it is 5:40 p.m.

I say to myself, “Gee,

“I haven’t seen my calendar.”

I need to get it by mid-day,

so I can affect it for the period ahead.

Please don’t make me ask for it.

Nov. 16, 2001, 9:13 a.m.

CALENDAR, PART 2

I have a feeling that

the things I want to do

that we have to drop

off the calendar

don’t get put back on.

For example,

I still need a dentist appointment.

Nov. 28, 2001,1:21 p.m.


CALENDAR, PART 3

We have to stop doing this to me.

There is no way I can function

if I have the calendar I have.

I don’t have a single second to do anything.

I cannot make the phone calls I need to make,

I cannot debrief after the previous meetings, etc.

I have had four meetings today,

and all I have is a stack

of about three inches of paper

that I haven’t dictated off of.

It isn’t going to work.

Nov. 28, 2001, 1:38 p.m.

Often, Rumsfeld wrestles with his own identity, posing unanswerable questions to Torie Clarke, a top aide, and Newt Gingrich, apparently an imaginary muse.

WHAT AM I?

Please pull together a list

of all the things I am

automatically a member of

because of my role as Secretary of Defense.

For example, I understand I am

now a member of

the Homeland Security Council.

Of course, I am also

a member of the Cabinet

and the National Security Council.

Are there other things?

Oct. 17, 2001, 7:04 a.m.

Occasionally, the poet unleashes a primal cry for help, directed caustically at his captors.

MISSION FOR JACOBY

I am seeing very little.

Everyone in the room

is seeing all kinds of videos

and pictures and talking about them,

and I have no idea

what they are talking about.

Why don’t you assign Jacoby –

that is something useful he could do.

Oct. 10, 2001, 12:29 p.m.


THE TARDY ONES

What do you think

about having a rule

that if people cannot

get to a meeting on time,

they shouldn’t come?

Oct. 19, 2001, 8:21 a.m.

A MODEST PLAN TO SAVE THE WORLD

I have been waiting and waiting

For a report on what we plan

To do for the rest of the world.

I have pushed, I have sent memos,

And I have begged and pleaded.

There must be some kind

of an interim report

someone can give me. Thanks.

Oct. 23, 2001, 9:08 a.m.

Most of all, these snowflakes touch upon the loneliness of being the secretary of defense.

A PLEA TO ANYONE

WHO FINDS THIS NOTE

I don’t want them to use initials

that I don’t understand.

I don’t want them to use acronyms

I don’t understand,

and I want them to date everything!

I have to ask questions

about every third piece of paper I receive.

There is no reason for that.

June 9, 2001, (no time stamp)


I DO NOT KNOW THESE PEOPLE

Please tell people

to stop using only their titles

and start using their names

in addition to the titles

on correspondence.

Here is a memo.

I don’t know who these people are.

Nov. 12, 2001, 5:03 p.m.

COLD, TIRED HAND

Here is the Congressional report

on foreign military training.

I started signing everything,

And I got tired.

You can have somebody

sign the rest of them with the machine.

March 10, 2001, 4:24 p.m.

The poems are not always so depressing. At one point, a playful Rumsfeld changes pace with a Seussian rhyme.

CHU TO YOU!


Visit with David Chu,

And tell me what you two

THINK WE OUGHT TO DO!

Thanks!

May 29, 2001, 8:52 a.m.

Sadly, the documents do not include Rumsfeld’s response to Pieces of Intelligence after the book came out in 2003. I know he was aware of it: I sent him an autographed copy. He sent back a tersely worded letter and a check for $14.95, the book’s retail value. Hopefully, in some future document dump, we will find that the book inspired a poem. For now, I must wait for the gristmills to grind.

THE THINGS THAT COULD HAPPEN

We ought to think through

what are the bad things

that could happen,

and what are the good things

that could happen

that we need to be ready for.

Nov. 23, 2001 (no time stamp)