To: Daniel W. Koehler who wrote (17218 ) 1/28/1998 1:13:00 PM From: Grainne Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 108807
Daniel, you might be able to offer an interesting perspective on Bill Clinton, because you live in Little Rock and have met him. While everyone in America who is interested in politics is trying to sort through this amazing story which is unfolding, there seems to be a huge schism developing, not only in public opinion as to whether he "boinked" Monica, but as to the deeper realities that exist behind the stories. While 77% of Americans still approve of Clinton's performance as president--which is actually quite shocking considering that this country seems to be coming more conservative, generally--the far left and the far right both seem to feel that there is a conspiracy against them. I think we all know of Hillary's recent statements on the matter, coming from the left. On the right, there seems to be a fairly large group of people who honestly believe that the Clintons are evil enough to deal drugs and murder people--a lot of people!! Having been closer to the situation than most of us, do you believe the Clintons are really capable of crimes like this? And what do you think of this extreme split and polarization? I am an occasional writer of overly emotional, pretty bad poetry. But I'm working on it!!! Some people around here were kind enough to say they liked this one, about a woman at a crossroads in her life: The Heart Wants What It Wants Summer seared hot with intrigue, laughter and playful hugs Giggly girls and glimmering warm seawater and Gaia love rugs and seemed to stretch on, shimmering and endless Vegetarians of love entering the realm of the senses I danced while freesia candles burned, sipping mango tea Spinning in a see-through dress whirling gracefully, diaphanously Symphonies and sad love songs played on endlessly Like waves softly lapping against a beach on the Tasman sea Now the year ebbs and jasmine blooms die and the moon wanes My nightmares horrors of wheelchair love and death and pain On my Christmas tree dangle amethysts, starfish and strands of pearls Ornaments strung with question marks of other worlds I look up at freezing wintery stars but feel young and hot and wild And gaze stunned into a home fire which smothers me but warms my child Raindrops cloud my beloved crystals and I cannot see But I know I'm not the woman I wanted to be At the moment I am trying to get through several books by minor, contemporary Irish poets. I do like to post poetry here sometimes, just because I think some of it is so beautiful. Here is one by a poet I really enjoy at the moment: Process The structure of process, time's gullet devouring parents whose children are swallowed in turn, families, houses, towns, built or battered down, only the earth and sky unchanging in change, everything else fragile as a wild bird's wing; bulldozer and butterfuly, dogrose and snowflake climb the unending stair into God's golden eye. Everyone close in his own world of sense & memory, races, countries closed in their dream of history, only love, or friendship, an absorbing discipline-- the healing harmonies of music, painting, the poem-- as swaying ropeladders across fuming oblivion while the globe turns, and the stars turn, and the great circles shine, gold & silver sun & moon. John Montague