Letters to a U.S. President

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Dram Books, 2002 - 180 Seiten
In 1994, David Kavanagh started a journal that became a series of open letters to then U.S. President Bill Clinton. For almost three months, up to the mid-term congressional elections, he compared their day-to-day lives, selecting snippets of poetry that seemed appropriate for the moment. Then the journal was forgotten. Rediscovered in 2002, Letters to a U.S. President is a sideways glance at presidential life in America from a London, UK, life which grows more calamitous by the day. Quirky and original, it offers a trans-Atlantic take on the age-old concept of parallel existence. Embattled President and hapless citizen are not just miles apart, they have a whole ocean between them and a world of difference. By the end, readers may wonder what the 42nd President might have made of these illuminating missives had he actually received them.

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Seite 107 - IF I have faltered more or less In my great task of happiness; If I have moved among my race And shown no glorious morning face; If beams from happy human eyes Have moved me not; if morning skies, Books, and my food, and summer rain Knocked on my sullen heart in vain: — Lord, Thy most pointed pleasure take And stab my spirit broad awake...
Seite 59 - THE LAMB Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice?
Seite 33 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod...
Seite 49 - He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all.
Seite 20 - Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and. curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. " "Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door — Only this and nothing more.
Seite 5 - The pride of the peacock is the glory of God. The lust of the goat is the bounty of God. The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God. The nakedness of woman is the work of God.
Seite 174 - Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
Seite 111 - On that best portion of a good man's life, — His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love.
Seite 95 - HEAP on more wood ! — the wind is chill ; But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still.

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