You may not have realized it, but we’ve been having a little bit of political fun here in Wisconsin. It’s been fascinating to see how involved people have gotten on both sides and how sustained it’s been. Today was the mid-cycle elections, which (I found out this year, d’oh!), happen every year for the nondenominational, er, nonpartisan races. There were two real races: that for state supreme court and for county executive to replace the seat vacated by our wonderful, thoughtful, listening, full-of-grand-ideas, compromising (can you hear the sarcasm??) governor. Wisconsin public radio is reporting that the voter turnout was close to 60%, for a regular fall session, that it remarkably high, for spring, it’s astonishing; I love democracy in action! Less than a third of the precincts have reported yet – as I’m still trying to get up and exercise at 4:30 in the morning, I don’t think I’m going to wait up for results.

Poem for today is one that I discovered last year, on the interview trail. One of the attendings who interviewed me in Detroit was a nice guy, but just a little on the intense side – meaning, within minutes of meeting me, he wanted to know what things in life brought me pleasure, how I foresaw the ethical values affecting medicine, and what was the meaning of life. I tend to be a philosopher, but only after warming up, and I was quite off-guard through the interview. In any case, somehow poetry came up and he stated that this was his favorite poem. After reading it, I could see why. I know extremely little about the poetry of the eastern cultures, and I didn’t even realize that there were well known Muslim poets (very western-centric of me, I know). Let me know what you think of this one and if you have any to share.

His Winter Crop by Hafiz (translated by Daniel Ladinsky)

I have
Seen You heal
A hundred deep wounds with one glance
From Your spectacular eyes,

While your hands, beneath the table,
Pour large bags of salt into the heart-gashes
Of Your most loyal servants.

Dear world, I can offer
An intelligent explanation
For our suffering,
But I hope it really makes sense
To no one here,
And come morning,
You are again at God’s door
With ax and pickets,
Eloquent petitions and complaints.

Think of suffering as being washed.
That is to say,
Hafiz, you are often completely soaked
And dripping.

The only advantage I can see in this
In the Friend’s long-range plan
Is that when the Beloved bursts
Into ecstatic flames

This whole world will not turn into
A bright oil wick all at once
Then divine ash,
And ruin His
Winter Crop.
From The Gift