.13) Berlin, November,1989 Comments

Just the other day I was talking with a childhood friend of mine about when the wall fell. I asked her if she remembered but I don't think she really did. I was only five when it happened but even then I felt like somewhere in the world good things were possible. I'm glad to have found this poem in your collection. It was a little piece of synchronicity.

This is a fine poem about a very special day in history. I had a wry laugh when I read 'It was like the '60s, when simple minds suckled on the contraband milk of ideals...' Every generation thinks their ideals will save the world. But I suppose the idealists build good worlds where new idealists think they can improve on it. I really love this poem and remember how thankful I was for the East Germans to have freedom at last. Raynette

As one who remembers Berlin before the Wall - battered, ruined, with its indefinable smell of vegetables and diesel oil and cheap tobacco and precious coffee, besmirched with Cold War fears, but artistically free, its theatres alive with possibility - your last stanza is doubly true: the Wall was but a passing image of the ineffectiveness of the limited mind. Thanks for a very worthwhile poetic statement.

Though I don't have any traces of cataract and still am told by driver's licence officials that I have 20/20 vision, I completely missed the dedication! After writing the previous comment I looked and saw my name. For a moment I thought I had placed my comment under my poem somehow.... Thanks very much, a very nice gesture. You have almost inspired me to write the full story of the escape. Best wishes Herbert

This is simply brilliant, Max. As you know, I was there, from the beginning, and raeding your poem places me back smack into the middle of it again, the 'weather' was really moving West though.... Please correct spelling of Frankfurt. A masterpiece this is. Best wishes Herbert