Here's a selection of poetry excerpts you would have loved, I think:
James Joyce, Finnegan’s Wake, 1939
“They lived and laughed and loved and left.”
Moya Cannon, from “Crannog,” The Wake Forest Series of Irish Poetry, Volume Two, 2010
“We don’t know what beads or blades
are held in the bog lake’s wet amber
but much of us longs to live in water
and we recognise this surfacing
of old homes of love and hurt.
A troubled bit of us is kin
to people who drew a circle in water,
loaded boats with stone,
and raised a dry island and a fort
with a whole lake for a moat.”
Frances Browne, from “A Parting Voice,” 1847
“I go as one that comes no more, yet go without regret;
The summers other memories store ’twere summer to forget;
I go without one parting word, one grasp of parting hand,
As to the wide air goes the bird—yet fare thee well, my land!”
Lady Jane Wilde, from “Destiny,” 1864
“There was a star that lit my life
It hath set to rise no more,
For Heaven, in mercy, withdrew the light
I fain would have knelt before.”
Oscar Wilde, from “Apologia,” 1881
“Ay! though the gorgèd asp of passion feed
On my boy’s heart, yet have I burst the bars,
Stood face to face with Beauty, known indeed
The Love which moves the Sun and all the stars!”
W.B. Yeats, from “Earth, Fire and Water,” 1893
“We can make our minds so like still water that beings gather about us
that they may see, it may be, their own images, and so live for a moment
with a clearer, perhaps even with a fiercer life because of our quiet.”
Henrietta O’Neill, from “Ode to the Poppy,” 1792
“Hail, lovely blossom! — thou can’st ease,
The wretched victims of disease;
Can’st close those weary eyes, in a gentle sleep.
Which never open but to weep;
For, oh! thy potent charm,
Can agonizing pain disarm;
Expel imperious memory from her seat,
And bid the throbbing heart forget to beat.”
John Todhunter, from “The Banshee,” 1839
“And sometimes, when the moon
Brings tempest upon the deep,
And rous’d Atlantic thunders from his caverns in the west,
The wolfhound at her feet
Springs up with a mighty bay,
And chords of mystery sound from the wild harp at her side,
Strung from the heart of poets;
And she flies on the wings of tempest
Around her shuddering isle,
With gray hair streaming:
A meteor of evil omen,
The spectre of hope forlorn,
Keening, keening!”
Eileen Shanahan, from “The Three Children,” 1927
“The tigers of the world will spring,
The merchants of the world will buy.
And one will sell her eyes for gold,
And one will barter them for bread,
And one will watch their glory fade
Beside the looking-glass, unwed.”
John W. Sexton, Bog Asphodel, 2013
“Bog is the roof of the underworld,
where upside down the dead
walk with their feet shadowing the soles
of the living. Each step you take
you take onto the step of your dead self.”
Friday, March 16, 2018
Thursday, June 1, 2017
Happy 56th Birthday, Amiga
For a few months, until I turn 57 in December, we are the same age.
Muff used to laugh and say "You blaze the trail into next year, and I'll
follow." I am doing my best to not forget anything about her, including
her love of Irish music, and Gordon Lightfoot, and Barchester Towers by
Anthony Trollop, Trinity by Leon Uris, Nick Adams Stories by Hemingway,
Charles Dickens and Rumpole of the Bailey. She
had no time for most "contemporary" popular fiction or music. She and I
and Mary Karl formed a group in reaction to the invasiveness of popular
culture called The Sea Hags. We had rules, regs and policies, too, and
we'd cackle at those who fell prey to the easy slang and stupidity of
what we saw as the cheap fast food of pop music and fiction. How I miss
your wit and sarcasm, my fellow Sea Hag! I miss listening to your Gord's
Gold album, and the Irish Rovers, and your loathing of all pasta.
Today I am listening to Gordon Lightfoot in your honor. I am reading a memoir by an African American woman (you would have loved Shonda Rhimes, Muff) and I am eating potatoes for lunch (You loved potatoes almost as much as you hated macaroni). You were a true Gemini. Mercurial, intellectual, witty and wise. You never quite got the hang of romantic relationships, unfortunately, but I don't think you had a lot of role models in that respect. We both certainly had the dreaded "daddy issues," and I know that you and I struggled with self esteem at many points during our lives, battling feelings of worthlessness due in no small part to body size issues. Men were still drawn to you, though, in a way that they were never drawn to me, even at my thinnest. Your spark always shone so bright, a blind man could see it.
To this day, I wish I had your brilliant mind, which made reading even the most complex texts seem like child's play. You're the only person I'd ever met who thought Thackeray was easy reading, a sort of dilettante of 19th century English literature. I barely made it through Vanity Fair with my brain intact. One of the few things you didn't understand was science. I remember tutoring you in the basic biology class that we had freshman year at Clarke, and none of it made sense to you, so we tried going through it as if it were a novel, with a plot, and characters and the body being the setting. You made it through and returned the favor many times over the years, especially in the women's lit class that we had where we were supposed to read every feminist writer ever and journal about how that author impacted our life or our outlook/understanding of life. I was taking too many hours of classes, and I was unable to spend time reading so many thick tomes, so you loaned me your notes and we talked about Simone De Bouvoir and Tillie Olsen and Mary Daley. You had 'voices' you'd made up for each of them, and we roared with laughter at the scenarios you'd make up about these long-dead women having tea, or drinking wine in Paris and tossing their lovers out on the street.
I remember your tiny feet, and the fact that you insisted on wearing really cheap keds sneakers that would fall apart about a month after you got them, but you'd tape them up and wear them anyway. I tried to get you to wear boots, or sturdy shoes, but you refused, just as you refused to wear a coat, even in winter. You loved Irish whiskey, you hated the pretentiousness of wine and you thought beer was for bores. That didn't stop you and Monica from getting me drunk for the first time in my life on beer in the "onion" at Clarke freshman year, however. I gather I was quite entertaining. I don't remember a thing about that night after chugging that first pint.
I remember your "tin ear" and your gravely laugh. Your compassion for those less fortunate lead you to help and volunteer in so many ways. Your love of children that lead you to adopt a child in Africa and send a small amount of money every month to her until she was 18. For her 18th birthday, I remember how proud you were to send her some simple kitchen appliances and a bucket and washbasin, which she wrote to tell you were so very important for her to be able to cook her own food and clean up afterwards. You adopted an entire platoon of soldiers after 9/11, and you sent them individual letters every week. You read to the kids at the library, something that you loved doing so much it filled my heart to hear you exult about it. You volunteered at your local church, the one that you felt was for 'regular' people, not snobs, and you went to mass regularly, always saying a prayer for me and mine, though you didn't like to talk about it. I still miss you, and I will always love you. Happy birthday in heaven.
Today I am listening to Gordon Lightfoot in your honor. I am reading a memoir by an African American woman (you would have loved Shonda Rhimes, Muff) and I am eating potatoes for lunch (You loved potatoes almost as much as you hated macaroni). You were a true Gemini. Mercurial, intellectual, witty and wise. You never quite got the hang of romantic relationships, unfortunately, but I don't think you had a lot of role models in that respect. We both certainly had the dreaded "daddy issues," and I know that you and I struggled with self esteem at many points during our lives, battling feelings of worthlessness due in no small part to body size issues. Men were still drawn to you, though, in a way that they were never drawn to me, even at my thinnest. Your spark always shone so bright, a blind man could see it.
To this day, I wish I had your brilliant mind, which made reading even the most complex texts seem like child's play. You're the only person I'd ever met who thought Thackeray was easy reading, a sort of dilettante of 19th century English literature. I barely made it through Vanity Fair with my brain intact. One of the few things you didn't understand was science. I remember tutoring you in the basic biology class that we had freshman year at Clarke, and none of it made sense to you, so we tried going through it as if it were a novel, with a plot, and characters and the body being the setting. You made it through and returned the favor many times over the years, especially in the women's lit class that we had where we were supposed to read every feminist writer ever and journal about how that author impacted our life or our outlook/understanding of life. I was taking too many hours of classes, and I was unable to spend time reading so many thick tomes, so you loaned me your notes and we talked about Simone De Bouvoir and Tillie Olsen and Mary Daley. You had 'voices' you'd made up for each of them, and we roared with laughter at the scenarios you'd make up about these long-dead women having tea, or drinking wine in Paris and tossing their lovers out on the street.
I remember your tiny feet, and the fact that you insisted on wearing really cheap keds sneakers that would fall apart about a month after you got them, but you'd tape them up and wear them anyway. I tried to get you to wear boots, or sturdy shoes, but you refused, just as you refused to wear a coat, even in winter. You loved Irish whiskey, you hated the pretentiousness of wine and you thought beer was for bores. That didn't stop you and Monica from getting me drunk for the first time in my life on beer in the "onion" at Clarke freshman year, however. I gather I was quite entertaining. I don't remember a thing about that night after chugging that first pint.
I remember your "tin ear" and your gravely laugh. Your compassion for those less fortunate lead you to help and volunteer in so many ways. Your love of children that lead you to adopt a child in Africa and send a small amount of money every month to her until she was 18. For her 18th birthday, I remember how proud you were to send her some simple kitchen appliances and a bucket and washbasin, which she wrote to tell you were so very important for her to be able to cook her own food and clean up afterwards. You adopted an entire platoon of soldiers after 9/11, and you sent them individual letters every week. You read to the kids at the library, something that you loved doing so much it filled my heart to hear you exult about it. You volunteered at your local church, the one that you felt was for 'regular' people, not snobs, and you went to mass regularly, always saying a prayer for me and mine, though you didn't like to talk about it. I still miss you, and I will always love you. Happy birthday in heaven.
Wednesday, November 2, 2016
You'd Be So Excited about Cubs in the World Series!
Muff, I can just imagine you tonight, sitting down in an easy chair in front of a TV set, with some popcorn watching your beloved Chicago Cubs playing game 7 of the World Series!
You once told me that your grandmother started you and your siblings watching the Chicago Cubs on TV when you were very young. Apparently, you sometimes had to hang out with your grandmother in order to get fed, and while there, she instilled a love of baseball in you that lasted your entire life.
Here's an article in the New York Times about tonight's game: http://www.nytimes.com/2016/11/02/sports/baseball/world-series-chicago-cubs.html?_r=0
You should know that my mother, who is also a baseball fan of many years, is watching the games in your memory, and cheering for the Cubs, just as she believes you would do.
She calls me after every game and says "Muff and I cheered the Cubs on to victory!" Though she's an atheist, she believes you are right there beside her in spirit, and I sincerely hope she's right. I can't see how telling an almost 80 year old woman otherwise would do any good. Mom has always been strong willed about her beliefs.
I imagine your brothers and sister are also watching the Chicago Cubs with great glee. The Cubs haven't been in the World Series for over 70 years. There are elderly women in the stands who never thought they'd see the Cubs in the series during their lifetime.
Dear God how I wish you were still alive to see this historic moment in baseball history. I know you would have been thrilled....beyond thrilled.
Just in a side note, WP Kinsella, author of Shoeless Joe and the Iowa Baseball Confederacy, and the movie Field of Dreams, which you LOVED, died a couple of months ago. He had been so ill from several diseases, among them diabetes, that he committed physician-assisted suicide, to be out of pain and at rest. I hope that you two have met in Heaven and are having a great time talking baseball and books. Remember that I got him to sign a book of short stories for you.
I hope the Cubbies win, my amiga. Even if they don't, I know you will have rooted for them from above, just as my mom and I are rooting for them from down here.
Much love to you, my friend. I miss you so very much.
PS. An update, THE CHICAGO CUBS WON THE WORLD SERIES!
Way to go, Chicago! Thanks for the assist from Heaven, my amiga!
You once told me that your grandmother started you and your siblings watching the Chicago Cubs on TV when you were very young. Apparently, you sometimes had to hang out with your grandmother in order to get fed, and while there, she instilled a love of baseball in you that lasted your entire life.
Here's an article in the New York Times about tonight's game: http://www.nytimes.com/2016/11/02/sports/baseball/world-series-chicago-cubs.html?_r=0
You should know that my mother, who is also a baseball fan of many years, is watching the games in your memory, and cheering for the Cubs, just as she believes you would do.
She calls me after every game and says "Muff and I cheered the Cubs on to victory!" Though she's an atheist, she believes you are right there beside her in spirit, and I sincerely hope she's right. I can't see how telling an almost 80 year old woman otherwise would do any good. Mom has always been strong willed about her beliefs.
I imagine your brothers and sister are also watching the Chicago Cubs with great glee. The Cubs haven't been in the World Series for over 70 years. There are elderly women in the stands who never thought they'd see the Cubs in the series during their lifetime.
Dear God how I wish you were still alive to see this historic moment in baseball history. I know you would have been thrilled....beyond thrilled.
Just in a side note, WP Kinsella, author of Shoeless Joe and the Iowa Baseball Confederacy, and the movie Field of Dreams, which you LOVED, died a couple of months ago. He had been so ill from several diseases, among them diabetes, that he committed physician-assisted suicide, to be out of pain and at rest. I hope that you two have met in Heaven and are having a great time talking baseball and books. Remember that I got him to sign a book of short stories for you.
I hope the Cubbies win, my amiga. Even if they don't, I know you will have rooted for them from above, just as my mom and I are rooting for them from down here.
Much love to you, my friend. I miss you so very much.
PS. An update, THE CHICAGO CUBS WON THE WORLD SERIES!
Way to go, Chicago! Thanks for the assist from Heaven, my amiga!
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Happy 55th Birthday, Beloved Muff
I can't get this song out of my head today, my friend. It has been 8 years since your passing, and it still feels like yesterday...the wound is still fresh.
I am everything I am because you loved me.
You were my strength when I was weak
You were my voice when I couldn't speak
You were my eyes when I couldn't see
You saw the best there was in me
Lifted me up when I couldn't reach
You gave me faith cause you believed
I am everything I am because you loved me.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9CkKuA86Mis
You would have laughed at the sentimentality of this song, and told me of a "better" Irish tune, no doubt, one that was certainly more bloody and profound (and had at least one stanza in Gaelic), but, since you aren't here to scold me, I've taken liberties, amiga.
Forgive me.
I still miss you, and think of you all the time. I wonder if you can hear me when I talk to you, and plead for intercession on behalf of my family, beset with health and financial problems, and I wonder if you are able to talk to God about interfering in the affairs of His children. If so, I thank you for your blessing of friendship and care, and I pray that your spirit is happy and at peace.
Yesterday Ellen Gabrielleshi, from the Clarke Theater Dept was the professor/staff spotlight on Clarke's blog, and I remember you and Ellen laughing when you were helping to build sets or working on The Great Cross Country Race when we were freshmen. Ellen seemed to take to you, as a person, much like many others did during your time at Clarke, attracted to your wit and brilliant mind. She thought I was a lazy doofus, (and she was probably right), but she managed to not kill me for my many mistakes while I made my way through the theater program. Anyway, as I was reading her story I was reminded of how sympatico the two of you were, and how surprised I was that you took an English and History major instead of a theater major, like I did, because you were such a natural at so many things in the drama dept. You had no problem building sets, you learned lines swiftly and with ease and you could sew costumes and run a light or sound board without making any mistakes at all.
But then, I learned that your mother was a famed children's book author, and you came by your storyteller's abilities naturally. You were a reader and a bibliophile, and because of your love of books and stories, your entrance into the English dept made more sense the longer that I knew you. Though you were adept at helping build the stories told in the theater, your first love was the story on the printed page, bound between the covers of a book.
You used to hold "readings" where you'd read aloud from some book or other in your dorm room in Mary Fran, and there would be a crowd of people sitting on the floor or in the hallway, just come to listen to the tale you'd spun, mouths agape and minds engaged.
And then there were the "sagas" that you wrote, based on characters from movies, sports or TV shows, (or even just from your imagination) that you'd send to me to read, or you'd eventually post on online fan forums, once those became available in the 2000s. I always encouraged you to get an agent and sell a story to either a magazine or a publishing company, but you were reluctant to let your stories become something that you "had" to do for financial reasons and more stories that you did for fun and because you loved telling tales.
I found this quote today on Shelf Awareness (an email publication you would have adored):
"Authors are probably my favorite guests. Better than I thought they'd
be, but I should have realized they're all natural storytellers. Even
though a lot them have not been on television before, they're just
great. They have a mastery of language... and they're all so different.
I'm always going to be fascinated talking to people about writing
process."
--Seth Meyers host of NBC's Late Night with Seth Meyers, in an Observer interview
That explains why you were so great at theater, because your natural storytelling abilities shone through for the audience. I often told you, and it is still true, that I wish that I had half of your talent for writing and storytelling, and I wish I was as capable and strong and faithful as you became, and as you were, right to the end. You were amazing, best beloved.
Big hugs to you here below, on your birthday.
I am everything I am because you loved me.
You were my strength when I was weak
You were my voice when I couldn't speak
You were my eyes when I couldn't see
You saw the best there was in me
Lifted me up when I couldn't reach
You gave me faith cause you believed
I am everything I am because you loved me.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9CkKuA86Mis
You would have laughed at the sentimentality of this song, and told me of a "better" Irish tune, no doubt, one that was certainly more bloody and profound (and had at least one stanza in Gaelic), but, since you aren't here to scold me, I've taken liberties, amiga.
Forgive me.
I still miss you, and think of you all the time. I wonder if you can hear me when I talk to you, and plead for intercession on behalf of my family, beset with health and financial problems, and I wonder if you are able to talk to God about interfering in the affairs of His children. If so, I thank you for your blessing of friendship and care, and I pray that your spirit is happy and at peace.
Yesterday Ellen Gabrielleshi, from the Clarke Theater Dept was the professor/staff spotlight on Clarke's blog, and I remember you and Ellen laughing when you were helping to build sets or working on The Great Cross Country Race when we were freshmen. Ellen seemed to take to you, as a person, much like many others did during your time at Clarke, attracted to your wit and brilliant mind. She thought I was a lazy doofus, (and she was probably right), but she managed to not kill me for my many mistakes while I made my way through the theater program. Anyway, as I was reading her story I was reminded of how sympatico the two of you were, and how surprised I was that you took an English and History major instead of a theater major, like I did, because you were such a natural at so many things in the drama dept. You had no problem building sets, you learned lines swiftly and with ease and you could sew costumes and run a light or sound board without making any mistakes at all.
But then, I learned that your mother was a famed children's book author, and you came by your storyteller's abilities naturally. You were a reader and a bibliophile, and because of your love of books and stories, your entrance into the English dept made more sense the longer that I knew you. Though you were adept at helping build the stories told in the theater, your first love was the story on the printed page, bound between the covers of a book.
You used to hold "readings" where you'd read aloud from some book or other in your dorm room in Mary Fran, and there would be a crowd of people sitting on the floor or in the hallway, just come to listen to the tale you'd spun, mouths agape and minds engaged.
And then there were the "sagas" that you wrote, based on characters from movies, sports or TV shows, (or even just from your imagination) that you'd send to me to read, or you'd eventually post on online fan forums, once those became available in the 2000s. I always encouraged you to get an agent and sell a story to either a magazine or a publishing company, but you were reluctant to let your stories become something that you "had" to do for financial reasons and more stories that you did for fun and because you loved telling tales.
I found this quote today on Shelf Awareness (an email publication you would have adored):
"Authors are probably my favorite guests. Better than I thought they'd
be, but I should have realized they're all natural storytellers. Even
though a lot them have not been on television before, they're just
great. They have a mastery of language... and they're all so different.
I'm always going to be fascinated talking to people about writing
process."
--Seth Meyers host of NBC's Late Night with Seth Meyers, in an Observer interview
That explains why you were so great at theater, because your natural storytelling abilities shone through for the audience. I often told you, and it is still true, that I wish that I had half of your talent for writing and storytelling, and I wish I was as capable and strong and faithful as you became, and as you were, right to the end. You were amazing, best beloved.
Big hugs to you here below, on your birthday.
Sunday, February 28, 2016
Missing You A Lot Lately
For some reason, dear friend, I've been thinking about you and missing you a lot lately. It could be because I've gained so much weight and I have been having trouble breathing, and I wonder if it is all due to the CPAP machine and its widgy promise of helping me sleep better without apnea, which hasn't proven to be the reality. I have less deep sleep and more times waking up with breathing troubles than ever before. You had these same problems before passing unexpectedly of a heart attack in your sleep, and I would bet that the coroner lay the blame at the feet of your weight instead of investigating the impact that your CPAP had on your sleep and your snoring.
At any rate, I came across this tidbit from The Irish Way on Facebook, and I think you would have had a laugh with me about it had you seen it. Tomorrow (Monday) is February 29.
There are posts flying around on the internet that are suggesting that the tradition of a woman asking a man to marry her on the 29th Feb (leap year) was something that came about through a conversation between St Brigid and St Patrick, although this little snippet of 'history' didn't appear anywhere before the 19th century.
If it's true, you'd wonder how the conversation came about.
Biddy: "Paddy, I've been looking at this new Calendar and we've an extra day every four years, what are we going to do with that?"
Paddy: "Ah, don't be bothering me with that oul extra day Biddy, I've enough to be doing converting all the pagans, they're a mad bunch with their customs and beliefs, but gawd help me, the music is fantastic. I've to get up to Mayo and walk that bloody mountain before the snow settles on it!
Biddy: "ah yeah but ... we've an extra day Paddy, an EXTRA DAY!"
Paddy: "You think of something"
Biddy: "hmmm ... arragh I don't feckin know"
Paddy: "You like the animals, do something for them"
Biddy: "No, I need to do something for the women"
Paddy: "Biddy, I'm really busy girl, I've to be in Cashel next Friday"
Biddy: "Right, I need to do something for the women but make sure the men won't hate me for it, I'll think on it some more"
Later that night Biddy went and found Paddy. She couldn't wait until morning she was so excited, she got the torch and found him reading his 'to do' list and she said,
Biddy: "I have it Paddy ... what about something to do with love and courting?"
Paddy: "G'wan, where are you going with this idea"
Biddy: "And you know the way we want to stop the women having the same rights as the men?"
Paddy: "yeah?"
Biddy: "Well we could tell the women that every four years they can propose marriage to whoever they want and that way we don't have to tell them that they can't propose marriage anymore, just that they have to wait for the right time to do it"
Paddy: "Biddy, you're a genius"
And they all lived happily ever after.
Ah, my friend, it is so hard not to wonder how you are doing, wherever you are. Are you happy and free of pain? Are you watching out over your beloved family? I hope you've forgiven me my trespasses, my friend. Sleep well.
At any rate, I came across this tidbit from The Irish Way on Facebook, and I think you would have had a laugh with me about it had you seen it. Tomorrow (Monday) is February 29.
There are posts flying around on the internet that are suggesting that the tradition of a woman asking a man to marry her on the 29th Feb (leap year) was something that came about through a conversation between St Brigid and St Patrick, although this little snippet of 'history' didn't appear anywhere before the 19th century.
If it's true, you'd wonder how the conversation came about.
Biddy: "Paddy, I've been looking at this new Calendar and we've an extra day every four years, what are we going to do with that?"
Paddy: "Ah, don't be bothering me with that oul extra day Biddy, I've enough to be doing converting all the pagans, they're a mad bunch with their customs and beliefs, but gawd help me, the music is fantastic. I've to get up to Mayo and walk that bloody mountain before the snow settles on it!
Biddy: "ah yeah but ... we've an extra day Paddy, an EXTRA DAY!"
Paddy: "You think of something"
Biddy: "hmmm ... arragh I don't feckin know"
Paddy: "You like the animals, do something for them"
Biddy: "No, I need to do something for the women"
Paddy: "Biddy, I'm really busy girl, I've to be in Cashel next Friday"
Biddy: "Right, I need to do something for the women but make sure the men won't hate me for it, I'll think on it some more"
Later that night Biddy went and found Paddy. She couldn't wait until morning she was so excited, she got the torch and found him reading his 'to do' list and she said,
Biddy: "I have it Paddy ... what about something to do with love and courting?"
Paddy: "G'wan, where are you going with this idea"
Biddy: "And you know the way we want to stop the women having the same rights as the men?"
Paddy: "yeah?"
Biddy: "Well we could tell the women that every four years they can propose marriage to whoever they want and that way we don't have to tell them that they can't propose marriage anymore, just that they have to wait for the right time to do it"
Paddy: "Biddy, you're a genius"
And they all lived happily ever after.
Ah, my friend, it is so hard not to wonder how you are doing, wherever you are. Are you happy and free of pain? Are you watching out over your beloved family? I hope you've forgiven me my trespasses, my friend. Sleep well.
Monday, June 1, 2015
Happy 54th Birthday, Muff
Happy Birthday, my dear friend Muff!
You would have been 54 today, and I would have sent you a card and some kind of Irish-themed gift, plus a book or two, of course, as you and I shared a deep and abiding love of books and reading. I like to think we would have chatted over the phone, laughing and catching up. You would regale me with tales of your exploits at the Marshalltown Library and I'd catch you up on your godson Nick (you'd be shocked at how big he's gotten at age 15, already!) Oh how I miss you, best beloved. I miss your laugh, I miss your wit, I miss your kind and generous heart and your brilliant mind. Here are some poems that give me comfort, in thinking that you're just right around the corner, still waiting for a good chat and a laugh. Rest well, my friend.
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life that we lived so fondly together
is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no sorrow in your tone.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that
we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because
I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting,
when we meet again.
Death leaves a heartache
no one can heal;
Love leaves a memory no
one can steal.
Remembered Joy
Don’t grieve for me, for now I’m free!
I follow the plan God laid for me.
I saw His face, I heard His call,
I took His hand and left it all…
I could not stay another day,
To love, to laugh, to work or play;
Tasks left undone must stay that way.
And if my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss…
Ah yes, these things I, too, shall miss.
My life’s been full, I’ve savored much:
Good times, good friends, a loved-one’s touch.
Perhaps my time seemed all too brief –
Don’t shorten yours with undue grief.
Be not burdened with tears of sorrow,
Enjoy the sunshine of the morrow.
You would have been 54 today, and I would have sent you a card and some kind of Irish-themed gift, plus a book or two, of course, as you and I shared a deep and abiding love of books and reading. I like to think we would have chatted over the phone, laughing and catching up. You would regale me with tales of your exploits at the Marshalltown Library and I'd catch you up on your godson Nick (you'd be shocked at how big he's gotten at age 15, already!) Oh how I miss you, best beloved. I miss your laugh, I miss your wit, I miss your kind and generous heart and your brilliant mind. Here are some poems that give me comfort, in thinking that you're just right around the corner, still waiting for a good chat and a laugh. Rest well, my friend.
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life that we lived so fondly together
is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no sorrow in your tone.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that
we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because
I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting,
when we meet again.
Death leaves a heartache
no one can heal;
Love leaves a memory no
one can steal.
Remembered Joy
Don’t grieve for me, for now I’m free!
I follow the plan God laid for me.
I saw His face, I heard His call,
I took His hand and left it all…
I could not stay another day,
To love, to laugh, to work or play;
Tasks left undone must stay that way.
And if my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss…
Ah yes, these things I, too, shall miss.
My life’s been full, I’ve savored much:
Good times, good friends, a loved-one’s touch.
Perhaps my time seemed all too brief –
Don’t shorten yours with undue grief.
Be not burdened with tears of sorrow,
Enjoy the sunshine of the morrow.
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
Happy St Patrick's Day, 15 Years After the Ireland Trip
Happy St Patrick's Day, Muff!
I remember when we were in Ireland, 15 years ago, to celebrate St Patrick's Day in Galway, and how disappointed we were that all the pubs were full. You, typically, found a way to celebrate that was serious, by visiting the local Cathedral and going to Mass. They wouldn't allow me in because I am not Catholic, but Muff managed to talk her way in to see the chapel and pray.
In honor of today's memories, here's a song that I recently saw on the television on VH1 Classic (yes, that is a thing now, believe it or not! Most of the videos you and I watched at Clarke are now played on this channel) that was popular at Clarke because it had all these religious lyrics and talked of saying Hail Marys.
Mary's Prayer:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hqgC3W9GUIhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hqgC3W9GUI
Well, I hope you are having quite the celebration up there in heaven, my friend. God love you, and keep your soul safe. I miss you, as always.
I remember when we were in Ireland, 15 years ago, to celebrate St Patrick's Day in Galway, and how disappointed we were that all the pubs were full. You, typically, found a way to celebrate that was serious, by visiting the local Cathedral and going to Mass. They wouldn't allow me in because I am not Catholic, but Muff managed to talk her way in to see the chapel and pray.
In honor of today's memories, here's a song that I recently saw on the television on VH1 Classic (yes, that is a thing now, believe it or not! Most of the videos you and I watched at Clarke are now played on this channel) that was popular at Clarke because it had all these religious lyrics and talked of saying Hail Marys.
Mary's Prayer:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hqgC3W9GUIhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hqgC3W9GUI
| An Old Irish Blessing |
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, and rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of His hand. |
| A Gaelic Christening Blessing |
| Dearest Father in Heaven, Bless this child and bless this day Of new beginnings. Smile upon this child And surround this child, Lord, With the soft mantle of your love. Teach this child to follow in your footsteps, And to live life in the ways of Love, faith, hope and charity. |
| A Wish for a Friend |
| Wishing you a rainbow For sunlight after showers— Miles and miles of Irish smiles For golden happy hours— Shamrocks at your doorway For luck and laughter too, And a host of friends that never ends Each day your whole life through! |
| An Irish Prayer |
| May God give you... For every storm, a rainbow, For every tear, a smile, For every care, a promise, And a blessing in each trial. For every problem life sends, A faithful friend to share, For every sigh, a sweet song, And an answer for each prayer. |
Well, I hope you are having quite the celebration up there in heaven, my friend. God love you, and keep your soul safe. I miss you, as always.
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