"The Far Side of Revenge"--The "Birth-Cry" of the Beloved Community. Remembering John F. Kennedy

Below, part of Seamus Heaney's work, "The Cure at Troy." Seems like fitting words to remember John F. Kennedy. Thanks to Maggie Brock for sending me this.

History says, don’t hope
On this side of the grave.
But then, once in a lifetime
The longed-for tidal wave
Of justice can rise up,
And hope and history rhyme.

So hope for a great sea-change
On the far side of revenge.
Believe that further shore
Is reachable from here.
Believe in miracle
And cures and healing wells.

Call miracle self-healing:
The utter, self-revealing
Double-take of feeling.
If there’s fire on the mountain
Or lightning and storm
And a god speaks from the sky

That means someone is hearing
The outcry and the birth-cry
Of new life at its term.

An Older Poem on the Assassination of John F. Kennedy

November 22, 1963

I remember the very moment

as if it were branded on my soul:

It was 2:05 pm.

We were in Brother O’Connor’s 10^th grade 
     religion class,

St. Joseph High School in Cleveland, 
     eager for the end of the day.

A crying voice came over the PA

saying, Please Pray for Him, Boys,

He’s Been Shot!

For 30 minutes there was stunned,

uncomprehending silence,

punctuated by confused attempts to pray;

but all our prayers were incoherent,

crazed dancing of a chicken, its head cut off.

At 2:35 Brother Matthew’s quavering voice

said, He’s Dead, Boys. Let’s Pray

For Him And For Ourselves

pray that love and light

overcome the furious violence

and darkness

in our souls.

                               Robert M. Coughlin/November 22, 1983

This poem, written 30 years ago, reflects quite accurately my experience of Friday, November 22, 1963. Of course memory is very fallible, and a few details might be wrong. I'm not 100% sure that it was St. Joe's principal. Brother Stanley Mathews who spoke on the PA that day. But I do remember being in Brother O'Connor's religion class, last period of the day. And I remember how stunned, saddened, and disoriented we all were. Notice how the last part of the poem indicts not only the murderer, but all of us--all with "the furious violence / and darkness/ in our souls." All of us.

Poem about the murder of JFK--and many other losses

Grace and Darkness in Matala, Crete--April 6, 1968

In this little Cretan village, Pitsidia,

Just kilometers north of Matala,

Anastasios invites me into his home,

Hands me his precious bouzouki.

Photos of Pope John XXIII, an Italian, 
and John F. Kennedy, Irish-American,

Festoon this Greek's whitewashed walls.

Two days before, Martin Luther King Jr. murdered

In Memphis. Two months from now Bobby Kennedy

Will be murdered in Los Angeles. Anastasios

Introduces us to his beautiful daughters, Kharis (Grace),

Maria, Magdalena. Shows me a photo of his cousin Nick

In New York City. I weep over his kindness,

His sweet bouzouki, his beautiful girls,

The passing of John XXIII, the murder of Jack Kennedy.

Robert M. Coughlin/November 22, 2013

Notes:

1. This poem recounts, with great fidelity, an encounter my roommate Brian Wilson and I had just outside Matala, Crete in early April of 1968.

2. A “bouzouki” is a Greek musical instrument similar to a mandolin.

3. The Greek name “Anastasios” means “resurrection.”

4. The Greek name “Kharis” means “grace” or “undeserved kindness.”

5. Thanks to Frank Prpic for help with the above photo.

Three Poems for the Coming of Winter

November in Northern Ohio

Before the darkness descends,

This moment of distilled grace--

Skies blue as robin egg,

Woods aflame with sugar maple

Dressed in fall finery

Oranges, yellows, reds.

Keep the clear days and nights in memory

When December falls—

            With its gloom of cloudy darkness,

When your heart is on ice waiting for the transplant!

                                                

November 22, 1963

I remember the very moment

as if it were branded on my soul:

It was 2:05 pm.

We were in Brother O’Connor’s 10^th grade religion class,

St. Joseph High School in Cleveland, eager for the end

of the day.

A crying voice came over the PA

saying, Please Pray for Him, Boys,

He’s Been Shot!

For 30 minutes there was stunned,

uncomprehending silence,

punctuated by confused attempts to pray;

but all our prayers were incoherent,

crazed dancing of a chicken, its head cut off.

At 2:35 Brother Matthew’s quavering voice

said, He’s Dead, Boys. Let’s Pray

For Him And For Ourselves

pray that love and light

overcome the furious violence

and darkness

in our souls.

                                    

Winter Solstice

The chill creeps into the bones:
December 21 and sun gone long before 5 o’clock;
huge gray clouds roll in off Lake Erie
riding the Witch’s gale, spitting sleet and

fears as real and as organized as the swirl
of pin oak leaves down Lakeshore Boulevard.
This day, shaken by nameless fears,
seems to last forever:

I wonder how I will get through the next minute,
and the minute after that,
and the minute after that,

wonder if I can make it
until hope returns

until peace-which-surpasses-understanding,
as mysterious as winter solstice’s fear--
my heart standing still, turning cold,
my spirit abandoned--

until peace returns like grace like unexpected

gift.

                        Robert M. Coughlin

January 20, 1961--Jack Kennedy's Inauguration

One of the great moments of my life took place exactly 50 years ago today, on January 20, 1961. That day, John F. Kennedy was inaugurated as the 35th President of the United States. That day was a triumph for Irish Catholics like myself and my family. We felt that a new, vigorous day had dawned for America, and it was reflected in this handsome, young, vigorous man--a man like us, whose family had arisen in a few generations from the outcast post-famine Irish immigrants, to people with power and influence on our society and world. Of course my family was unlike the Kennedy's in so many ways. We were working class, Dad a factory worker, Mom a housewife, living in a tiny tract house in a suburb of Cleveland. But we felt as if they were family: the Coughlin's and the Kennedy's. How's that!

On that day 50 years ago, I listened to Robert Frost read a poem, "The Gift Outright," as part of the ceremony. The venerable old lion of American letters tried to read some new verse off the page. But in the cold, clear glare of a perfect day (after the day before's paralyzing blizzard), Robert Frost couldn't see his own words. So he set the new text aside and recited from heart, from Robert Frost's big heart, his great poem "The Gift Outright" --a poem how we as new Americans had to win the land that we had lived on as colonials. Frost's reading was indeed a gift outright to the new president and to the country.

Jack Kennedy's inaugural address, probably co-written with the brilliant Ted Sorenson, certainly is one of the greatest speeches in American history, up there with Abraham Lincoln's "Gettysburg Address" and Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech. Tonight I watched a video replay of the speech, and it still gives me shivers, still speaks to the needs of America and the world.

Jack Kennedy, as we found out, was as flawed a man as you and me. But he was a great man too. And his legacy, his words and ideals, live in me, and countless others, today.#

For an article on Robert Frost's reading, check out this link:
http://www.usatoday.com/news/washington/2010-09-26-jfk-poet-robert-frost_N.htm

The Wikipedia entry on JFK's speech is at this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inaugural_address_of_John_F._Kennedy

The Wikipedia article may not be 100% correct (in part because of its claim that Ted Sorenson wrote the speech; I'm almost sure this speech was a close collaboration between JFK and Ted Sorenson).

November 22nd and the Kennedy Family

Yesterday was a glorious November 22, 2009 in Northeast Ohio. The sky was cloudless, perfectly blue. The temperature was a mild 55 degrees. During the afternoon Linda, Emily, and I hiked the Pearson Creek and Old Valley trails at the Holden Arboretum (the Holden Arboretum is a world treasure, located in Kirtland, Ohio). I felt grateful that my heart, lungs, legs, and knees held up to the vigorous hike, up and down steep ravines. The ravines are full of gigantic hemlock, poplar, sugar maple, and other native trees (red oak, different kinds of hickory trees, beech, and understory musclewood, spicebush, etc.). And there were many varieties of fern still perfectly green. In the arboretum's gardens, a few blooms were still to be seen (especially roses)

The trails in other parts of the arboretum, especially in the open meadows, are lined with tall sticks so that when the heavy snows come (and that could be soon!), the cross-country skiers will be able to find their way. As we hiked around we kept thinking how unusual this warm and sunny weather was. Northeast Ohio in late November can be very dark, cloudy, cold, and snowy. And here was this perfect day!

So for a while I forgot that November 22nd is the anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy, one of the saddest days of my life--and the life of our nation. I was in tenth grade at St. Joseph High School in Cleveland that day. Around 2 PM, Brother Stanley Matthews SM, our principal, came over the PA announcing the shooting. And then, about a half hour later, he brought us the sad news of JFK's death. To Irish Catholic kids like us, this was the most devastating news imaginable.

I've been thinking a lot about John F. Kennedy lately because I've been reading the remarkable memoir written by Ted Kennedy called True Compass. This is an interesting and valuable book, with the genuine voice of Ted Kennedy shining through. He loved and admired his oldest brother, who he always refers to as "Jack." The book makes it abundantly clear how unique and brilliant (and funny and courageous) Jack Kennedy was.

Last evening's news brought more Kennedy news. The bishop of Rhode Island, Thomas Tobin, has apparently banned U.S. Representative Patrick Kennedy from receiving Communion because of pro-choice legislative positions. I think this is a wrongheaded decision, though I myself am very much against abortion (with exceptions for a mother's health and in cases of rape or incest). Catholic bishops often don't seem to understand who their friends are and who their enemies are. Education, dialogue, involvement are the tools we should be using with those that disagree with us--not the sledgehammer of ex-communication. The Church's record with ex-communication is tragic and has often backfired or proven wrong in the long haul.

Winter Rules Here!

If we had any doubts whatsoever that Winter is in charge around here, those doubts will be erased this week with predictions of lots of snow, very strong winds, and bitter-cold temperatures. There's no use fighting it; we might as well try to enjoy it!

Here are a couple of nice winter poems by two masters, Robert Frost, and A. R. Ammons. When I was 12 years old, I heard, via television, Robert Frost recite poems at John F. Kennedy's inauguration (that was January 20, 1961). It was the day after a heavy snow, with terrific sun glare shining on the text of Robert Frost's new poem. Frost was in his mid 80's, but still had a magic and vigor about him--perfect for the inauguration of Jack Kennedy. When the wind and sun interfered with the reading of his new poem, Frost switched gears and recited from memory his poem "The Gift Outright." Our country has been the "gift outright" to us and to the world; let's restore that dream.

For the full text of the unrecited poem, "Dedication," and the poem Frost did recite, "The Gift Outright," click here: http://www.pbs.org/newshour/inauguration/frost_poem.html For a bit of discussion on Frost that day, Janury 20, 1961, click here: http://www.orwelltoday.com/jfkinaugpoem.shtml

Here are a couple of non-political poems that speak of unexpected grace and gift:


“Dust of Snow”

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

Robert Frost




“Winter Scene”

There is now not a single
leaf on the cherry tree:

except when the jay
plummets in, lights, and,

in pure clarity, squalls:
then every branch

quivers and
breaks out in blue leaves.

A.R. Ammons

November: Mine Field of the Heart

"I don't think there's any point in being Irish if you don't know the world is going to break your heart eventually." These words have been attributed to John F. Kennedy. Another possibility is that they were the words of Daniel Patrick Moynihan, after Jack Kennedy was murdered. Whatever the origin, the words are true enough. And it's not just the Irish whose hearts are broken by the world (it's just that maybe we have written about it more poetically, more eloquently). November is a month that will break the heart in my family, break it from joy and from sorrow.

November 10th marks the birthday of my mother, Margaret Ann Fitzpatrick Coughlin--born in Cleveland in 1923. Come December 8th, she will be gone five years, and we her children still mourn her passing.

November 13th is the birthday of my sister, Mary Ellen Coughlin Zaremba. Born on Friday the 13th in 1953--a lucky day indeed for her large family and many friends.

November 14th is the birthday of my mother-in-law, Ruth Hoffman Sanders, born in Cincinnati in 1924. Gone a year-and-a-half now, this force of nature is deeply missed.

And November 14th is also the birthday of my Uncle Bill Coughlin, born the same year as my Mom, 1923. Uncle Bill and Aunt Kay are two of the great people on the face of the earth. Bill was probably my Dad's best friend. He is vital, fun, and a tremendous loving parent and grandparent. Aunt Kay is his partner in crime (for probably the past 60 years!). An amazing woman, full of spunk and energy, the original multi-tasker. Aunt Kay can crochet an afghan, talk on the phone, and organize her family matters all at the same time, blindfolded, with one hand tied behind her back!

Happy Birthday, Mom, Mary Ellen, Ruth, and Bill!