Lamentation for Robin Williams--the Irish Uillean Pipes Tune, "Port na bPucai"

When Seamus Heaney's funeral was held last year, a famous Irish uillean piper, Liam O'Flynn, played a wailing lament called "Port na bPucai" ("Tune of the Fairies"). I thought that the tune might be an appropriate lament for Robin Williams, who died this week. These pipes, played here by Cillian Vallely, can have the effect of keening and wailing, an appropriate response to the death of the great actor and comedian.

"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.

A Poem Signed by Seamus Heaney

This will be my last blog entry on the death of the great Irish poet Seamus Heaney.

In 2004 I had the privilege of attending the annual Yeats Summer Conference in Sligo, Ireland. Seamus Heaney was there and recited his poetry and lectured before fairly small groups. In the evening, he'd go out to drink with the participants (and not just with the big deals). At the end of the conference we all received beautifully printed and signed poems by Heaney and Brendan Kennelly. Heaney's poem at that time had not been published. It was called "The Blackbird of Glanmore," and dealt with the accidental death of his little brother while Seamus was away at school. I have tried to photograph the document below (it's not yet framed--it's rolled up and in a mailing tube, so photographing it was tricky):

The Uillean Pipe Tune Played at Seamus Heaney's Funeral

Below is a video of Ronan Browne playing "Port na bPucai" ("Tune of the Faeries") on the uillean pipes (elbow pipes or Irish pipes). This is the same tune that Liam O'Flynn played at Seamus Heaney's funeral yesterday.

Seamus Heaney's Poem "Punishment"

The world has lost its great poet, Seamus Heaney. Below is one of his early poems, and surely one of the greatest. He wrote many poems about the "bog bodies"--bodies preserved in the peat bogs of Northern Europe (google "bog bodies" then click on images to see examples). This poem can be found in the collection entitled "North" and can be purchased at amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com, and at many other places.

Punishment

I can feel the tug
of the halter at the nape
of her neck, the wind
on her naked front.

It blows her nipples
to amber beads,
it shakes the frail rigging
of her ribs.

I can see her drowned
body in the bog,
the weighing stone,
the floating rods and boughs.

Under which at first
she was a barked sapling
that is dug up
oak-bone, brain-firkin:

her shaved head
like a stubble of black corn,
her blindfold a soiled bandage,
her noose a ring

to store
the memories of love.
Little adulteress,
before they punished you

you were flaxen-haired,
undernourished, and your
tar-black face was beautiful.
My poor scapegoat,

I almost love you
but would have cast, I know,
the stones of silence.
I am the artful voyeuur

of your brain’s exposed
and darkened combs,
your muscles’ webbing
and all your numbered bones:

I who have stood dumb
when your betraying sisters,
cauled in tar,
wept by the railings,

who would connive
in civilized outrage
yet understand the exact
and tribal, intimate revenge.

Seamus Heaney's Poem "Digging"

Below is a poem rich with love of family and love of place. The place is the family farm in County Derry Ireland. The family mentioned are his father and grandfather. Seamus Heaney was not to make his living as a turf digger or potato farmer, like his father and grandfather. But he honored their labor with his own labor of love--his poetry, essays, translations, lectures, and the like.

Digging

by Seamus Heaney

Between my finger and my thumb   

The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound   

When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:   

My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds   

Bends low, comes up twenty years away   

Stooping in rhythm through potato drills   

Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft   

Against the inside knee was levered firmly.

He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep

To scatter new potatoes that we picked,

Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.   

Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day

Than any other man on Toner’s bog.

Once I carried him milk in a bottle

Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up

To drink it, then fell to right away

Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods

Over his shoulder, going down and down

For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap

Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge

Through living roots awaken in my head.

But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb

The squat pen rests.

I’ll dig with it.

Seamus Heaney, "Digging" from Death of a Naturalist. Copyright 1966 by Seamus Heaney. Reprinted with the permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, LLC.

Passing of Seamus Heaney, Poet

I have just heard that Seamus Heaney, one of the world's great poets, has died in Dublin at age 74. I will insert the New York Times story link:  New York Times--Passing of Seamus Heaney

May he Rest in Peace!

Abraham Sacrificing Isaac; The Transfiguration

Yesterday's mass had astonishing readings. The gospel was that amazingly strange story of the Transfiguration. The only equivalent I can imagine today is if certain reliable witnesses said that they had encountered aliens and were abducted to their UFO--then came back to tell the story. Think how we would respond to that tale!

The epistle was one step beyond that. In my mind, it is the most astonishing story of the Old and New Testaments. In Genesis 22:1-19, Abraham is told by God to take his beloved son Isaac up Mount Moriah, bind him to an altar, and sacrifice his life as a holocaust to the Lord. Isaac obeys this command, and as he prepares to slay his son, an angel/messenger in effect stays his hand. Abraham spots a ram caught in nearby bushes and sacrifices this ram instead of his son.

The story is more poignant if you think how long Abraham waited for a child. In her old age, Sarah bears Abraham the child Isaac. So Abraham is told by God to sacrifice what he has most longed for and loved.

What does this story mean beyond the literal level? Certainly this story is about faith, obedience, and trust. I wonder if it also tells us some things about the evolution of human beings. There is movement from the sacrifice of humans to a god, to the sacrifice of animals to a god. And then, in the New Testament, Jesus offering bread and wine as the sacrifice (bread and wine transsubstantiated into the Body and Blood of Jesus). Of course Jesus offers up his own life, but unlike Isaac and Abraham, no angel saves Jesus!

Human sacrifice is no longer acceptible; neither is animal sacrifice. God does not want such sacrifices anymore! Human sacrifice was once very common, and it probably still exists in certain places in the world. There is poignant evidence of human sacrifice in pre-historic Ireland and other northern European countries. Sometimes people were sacrificed and then thrown into peat bogs, where their bodies have been preserved by the unusual conditions in these bogs: acidic water, cold temperatures, and the lack of oxygen. The poet Seamus Heaney has written wonderful poems about these sacrificed bog people (see "Tollund Man," "Bog Queen," and similar poems). For additional information on bog people, check this Wikipedia link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bog_body

Here is a thought that I have. If you hear a voice asking you to sacrifice your child, that voice comes from a false god. Do not obey that voice. A true God would never ask that. This seems so obvious, but ever year we hear about a mentally ill parent hearing the voice of God to sacrifice his or her child; too often they follow through and slay their own kids. A true God would never ask for that kind of sacrifice. That type of command comes from a false god!

Here is a translation of the Transfiguration story:

Matthew 17:1-9 (New International Version)

The Transfiguration

1After six days Jesus took with him Peter, James and John the brother of James, and led them up a high mountain by themselves. 2There he was transfigured before them. His face shone like the sun, and his clothes became as white as the light. 3Just then there appeared before them Moses and Elijah, talking with Jesus.
4Peter said to Jesus, "Lord, it is good for us to be here. If you wish, I will put up three shelters—one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah."

5While he was still speaking, a bright cloud enveloped them, and a voice from the cloud said, "This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!"

6When the disciples heard this, they fell facedown to the ground, terrified. 7But Jesus came and touched them. "Get up," he said. "Don't be afraid." 8When they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus.

9As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus instructed them, "Don't tell anyone what you have seen, until the Son of Man has been raised from the dead."

Here is the story of Abraham and Isaac:

Genesis 22:1-19 (New International Version)


1 Some time later God tested Abraham. He said to him, "Abraham!"
"Here I am," he replied.
2 Then God said, "Take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains I will tell you about."

3 Early the next morning Abraham got up and saddled his donkey. He took with him two of his servants and his son Isaac. When he had cut enough wood for the burnt offering, he set out for the place God had told him about. 4 On the third day Abraham looked up and saw the place in the distance. 5 He said to his servants, "Stay here with the donkey while I and the boy go over there. We will worship and then we will come back to you."

6 Abraham took the wood for the burnt offering and placed it on his son Isaac, and he himself carried the fire and the knife. As the two of them went on together, 7 Isaac spoke up and said to his father Abraham, "Father?"
"Yes, my son?" Abraham replied.
"The fire and wood are here," Isaac said, "but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?"

8 Abraham answered, "God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son." And the two of them went on together.

9 When they reached the place God had told him about, Abraham built an altar there and arranged the wood on it. He bound his son Isaac and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood. 10 Then he reached out his hand and took the knife to slay his son. 11 But the angel of the LORD called out to him from heaven, "Abraham! Abraham!"
"Here I am," he replied.

12 "Do not lay a hand on the boy," he said. "Do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son."

13 Abraham looked up and there in a thicket he saw a ram [a] caught by its horns. He went over and took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering instead of his son. 14 So Abraham called that place The LORD Will Provide. And to this day it is said, "On the mountain of the LORD it will be provided."

15 The angel of the LORD called to Abraham from heaven a second time 16 and said, "I swear by myself, declares the LORD, that because you have done this and have not withheld your son, your only son, 17 I will surely bless you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as the sand on the seashore. Your descendants will take possession of the cities of their enemies, 18 and through your offspring [b] all nations on earth will be blessed, because you have obeyed me."

19 Then Abraham returned to his servants, and they set off together for Beersheba. And Abraham stayed in Beersheba.

God and Poetry

"Fishing in the Keep of Silence" is a wonderful poem by Linda Gregg and can be found in Garrison Keillor's anthology Good Poems, published by Penguin Books. Here is how the poem begins:


There is a hush now while the hills rise up
and God is going to sleep. He trusts the ship
of Heaven to take over and proceed beautifully
as he lies dreaming in the lap of the world.


Toward the end, the poem says:


God, who thinks about
poetry all the time, breathes happily as He
repeats to Himself: There are fish in the net,
lots of fish this time in the net of the heart.

I find this poem both comforting and humorous. I love the lines "God, who thinks about / poetry all the time." Well, that's nice to know! Poetry is such a human thing, so full of fallibility and pain and hope and beauty and transience and eternity, transcendence and immanence. Are you like that, God? If you, dear God, can understand poetry, then you can understand us humans. Let me recommend to you, O Lord, the work of Galway Kinnell, Li-Young Lee, Mary Oliver, Walt Whitman, W. H. Auden, and Seamus Heaney. These folks understand the human heart!