Hope and History Rhyme

The last month has been one of compulsive reading. Summer always is, for teachers, I imagine. I also imagine that usually it comes without quite so many obsessive updates of news sites. I took off from monitoring the traumatic events in Israel for a few days to go camping, and now that I am back, with a trip to Israel only 10 days away when I can finally be there, I’ve decided to stop worrying the lines of newsprint ragged in hypnotic frenzy. From now on, I will read this war in poetry only. A promise that I know I will not keep, that I do not even want to, but that will nonetheless temper the stories of death with hope.

From “The Cure At Troy” – Seamus Heaney

Human beings suffer.

They torture one another.

They get hurt and get hard.

No poem or play or song

Can fully right a wrong

Inflicted and endured.

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 a farther shore

Is reachable from here.

Believe in miracles

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.

It means once in a lifetime

That justice can rise up

And hope and history rhyme.

God Has Pity on Kindergarten Children

Yehuda Amichai

God has pity on kindergarten children.

He has less pity on schoolchildren.

And on grownups he has no pity at all,

he leaves them alone,

and sometimes they must crawl on all fours

in the burning sand

to reach the first-aid station

covered with blood.

But perhaps he will watch over true lovers

and have mercy on them and shelter them

like a tree over the old man

sleeping on a public bench.

Perhaps we too will give them

the last rare coins of compassion

that Mother handed down to us,

so that their happiness will protect us

now and in other days.

By Frode Grytten. En av mitt elever i norge at overlevet Uttøya har postet dette i dag. 

Posted today by a former student of mine who is so much more than a survivor of Uttøya. I translated it below.

orda overlever ein 9mm glock

kjærleiken er kraftigare enn ei 500 kilos bombe

å halde hender er mektigare enn ladegrepet

eit lite kyss er viktigare enn 1500 sider med hat

eit vi er så mykje meir enn eit eg

Words survive a 9mm Glock

Love is stronger than a 500 kilo bomb

To hold hands is stronger than the loading grip

A little kiss is more important than 1500 pages of hate

A we is so much more than an I.

We Interrupt This War

We interrupt this war for doctors to heal,

teachers to teach, and students to learn.

We interrupt this war to marvel at sunsets,

listen to music, and to laugh.

We interrupt this war for poets to rhyme, sculptors to

chisel, and writers to paint pictures with words.

We interrupt this war to plant tomatoes, mow

the grass, and to smell the roses.

We interrupt this war to feed the hungry, build

new schools, and to stamp out ignorance.

We interrupt this war to clean up the air, save

the whales and to find a cure for cancer.

We interrupt this war to rebuild New Orleans,

tickle babies and for world peace.

We interrupt this war for PTA meetings, band

concerts, and high school graduations.

We interrupt this war for Girl Scout Cookies,

church bake sales, and the Special Olympics.

We interrupt this war for Disneyland, the

World Series, and the Super Bowl.

We interrupt this war for Halloween candy,

Thanksgiving Turkey, and 4th of July fireworks.

We interrupt this war for Hanukkah,

Christmas and Kwanza.

We interrupt this war to bring sons,

daughters, sisters and brothers home.

We interrupt this war to hear a message from

Our Sponsor: THOU SHALT NOT KILL

-Cappy Hall Rearick