Parental Thoughts Part Two

My father's thoughts on his visit.

RobSon,

I don’t recall when I started calling you RobSon, but I like it still and more since our trip with you in Northern Ireland; it’s been your home away for ten months. You were our guide, and you showed us Ireland in a way that I could never have experienced on my own. Starting with seeing you, waiting for the bus as we arrived in Belfast, to watching you drive away from the airport in Dublin, was overwhelming - a physical, emotional, intellectual recognition that that you had grown, that you were the same little boy who was my constant companion and that you were now a polished, professional man, obviously different but the same thoughtful and reflective, compassionate and wise, talented and athletic kid grown up. Every day I caught myself with smiles and tears watching you with unbelievable joy.

You were right to start us in Dunmurry, Lisburn, Lambeg, your home base on our first full day. Meeting Andy, seeing your apartment, visiting the Linen Museum, walking through the park, playing with the marble water ball (I want one here.), even eating in the sandwich shop was introduction. You set the stage for everything to come. You’ve always been good at setting the stage, literally and figuratively. Meeting the eleven-year-old boys at the Base was a treat. I have a photo of your hand print on the wall, surrounded by so many hand prints of boys and girls who care about you and whose lives are changed by an American who cares about them. Their questions were fun, and their soccer was impressive. Talking about setting the stage; they served up a prelude to the World Cup, which was so much more fun to watch in an Irish Pub with people who really get caught up in soccer. It just wasn’t the same watching in the den without fans around, although I do have a new interest in “football.”

Every day, every site, every hike was a wonder; even walking to Barclays Bank that first night was a joy. Most everyone I know has been to Ireland - the South, the Republic - but very few have seen the North. I’ve become a publicist. I talk too much about what they’ve missed, and I wouldn’t have missed any of it. Each day was a surprise. Belfast itself is wonderful, a beautiful city in human scale, easy to navigate, fun to wander. I especially liked the Folk and Transport Museum and St. George’s Market. Patricia was terrific company. I did miss trying a white chocolate and raspberry scone, my mistake not getting it when we passed by. They were gone when I returned. Of course, being in Harmony Hill twice, once when it was empty to get the full sense of the building, which I liked very much, and again on Sunday, when it was full to see the expressions and experience the community and their commitment to you. Dinner with David and Heather was lovely.

I loved it all. Armagh was a special visit, especially because of the greeting we received at St. Patricks, Church of Ireland, and the sense of history that the two cathedrals convey. I preferred the medieval, which you may have predicted, and the guided tour of the crypt and the opportunity to weigh in on whether it should be opened was an unexpected extra. I enjoyed all of the cathedrals, but Christ Church Dublin stood out, along with the park and memorial wall to Irish writers. And while I loved Trinity College Dublin and our visit to the emigration museum near Cork, the North Coast, Londonderry/Derry, and Sligo are what inspired and what I always talk about with whoever asks.

Derry changed my perspective. I won’t pretend to understand Northern Ireland and the troubles, but I will never forget being in Derry on the day of the Saville Report. The enthusiasm was contagious, the pubs were exciting, the people walking toward us after the speeches were exhilarated and exhilarating, and most of all, walking the wall looking down on the Bogside and then walking the streets of the Bogside looking up to the wall is an indelible memory, a transformative perspective for me. The murals also are transformative. I wouldn’t have thought it possible to capture so much heart, so much experience, so much violence, so much understanding in only 12 images. I fought back tears at every mural, and I now get a little of what went on and why. I kept thinking, “No wonder, no wonder.” The day made me love Northern Ireland, to want to go back, to want to understand. Being in Derry that day with you to show me the way was inspiring. I will never forget.  

Perspective may not be everything, but it’s critical to everything. Physical perspective, looking up and looking down in Derry, up at and down on, gave me a different perspective, meaning understanding of the troubles. And “up at” has a very different meaning than “up to,” which I wouldn’t say because it doesn’t work, isn’t true in this context. Does “down on” fit the historical context, or am I passing judgment or reflecting bias? It is what I felt that day without thinking. Looking at you straight on from the bus when we arrived gave me a new, largely emotional perspective, another kind of understanding. It was very clear among the boys at the Base and the congregation at Harmony Hill that they liked you, they appreciated you for what you contributed to them; and it’s very clear to me that they have influenced you. You have a new perspective, a very different take on yourself and on your calling than when you left for the airport with Claire last August.

Two other transformative perspectives for me were the North Coast, the Antrim Coast, and my experience in Sligo. I hadn’t expected Sligo, wasn’t aware that we would have opportunity to visit Drumcliff Church where William Butler Yeats is laid and to see Coole and the Lake Isle of Innisfree and to recognize Ben Bulben as we approached. I recall saying at the time that I was surprised by my reaction. I’m curious about why we seek out shrines and why we respond with silence, joy, even awe. Why did I come away with a deeper perspective onYeats? What was added to years of reading, to my naming the first two puppies, William Butler Yeats and Maud Gonne, born to my beagle, to my decision not to write my dissertation on Yeats? Physicality was added, and a better understanding of a poet whose poems reflect his landscape, as well as his passion for Ireland and the way that he captured violence. Several poems came immediately to mind, while I was standing at the grave site: the full text of the last stanza (VI) of “Under Ben Bulben,” because it includes the epitaph on the tomb stone; “The Lake Isle of Innisfree,” because we saw it and it’s a favorite of many readers because it’s taught in schools; and “Easter 1916” because it offers a commentary on the rebellion for Irish independence and a historic perspective on the Saville Report and our visit to Londonderry/Derry. I copied these three below for you and to remind myself. “A terrible beauty is born” from “Easter 1916” is memorable, even chilling, given what happened then and continued. Even after the Good Friday Accord, conflict continues now.

I really enjoyed visiting my friend Bob Welch and Angela and Killian in Coleraine before we drove from Londonderry to Sligo and south. Seeing them was another highlight of the trip. A very relaxed evening and dinner and lively conversation were gifts to me. I know that it slowed our trip and only hope that it enriched your evening, too. Bob’s experience with the University of Ulster is fascinating to me. I appreciated especially seeing him at home since he’s visited and been involved here in my work, planning, and conferences. I was impressed with his interest in what you’ve been doing, his enthusiasm for your plans, and his perspective and insight into what we experienced in Londonderry/Derry. I hope that he and Angela will come to see us again.

And then we saw the Giant’s Causeway, which is only the most spectacular place on a spectacular coast. Even the story of the giant, Finn, is spectacular. It may be the most beautiful coast I’ve seen, so beautiful that it inspires awe, perhaps another kind of terrible beauty - rough, craggy, magnificent, sublime, a word rarely used but perfect here. The whole experience of being there, looking over to Scotland and imagining the Scots crossing the Irish Sea is stunning. From the perspective of a Virginian growing up surrounded by Scots-Irish Presbyterians, who even founded my college, and seeing how they came to be Scots- Irish on the way to Virginia was a compelling experience. I now know something more, something quite specific, visual, and visceral about these people and America’s founding. I wonder whether some passed through Donegall, as we did. We had little time there but enough to buy exquisite stained-glass goblets and to inspire a return trip.

You are a wonder; you always have been. I don’t know how to end this rambling excursion through our visit, since it has no end. Age knows no limits. We will explore again and again.

If you like, let Yeats have the last word.

From Under Ben Bulben

Under bare Ben Bulben's head 

In Drumcliff churchyard Yeats is laid. 

An ancestor was rector there 

Long years ago, a church stands near, 

By the road an ancient cross. 

No marble, no conventional phrase; 

On limestone quarried near the spot 

By his command these words are cut:

 Cast a cold eye 

    On life, on death. 

        Horseman, pass by!

 The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, 

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, 

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, 

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; 

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, 

And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day 

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; 

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, 

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Easter 1916

I have met them at close of day

Coming with vivid faces

From counter or desk among grey

Eighteenth-century houses.

I have passed with a nod of the head

Or polite meaningless words,

Or have lingered awhile and said

Polite meaningless words,

And thought before I had done

Of a mocking tale or a gibe

To please a companion

Around the fire at the club,

Being certain that they and I

But lived where motley is worn:

All changed, changed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

That woman's days were spent

In ignorant good-will,

Her nights in argument

Until her voice grew shrill.

What voice more sweet than hers

When, young and beautiful,

She rode to harriers?

This man had kept a school

And rode our winged horse;

This other his helper and friend

Was coming into his force;

He might have won fame in the end,

So sensitive his nature seemed,

So daring and sweet his thought.

This other man I had dreamed

A drunken, vainglorious lout.

He had done most bitter wrong

To some who are near my heart,

Yet I number him in the song;

He, too, has resigned his part

In the casual comedy;

He, too, has been changed in his turn,

Transformed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone

Through summer and winter seem

Enchanted to a stone

To trouble the living stream.

The horse that comes from the road.

The rider, the birds that range

From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse -
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.