WE CAN CHOOSE NOT TO DESTROY

ONE OF THE NAMES IN THE JENCKES FAMILY

FREELOVE

When I first found this name in our genealogy and often repeated as the generations passed, I was wishing that  were my name .  In my mind I renamed myself Freelove Almira .

FREELOVE

This  enables me to participate in the very nature of GOD.  He is Love and He loves us.  But human love can be given or with held.

We can choose  to love or not. One of the definitions of love is in that name--it must be free. Love cannot be coerced.  That freedom is what makes our love valuable to God --we can choose not to love God. 


It is only we humans who have been given the free will to choose not to be what God created us to be. Surprisingly, the environmentalist and author Bill McKibben finds hope in this unique freedom. 

He writes:

The most curious of all . . . lives are the human ones, because we can destroy, but also because we can decide not to destroy. The turtle does what she does, and magnificently. She can’t not do it, though, any more than the beaver can decide to take a break from building dams or the bee from making honey. But if the bird’s special gift is flight, ours is the possibility of restraint. We’re the only creature who can decide not to do something we’re capable of doing. That’s our superpower, even if we exercise it too rarely.

So, yes, we can wreck the Earth as we’ve known it, killing vast numbers of ourselves and wiping out entire swaths of other life—in fact . . . we’re doing that right now. But we can also not do that. . . .

We have the tools (nonviolence chief among them) to allow us to stand up to the powerful and the reckless, and we have the fundamental idea of human solidarity that we could take as our guide. . . .

Another name for human solidarity is love, and when I think about our world in its present form, that is what overwhelms me. The human love that works to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, the love that comes together in defense of sea turtles and sea ice and of all else around us that is good. The love that lets each of us see we’re not the most important thing on earth, and makes us okay with that. . . . [2]

THE LOVE THAT CREATED US AND NEVER STOPS  FOLLOWING US AND SHOWERING US WITH HIS GRACE.

The Love that Francis Thompson  saw as a Hound in relentless pursuit of our souls ---

The Hound Of Heaven

By Francis Thompson (1890)

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;

I fled Him, down the arches of the years;

I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways

Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears

I hid from Him, and under running laughter.

Up vistaed hopes I sped;

And shot, precipitated,

Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears,

From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.

But with unhurrying chase,

And unperturbèd pace,

Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,

They beat—and a Voice beat

More instant than the Feet—

‘All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.’

UNCANNY KEATS

I remember the first time I came upon this brief poem by Keats.  
It scared me.

"This living hand, now warm and capable"

BY JOHN KEATS

This living hand, now warm and capable

Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold

And in the icy silence of the tomb,

So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights

That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood

So in my veins red life might stream again,

And thou be conscience-calm’d–see here it is–

I hold it towards you.

It is a kind of threat--a  haunting. It strangely shifts  its use of the  second person from the thy, thou and thee familiar forms to the more direct and idiomatic YOU. That is the last word of the poem.

I feel the terror in this poem. The poet is finally turning to the reader and  directly implicates us in the task of  "earnest grasping."
That is the only way we will be "conscience-calmed."
The poet is saying that  after his death, the way we receive or grasp his poetry will  remove the pain of rejection he has known.
It is our chance to repair after his death  some of the damage critics and an indifferent public had done to him in life.

Re-read it now and  grasp the immortal one's outstretched hand. 

OR ELSE!

REMEMBERING TWO IRISH POETS AND PATRIOTS

REMEMBERING OUR WOMEN POETS --Ethna Carberry and BOBBY SANDS

BOBBY SANDS WANTED TO WRITE LIKE ETHNA CARBERRY

One of the sad-funny things I learned when I read more recent accounts of Bobby Sands Hunger Strike  was that he loved the poetry of Ethna Carberry.  He was inspired by her poem that was  a patriotic song "Roddy McCorley" and in his last  days he asked his jail neighbor Brendan Hughes whom he called the Dark if he  could give him a letter to mail to Ethna. He added that he did not have her address. The Dark answered  "I hope you have a ouija board in there because she  does not have an address. She died in 1902"

.

Here's how one reference work described the popular song:

RODDY McCORLEY. Irish, Air or March (cut time). D Major (Miller & Perron): G Major (Carlin). Standard tuning (fiddle). One part (Miller & Perron): AABB (Carlin). There were two songs named "Roddy McCorley" (spellings vary). One is older, and may have been written soon after the Irish rebellion of 1798. The other was written in 1898 for the centenary of the rebellion, and while the tune is traditional (also used for the song "Sean South of Garryowen") the words are the product of County Antrim-born Ethna Carberry . Her poetry was published by her husband after her death in The Four Winds of Eirinn (1902), and proved a popular volume that contained, among many other pieces, her "Rody M'Corley" (pp. 82-83).

The words in her version commemorate a martyr of the 1798 rebellion. They begin:

O see the fleet-foot host of men, who march with faces drawn,
From farmstead and from fishers' cot, along the banks of Ban;
They come with vengeance in their eyes. Too late! Too late are they,
For young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.

Oh Ireland, Mother Ireland, you love them still the best
The fearless brave who fighting fall upon your hapless breast,
But never a one of all your dead more bravely fell in fray,
Than he who marches to his fate on the bridge of Toome today.

The truth of Roddy McCorley is more complicated and confused than Carberry's portrayal. Despite some assumptions he was Catholic, the best information is that he was a County Antrim Presbyterian. He also seems to have come late to the cause of the United Irishmen, and while he may have fought in Antrim, it was for his participation in an organized patriotic gang (The Archer Gang) afterwards that seems to have been the reason for his death sentence. The song was recorded and popularized by the Clancy Brothers, the Kingston Trio and others. It is a frequently heard in march medley’s played by Irish musicians and is considered a ‘grand old chestnut’ of a tune. 

Here is a verse from the lyric written by Bobby Sands:

Oh! I am Rodai of Duneane 

And those of no property bear my name. 

Those kingly freemen who sweat and toil 

And yet who never gain nor reign. 

I love these wretched gentle souls 

They! condemned to death from birth, 

I stand by Tone and I stand by truth 

And the wretched of this earth!

From the poem Rodaí MacCorlaí written by Bobby Sands,

Bobby has transformed it into a  marching song for world socialism, Wasn't he a great one!

Roddy McCorley

Here is the version made popular by  The Clancy Brothers

O see the fleet-foot host of men, 
Who march with faces drawn,
From farmstead and from fishers' cot, 
Along the banks of Ban;
They come with vengeance in their eyes. 
Too late! Too late are they,
For young Roddy McCorley goes to die 
On the bridge of Toome today.

Up the narrow street he stepped, 
So smiling, proud and young.
About the hemp-rope on his neck, 
The golden ringlets clung;
There's ne'er a tear in his blue eyes, 
Fearless and brave are they,
As young Roddy McCorley goes to die 
On the bridge of Toome today.

When last this narrow street he trod, 
His shining pike in hand
Behind him marched, in grim array, 
A earnest stalwart band.
To Antrim town! To Antrim town, 
He led them to the fray,
But young Roddy McCorley goes to die 
On the bridge of Toome today.

There's never a one of all your dead 
More bravely died in fray
Than he who marches to his fate 
In Toomebridge town today; ray
True to the last! True to the last, 
He treads the upwards way,
And young Roddy McCorley goes to die 
On the bridge of Toome today.

Songwriters: J Baird / Pd Tra

YES,  Bobby Sands was so taken with Ethna's work that he wrote his own ballad version of Roddy Mc Corley. He recognized a fellow patriot in the woman from Antrim. 

Poets reach out to each other through time and distance with their words.

Ethna Carberry was the pen name used by a 19^th century Irish poet and journalist whose short life was ended by illness at the age of 35. She collaborated on the production of two Irish Nationalist magazines with another Irish poet, her friend Alice Milligan.

Born Anna Johnston on the 3^rd December 1866 in Ballymena, County Antrim. Her father was a timber merchant by trade but also a prominent Irish Republican in the Fenian movement. She was writing verse from a very young age and had her first piece published at the age of fifteen. She went on to have a number of other pieces of work published in periodicals such as the Nation, Catholic Fireside and United Ireland.

The Irish Nationalist cause was very close to her heart and she lectured up and down the country on the subject, along with Alice Milligan and Maud Gonne, the latter being the leader of a revolutionary women’s organisation called Inghinidhe na hÉireann, which translates as “Daughters of Ireland”. With Milligan’s help, she wrote plays to promote the organisation’s cultural activities. The pair were also responsible for The Northern Patriot and The Shan Van Vocht, both well-read nationalist publications. The latter title has been acknowledged as a major contributory factor to the “Irish Revival” in cultural activities.

Alice only started using the pen name Ethna Carberry in 1901 when she married fellow writer and folklorist Séamus MacManus. She explained that she did not wish to write using her now married name as she wanted to avoid being confused with him. Tragically the marriage only lasted a year as Alice fell ill with gastritis and died. Séamus lived for a further 58 years and never re-married. The impact on his life of his wife was so great, and he wrote a memoir in her honor. He published the work of Ethna Carbery in The Four Winds of Erin after her death and this collection was extremely popular.

She was, without doubt, loved throughout her native land and much further afield. 
The fame of Ethna Carbery spread across the Atlantic.
 As well as being a prominent and fervent supporter of and writer about Irish Republicanism, she wrote poetry as if her mind was:
 

One of her most poignant poems is reproduced here. My Dearest appears to show Ethna searching deep into her own soul for inspiration:

 

Ethna Carberry was a deeply patriotic individual whose love for all those who had contributed to, and died for, her country was an almost all-consuming passion and this fervour was to be found in much of her work. She wrote fluently, easily and with infectious enthusiasm. Her body of work would, no doubt have been greatly enhanced had she lived a longer life.

Ethna Carberry died on the 21^st April 1902 at the tragically young age of 35.

BOBBY SANDS DIED ON MAY 6 1981 AT THE TRAGICALLY YOUNG AGE OF 27.

Two kindred spirits -- her work reached across a century and soothed the tortured body and soul of  a fellow REPUBLICAN PATRIOT.  

SHE SPURRED HIM INTO SONG.

REMEMBERING BETTY

Elizabeth Resnikoff

1936 - 2020

r 
SHE WAS A WOMAN FOR ALL SEASONS.

Yesterday I received the sad news of the death of a wonderful  woman and beloved friend, Betty Resnikoff. 

 I met Betty when in the summer of  1969, I attended a rally at the Rhode Island State House to support the  Grape Workers Boycott led by Cesar Chavez. In writing this entry I just looked up the Grape Strike on Wikipedia and found that it  was made up of Filipino workers and began  on May 3, 1965.  And here am I on May 3, 2020 recalling it and testifying to how it influenced my life and activities.

 How did I become aware of the Strike? 
Well I had just  moved into an apartment on Butler Avenue across the street from what was then an Almacs store and is now a  Whole Foods store.  When  picket lines began to form, I  became curious and went out to talk to some of those on the picket lines.  I was impressed with their dedication and I began to brew pots of coffee and bring them out in the long nights  to give them  a lift. I also invited them to use my bathroom, since I knew they would not be near any public facilities  in that neighborhood. 

When they decided to have a  State House demo, they urged me to come to it . And I did.
I went there with my  5 year old son,  and had brought some puzzles and books to amuse him. As we sat on a blanket other attendees with children had asked me if I would watch their  kids while they participated  more actively in the demonstration. I agreed and in a short time I had collected around me a group of about ten kids who were listening to me read to them.

Suddenly there appeared a man who was distributing leaflets.  His words to me were funny

"Wow you have all these kids.  You really need to read this leaflet." 

And he handed me a leaflet about Women's Lib. I laughed and said that only one child was mine.

That was my meeting with Neal. 

He joined us and asked what I did.  I said that in September I would begin a  job as an Instructor at  Rhode Island College.  He told me that his wife was  also starting an instructorship there.  He was teaching at Providence College.  He  volunteered to take over the child care and  directed me to  where his wife was and urged me to introduce myself to her.

I did just that.  And a few minutes later I was greeting a  short  woman with a babushka on her head who was  talking to  a group of women about their liberation.  I introduced myself and that is how I met BETTY.

That was my lucky day.  

She and I became good friends and  I was glad to have someone like her to guide me through my first  college teaching job. I was ABD at the time after completing a Masters and all the course work for a PhD at the University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana. 


 Betty was the most progressive person I had met up to that time in my life.
I am always so glad to meet people who are more radical than I am.. They make me feel less odd, and they  reassure me  by their very being that there is a wide spectrum of political belief and understanding.  I no longer feel so far out and alone.


 I found all of her ideas about the class  struggle extremely interesting and convincing. 

She helped me to see the connections between that struggle and the texts that we were  paid to teach.  She helped me to see that particular texts  serve particular class interests and that we could raise those questions when  teaching the literary texts.

When I began my  job in September, I was glad to know  another  new but experienced instructor and I could consult her if I needed help or advice.

Betty introduced me to the world of  Women's Lib when we  drove together to Harvard to attend a conference there on the Struggle of Women.
 Betty noticed immediately that there was little or no attention to the struggles of working women who were also wives and mothers.  Since I was one of those women, I was very aware how much the experience of motherhood was absent from the discussion.

I can't really enumerate all the ways that Betty helped me and improved my life.  How can I count the ways?

She helped me on the personal level. She was the first person who told me that  Yashdip, the handsome Indian Shakespeare scholar in the department,  liked me.  How do you know that? I asked Betty; he is so aloof and he never speaks.  Betty then  told me that she had seen how  he watched when I finished a class and went to the faculty coffee lounge; he went too.  I had noticed that he always seemed to be drinking coffee, but I never thought  he did that to be in my company.


Then Betty  explained some thing that she had seen in her years teaching in Zanzibar. She told me that Indian men have no experience of dating; their society arranges their marriages.  So they do not know how to approach a women they  would like to know better.

I remember asking Betty what my response should be.
She suggested that I invite him to dinner at my place.  After a few more weeks of daily encounters in the coffee lounge which he had ramped up to offers to lend me books. He had noticed that I often had a book that I was reading with me  when I got my coffee. I finally took Betty's sound advice and invited him to dinner.
Even about dinner, Betty had some advice.  Odds are, she explained to me, he is a vegetarian.  So make him a  vegetable main course.  I decided on Eggplant Parmigan and she  applauded that choice.

WE became very good friends in that  year of teaching, and since Yashdip was also a progressive person, she became friends with him too. 

 When our year of being instructors was over, we parted. 
I and my son Joey went to  a summer in Ireland to do research on my dissertation topic. I think Neal and Betty moved on to Easton PA where they had new jobs. That was the summer of 1970, I came back to  a changed scene.  I had received a new job at  nearby Bryant College and my father had died suddenly the day before  my return. 

I realize as I try to sum up my experience of Betty that  it resists summation. 

 Betty's great gift is that she saw the opportunity to improve  every single moment, and she saw that in every one that she met.  She spoke in a direct, frank way to everyone, and she saw in all of us something  that was shining.  

She saw the longing in every one for a better world, a just society and a freer life. I do not believe that constant  reaching towards freedom ever left her. 
She saw  the bright field of each landscape, each human life, every day and every where.

Welsh poet R.S. Thomas is considered one of the finest poets of the twentieth century captures that  shock of recognition in his poem--
 
The Bright Field
 
I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
the treasure in it. I realize now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying
 
on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.
   —R.S. Thomas