Poem COLLECTION #2: THE ROOFS OF NEUCHÂTEL
part 3: daring
Commentary
Dare to be different when it's popular to go along. Dare to show courage in the face of great odds. Dare to strive. Not to give up. Dare to be one's own person whatever the cost. Daring is something we all do or don't do and all witness through the action of others. It is a subject much written about. Much talked about, stretching from the formulation of lofty credos to simple resolutions made on New Year's Day . . . and often broken the next. A fascinating aspect of writing about Daring lies in theresultant conjecture: What would I have done under the same circumstances?
Cunningham's Last Mile is a good case in point. As a child Glenn Cunningham was burned so badly that the surgeon wanted to amputate his legs. He pleaded with his mother, of equal courage, not to permit this, and she did not. By sheer courage and will power, he grew up not only to walk, not only to run, but to race, becoming world record holder of the mile run. Glenn's autobiography, Never Quit!, is highly recommended. As I was his college teammate in the same event and his friend of fifty years, the poem had to be written – for his family and, indeed, for myself.
The Last Watch was written for another friend, David Atlee Phillips. Phillips' account of his association with CIA, The Night Watch, reveals uncommon moral courage. Believing deeply that CIA's role in national affairs was indispensable, while at the height of his career, he quit to take the case to the people. This at the time the Congress was, in the opinion of so many, tearing at the fabric of the institution he loved and had worked so long to build. He founded a supportive organization, The Association of Former Intelligence Officers (AFIO), now national, with chapters in principal cities. During this period, I arranged for him to speak at the Pinehurst Forum, where I had the pleasure of introducing him after a great day of golf.
Well into his mission, Phillips developed a fatal cancer. Yet he persisted with his mission until the very end, thinking little of self, but rather of the cause. I wrote the poem knowing the end was near, and held it thinking it might be of some solace to his family after his demise. Then it occurred to me that Phillips himself might welcome seeing it. After all, it said nothing he didn't know and had not shared with us, his friends. So I sent it to him. Shortly before he died he wrote:
Dear Paul,
The sonnet was lovely. It made me cry. The right kind of tears, for the right reason. It was a kind, gracious thing to do.
In friendship,
David
Castles has a considerably different antecedence, one which relates as well to Wanted: Amnesty. We go back to Switzerland, a country of over one hundred castle ruins. Down in the dungeons of restored Château Chillon on Lake Geneva just beyond Montreux, one may see in solid stone the pathways made centuries ago by barefoot prisoners pacing to and fro. And today, in many places, all has not changed much, for many people are still held in dungeons, with little hope of release or escape.
There is an added twist to my having written these poems. In discussions with an old friend in Lausanne, we left it that I would send her some poems. She, on their receipt, eventually passed them to her sister in Zurich, a woman who speaks no English. This enterprising woman (a gifted teacher who married for the first time in her seventies) sought out a bilingual Swiss well versed in English. As it was explained to me, he read the poems over and over again, each time telling her what he believed I was trying to say. And she produced in this manner a translation of them into French. I include these herein for those who may judge how well she did. She was wise enough not to attempt anything like a word-for-word rendition. I was, and remain, impressed by the result.
The poem Habitation is a prayer that we as individuals dare respond to the manifest needs of our neighbor, promising, if we do, the reward of the blessings of fellowship. There is linkage here to the poem A Habitat Blessing, which, placed in the section on Loving, prays that what has been sought will be secured for those occupying the house as well. One poem was read at the dedication on completion of the Habitat House financed and constructed by the joint efforts of the Village Chapel of Pinehurst and the Emmanuel Episcopal Church of Southern Pines in North Carolina.
PAB 1996
Marionette
He out upon a troubled world now gazes
Who on another counts to make him move
While others seek alone to harvest praises
For feckless acts they hope we'll all approve
We too on various binding ties rely
If we would act in greater harmony
And ever man's high purpose not belie
Fix on a goal that we alone can't see
May we now strive this Yuletide to mend
The broken strings that make us falsely free
And bind ourselves to others as a friend
By bringing gifts beyond those round the tree
As joyful in the melody of psalms
The Christmas spirit raises giving arms
Haiku
High looms the peak above
Where crash and crush of rock and ice
Bade come – dare pay the price for love
Cunningham's Last Mile
When fire struck they said he'd never run
They did not know that he could never quit
From early morn till setting of the sun
He overcame it all with truest grit
On cinder lanes this champion of the world
Olympian glory brought to school and state
And mankind's greater service flag unfurled
By helping countless troubled youths go straight
Now sounds the gun, there's still one lap to go
When searing muscles join the gasp of breath
The valiant heart sustains a crushing blow
He breaks the tape at end of life called death
The champion now his greatest victory's won
He hears his lord and master say "Well done!"
Mis en français par Ruth Béguelin, avec l'aide de Victor Koppel pour de l'anglais. Hombrechtikon, Zürich, Suisse, fevrier 3, 1989.
Cunningham, le denier mille
Aux premiers feux, ils disent qu'il ne bougerait pas,
Sans savoir que du matin, tôt, au soleil conchant,
Il ne ourrait plus quitter son posts.
Maîtrisant tout avec un véritable courage,
Avec le courage d'un champion connu du monde entier
Qui, sue les lignes cendrées, s'efforce et lutte
Pour la gloire olympique de son université et celle de sa nation
Son plus grand service à l'humanité avait été
D'avoir aidé un nombre incalculabe de jeunes gens troublés
A suivre -- drapeau déployé -- le bon chemin.
Le canon, maintenant, à nouveau gronde,
Il faut encore aller de l'avant,
Les muscles se tendent et le souffle manque,
Soudain, en plein coeur -- en ce coeur si vaillant --
S'abat le coup terrible qui, de la vie, brise le fil,
Ce qu'au terme de l'existence, on appelle: la mort.
C'est donc, en champion, qu'il gagna sa plus grande victoire.
Et il entendit son Maître, son Seigneur, lui dire:
"Ce que tu as fait, tu l'as bien fait!"
The Last Watch
Uncertainly from day of birth to death
Through time our way we make in measured steps
Exerting mind and muscle with each breath
In search of goals our inner self accepts
From valley lanes I look up to the hill
Where lofty heights are etched against the skies
There warning crags and raging winds of chill
Keep jealous guard to bar me from my prize
Of sudden sounds the trumpet of recall
Beyond my reach the goal is, oh, so bright
Helpless stand I and watch the darkness fall
And I must stand the darkest watch of night
Then shall new eyes to golden rays be drawn
With morning comes the glory of the dawn
La dernière garde
De la naissance à la mort, nous longeons le temps,
Parcourant notre chemin, à pas mesurés, mais combien hésitants,
Exerçant notre esprit, nos muscles, tant que nous respirons,
Tout à la recherche de buts que, par devant nous-mêmes, nous pouvons accepter.
Du fond de la vallée, je contemple par-dessus les monts,
Les cimes crénelées se profilant sur le ciel.
Leur pics manaçants, balayes de vents hurlants et glacés,
Montent jalousement la grade, me privant du prix convoite.
La trompette, soudain, sonnant le rappel,
M'empêche d'atteindre mon but -- si clairment, hélàs.
Privé de secours, je reste planté là, dans l'ombre tombante,
Obligé que je suis, à veiller aux heures les plus sombres de la nuit.
Demain, quand l'aube dans toute sa glore apparaîtra,
De nouveaux yeux, vers ses rayons d'or, seront tournés.
Castles
Hill high stood the castle unyielding
The fastness of lord and his knights
Who feasted and reveled unheeding
Of peasant deep hurts and their plights
One came who dared speak come what may
Bidding courage he chanted his lay
A piece of the soul is sacred
No matter where it be found
A song of hope helps the wretched
Though it be sung by a clown
They banished the minstrel and placed him
Beyond the great castle gate
And during his journey as pilgrim
He sang and taught not to hate
Tumbled now is the castle
The lord and his knights long gone
Yet in the land and beyond still is heard
The wandering minstrel's song
Châteaux
Au haut d'une colline, s'élevait le château,
Imprenable fortresse d'un siegneur et de ses vassaux,
Qui festoyaient et menaient grande vie
Au détriment et pour le maleur des paysans qui peinent.
Celui qui, quoi qu'il advint, osait parler, s'avanca
Et s'armant de courage, c'est en chantant qu'il dit son message:
Il exist en l'âme, une part sacrée,
Qu'importe où elle fut trouvée.
Ce chant d'espérance apporte aide
Et secours au plus misérable,
Même, si c'est un fou le le chante.
Ils bannirent l'audacieux ménestrel,
Refermèrent sur lui le grand portail du castel.
Tout le long du jour, en pélerin déguisé, il chanta,
Enseignant chacun à ne pas haïr.
Aujourd'hui, le château es en ruines,
Disparus, le seigneur et ses vassaux,
Mais dans le pays, loin a la ronds,
S'entend encore la chanson
Du ménestrel poursuivant son chemin.
Wanted: Amnesty
Now chained
Through fractured prisms of their past they see
The light from distant stars that shone
When they were free
Stars once so bright yet now no more
Emit through golden rays their power to restore
And so with Bonnivard they share the Chillon prison
Where they await the light of healing sun once risen
Habitation
Let my indwelling spirit now arise
To join with neighbors of this commonweal
In building shelters strong and more secure
For those in need of but a helping hand
The while shall I the golden blessing reap:
The fellowship we share in Habitat
Lifeline
Seek knowledge
Heed wisdom found in others
And share it should by good fortune it be yours
With searching mind endlessly insist
That old ways be challenged
That assumptions be tested
That mediocrity be rejected
That means be compatible with ends sought
In all things aspire for the higher ground
And deal with others by the rule called golden
Dare to be different when it's popular to go along. Dare to show courage in the face of great odds. Dare to strive. Not to give up. Dare to be one's own person whatever the cost. Daring is something we all do or don't do and all witness through the action of others. It is a subject much written about. Much talked about, stretching from the formulation of lofty credos to simple resolutions made on New Year's Day . . . and often broken the next. A fascinating aspect of writing about Daring lies in theresultant conjecture: What would I have done under the same circumstances?
Cunningham's Last Mile is a good case in point. As a child Glenn Cunningham was burned so badly that the surgeon wanted to amputate his legs. He pleaded with his mother, of equal courage, not to permit this, and she did not. By sheer courage and will power, he grew up not only to walk, not only to run, but to race, becoming world record holder of the mile run. Glenn's autobiography, Never Quit!, is highly recommended. As I was his college teammate in the same event and his friend of fifty years, the poem had to be written – for his family and, indeed, for myself.
The Last Watch was written for another friend, David Atlee Phillips. Phillips' account of his association with CIA, The Night Watch, reveals uncommon moral courage. Believing deeply that CIA's role in national affairs was indispensable, while at the height of his career, he quit to take the case to the people. This at the time the Congress was, in the opinion of so many, tearing at the fabric of the institution he loved and had worked so long to build. He founded a supportive organization, The Association of Former Intelligence Officers (AFIO), now national, with chapters in principal cities. During this period, I arranged for him to speak at the Pinehurst Forum, where I had the pleasure of introducing him after a great day of golf.
Well into his mission, Phillips developed a fatal cancer. Yet he persisted with his mission until the very end, thinking little of self, but rather of the cause. I wrote the poem knowing the end was near, and held it thinking it might be of some solace to his family after his demise. Then it occurred to me that Phillips himself might welcome seeing it. After all, it said nothing he didn't know and had not shared with us, his friends. So I sent it to him. Shortly before he died he wrote:
Dear Paul,
The sonnet was lovely. It made me cry. The right kind of tears, for the right reason. It was a kind, gracious thing to do.
In friendship,
David
Castles has a considerably different antecedence, one which relates as well to Wanted: Amnesty. We go back to Switzerland, a country of over one hundred castle ruins. Down in the dungeons of restored Château Chillon on Lake Geneva just beyond Montreux, one may see in solid stone the pathways made centuries ago by barefoot prisoners pacing to and fro. And today, in many places, all has not changed much, for many people are still held in dungeons, with little hope of release or escape.
There is an added twist to my having written these poems. In discussions with an old friend in Lausanne, we left it that I would send her some poems. She, on their receipt, eventually passed them to her sister in Zurich, a woman who speaks no English. This enterprising woman (a gifted teacher who married for the first time in her seventies) sought out a bilingual Swiss well versed in English. As it was explained to me, he read the poems over and over again, each time telling her what he believed I was trying to say. And she produced in this manner a translation of them into French. I include these herein for those who may judge how well she did. She was wise enough not to attempt anything like a word-for-word rendition. I was, and remain, impressed by the result.
The poem Habitation is a prayer that we as individuals dare respond to the manifest needs of our neighbor, promising, if we do, the reward of the blessings of fellowship. There is linkage here to the poem A Habitat Blessing, which, placed in the section on Loving, prays that what has been sought will be secured for those occupying the house as well. One poem was read at the dedication on completion of the Habitat House financed and constructed by the joint efforts of the Village Chapel of Pinehurst and the Emmanuel Episcopal Church of Southern Pines in North Carolina.
PAB 1996
Marionette
He out upon a troubled world now gazes
Who on another counts to make him move
While others seek alone to harvest praises
For feckless acts they hope we'll all approve
We too on various binding ties rely
If we would act in greater harmony
And ever man's high purpose not belie
Fix on a goal that we alone can't see
May we now strive this Yuletide to mend
The broken strings that make us falsely free
And bind ourselves to others as a friend
By bringing gifts beyond those round the tree
As joyful in the melody of psalms
The Christmas spirit raises giving arms
Haiku
High looms the peak above
Where crash and crush of rock and ice
Bade come – dare pay the price for love
Cunningham's Last Mile
When fire struck they said he'd never run
They did not know that he could never quit
From early morn till setting of the sun
He overcame it all with truest grit
On cinder lanes this champion of the world
Olympian glory brought to school and state
And mankind's greater service flag unfurled
By helping countless troubled youths go straight
Now sounds the gun, there's still one lap to go
When searing muscles join the gasp of breath
The valiant heart sustains a crushing blow
He breaks the tape at end of life called death
The champion now his greatest victory's won
He hears his lord and master say "Well done!"
Mis en français par Ruth Béguelin, avec l'aide de Victor Koppel pour de l'anglais. Hombrechtikon, Zürich, Suisse, fevrier 3, 1989.
Cunningham, le denier mille
Aux premiers feux, ils disent qu'il ne bougerait pas,
Sans savoir que du matin, tôt, au soleil conchant,
Il ne ourrait plus quitter son posts.
Maîtrisant tout avec un véritable courage,
Avec le courage d'un champion connu du monde entier
Qui, sue les lignes cendrées, s'efforce et lutte
Pour la gloire olympique de son université et celle de sa nation
Son plus grand service à l'humanité avait été
D'avoir aidé un nombre incalculabe de jeunes gens troublés
A suivre -- drapeau déployé -- le bon chemin.
Le canon, maintenant, à nouveau gronde,
Il faut encore aller de l'avant,
Les muscles se tendent et le souffle manque,
Soudain, en plein coeur -- en ce coeur si vaillant --
S'abat le coup terrible qui, de la vie, brise le fil,
Ce qu'au terme de l'existence, on appelle: la mort.
C'est donc, en champion, qu'il gagna sa plus grande victoire.
Et il entendit son Maître, son Seigneur, lui dire:
"Ce que tu as fait, tu l'as bien fait!"
The Last Watch
Uncertainly from day of birth to death
Through time our way we make in measured steps
Exerting mind and muscle with each breath
In search of goals our inner self accepts
From valley lanes I look up to the hill
Where lofty heights are etched against the skies
There warning crags and raging winds of chill
Keep jealous guard to bar me from my prize
Of sudden sounds the trumpet of recall
Beyond my reach the goal is, oh, so bright
Helpless stand I and watch the darkness fall
And I must stand the darkest watch of night
Then shall new eyes to golden rays be drawn
With morning comes the glory of the dawn
La dernière garde
De la naissance à la mort, nous longeons le temps,
Parcourant notre chemin, à pas mesurés, mais combien hésitants,
Exerçant notre esprit, nos muscles, tant que nous respirons,
Tout à la recherche de buts que, par devant nous-mêmes, nous pouvons accepter.
Du fond de la vallée, je contemple par-dessus les monts,
Les cimes crénelées se profilant sur le ciel.
Leur pics manaçants, balayes de vents hurlants et glacés,
Montent jalousement la grade, me privant du prix convoite.
La trompette, soudain, sonnant le rappel,
M'empêche d'atteindre mon but -- si clairment, hélàs.
Privé de secours, je reste planté là, dans l'ombre tombante,
Obligé que je suis, à veiller aux heures les plus sombres de la nuit.
Demain, quand l'aube dans toute sa glore apparaîtra,
De nouveaux yeux, vers ses rayons d'or, seront tournés.
Castles
Hill high stood the castle unyielding
The fastness of lord and his knights
Who feasted and reveled unheeding
Of peasant deep hurts and their plights
One came who dared speak come what may
Bidding courage he chanted his lay
A piece of the soul is sacred
No matter where it be found
A song of hope helps the wretched
Though it be sung by a clown
They banished the minstrel and placed him
Beyond the great castle gate
And during his journey as pilgrim
He sang and taught not to hate
Tumbled now is the castle
The lord and his knights long gone
Yet in the land and beyond still is heard
The wandering minstrel's song
Châteaux
Au haut d'une colline, s'élevait le château,
Imprenable fortresse d'un siegneur et de ses vassaux,
Qui festoyaient et menaient grande vie
Au détriment et pour le maleur des paysans qui peinent.
Celui qui, quoi qu'il advint, osait parler, s'avanca
Et s'armant de courage, c'est en chantant qu'il dit son message:
Il exist en l'âme, une part sacrée,
Qu'importe où elle fut trouvée.
Ce chant d'espérance apporte aide
Et secours au plus misérable,
Même, si c'est un fou le le chante.
Ils bannirent l'audacieux ménestrel,
Refermèrent sur lui le grand portail du castel.
Tout le long du jour, en pélerin déguisé, il chanta,
Enseignant chacun à ne pas haïr.
Aujourd'hui, le château es en ruines,
Disparus, le seigneur et ses vassaux,
Mais dans le pays, loin a la ronds,
S'entend encore la chanson
Du ménestrel poursuivant son chemin.
Wanted: Amnesty
Now chained
Through fractured prisms of their past they see
The light from distant stars that shone
When they were free
Stars once so bright yet now no more
Emit through golden rays their power to restore
And so with Bonnivard they share the Chillon prison
Where they await the light of healing sun once risen
Habitation
Let my indwelling spirit now arise
To join with neighbors of this commonweal
In building shelters strong and more secure
For those in need of but a helping hand
The while shall I the golden blessing reap:
The fellowship we share in Habitat
Lifeline
Seek knowledge
Heed wisdom found in others
And share it should by good fortune it be yours
With searching mind endlessly insist
That old ways be challenged
That assumptions be tested
That mediocrity be rejected
That means be compatible with ends sought
In all things aspire for the higher ground
And deal with others by the rule called golden
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