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Belfast Peace Lines, Borders, Dr. Martin Luther King, Gay Marriage, Gay Rights Movement, Human Rights, Ireland, Justice, Marriage Equality Referendum, Memoir, Northern Ireland, Politics, Seamus Heaney, Themes of Childhood
A story for International Education Day
A photo of Seamus Heaney on his graduation day is making the rounds on social media this morning, marking International Education Day with a reminder that our poet devoted much of his life to teaching. I also spent most of my professional life teaching – and learning. Like Heaney, I’m a product of Queen’s. And, like Heaney, I was what we…
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Belfast Peace Lines, Borders, Dr. Martin Luther King, Gay Marriage, Gay Rights Movement, Human Rights, Ireland, Justice, Marriage Equality Referendum, Memoir, Northern Ireland, Politics, Seamus Heaney, Themes of Childhood
Domestic Affairs – Northern Ireland style.
It was the morning after Thanksgiving, uncharacteristically rainy and gray in the desert southwest. Relishing my solitude and a second cup of coffee, I settled in to read the Irish Times and when I spotted this headline, I put down my cup. Writer, Louise Kennedy, was about to make my Thanksgiving complete. Even though we only know each other the…
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Covid-19, Death and dying, Dispatch from the Diaspora, Funeral, Rituals, saying goodbye, Seamus Heaney, Seamus Heaney
Ireland, I’m sorry for your trouble . . .
. . .feelthe strumming, rooted, long-tailed pull of grief.You were born fit for it.Stand in here in front of meand take the strain. From A Kite for Michael and Christopher by Seamus Heaney My mother tells me she and my dad were able to attend Palm Sunday services on Sunday,virtually, on the iPad I gave her a few years ago. It took a wee while to get the hang of it, she…
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Belfast Peace Lines, Borders, Dr. Martin Luther King, Gay Marriage, Gay Rights Movement, Human Rights, Ireland, Justice, Marriage Equality Referendum, Memoir, Northern Ireland, Politics, Seamus Heaney, Themes of Childhood
A Lesson in Domestic Affairs – Northern Ireland style. (P.S. Thank you Louise Kennedy)
It is the morning after Thanksgiving, uncharacteristically rainy and gray in the desert southwest. Relishing my solitude and a second cup of coffee, I settle in to read the Irish Times. When I spot this headline, I put down my cup. She doesn’t know it, but writer, Louise Kennedy, has just made my Thanksgiving complete. She doesn’t know me either,…