Beautiful Poem Turn Again to Life

It's the get-go September 11 commemoration that New York City has held at its completed, xvi-acre memorial site.

Amidst the disorder left on the metropolis by its near recent terror threat -- and the ensuing police response of closed roads, check points, and bag searches -- hundreds of thousands turned to peace and reflection in the ceremonies at the site of the Globe Trade Center attacks.

Over the years, poems and songs accept helped the U.S. grieve, heal and motion past the about difficult of times. At Lord's day's anniversary, and in by memorial services for September xi, these pieces of securely meaningful prose took center stage.

Rudy Giuliani, who was in the concluding months of mayoralty in New York City when the twin towers were struck, read an excerpt from the King James version of the Bible -- Ecclesiastes 3:1 -- also popularized in a song adjusted by Pete Seeger in 1962, called "Plough, Turn Plough,":

To every matter there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the sky
A fourth dimension to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, a fourth dimension to reap that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break downwards, and a fourth dimension to build upward;
A fourth dimension to cry, and a time to laugh;
a fourth dimension to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast abroad stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to encompass, and a fourth dimension to refrain from embracing;
A time to go, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to continue silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a fourth dimension to hate;
a time of war, and a fourth dimension of peace.

"Plough Once again to Life" by poet Mary Lee Hall (1843-1927) was read past Gov. Chris Christie of New Jersey:

If I should die and leave you here a while,
be not like others sore undone,
who continue long vigil by the silent grit.
For my sake turn again to life and smile,
nerving thy heart and trembling hand
to practise something to condolement other hearts than thine.

Complete these dear unfinished tasks of mine
and I perchance may therein condolement y'all.

The poem is often used at funeral services, and was written by a suffragist and one of the first female attorneys in the U.S.

For the 2002 ceremony, the then-Poet Laureate of the United States, Billy Collins, read a poem he had written particularly for the victims, and the name-reading tradition (which will discontinue after this year's ceremony).

Onetime New York governor George Pataki read an excerpt from the poem on Sun.

"The Names" past Billy Collins (b.1941), written in 2002.

Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.
A soft rain stole in, unhelped by whatever breeze,
And when I saw the silver coat on the windows,
I started with A, with Ackerman, every bit it happened,
And so Baxter and Calabro,
Davis and Eberling, names falling into place
Equally droplets fell through the dark.

Names printed on the ceiling of the night.
Names slipping around a watery curve.
Twenty-half dozen willows on the banks of a stream.

In the morning time, I walked out barefoot
Amongst thousands of flowers
Heavy with dew like the eyes of tears,
And each had a name --

Fiori inscribed on a xanthous petal
Then Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins.
Names written in the air
And stitched into the cloth of the mean solar day.

A name under a photo taped to a mailbox.
Monogram on a torn shirt,
I see yous spelled out on storefront windows
And on the bright unfurled awnings of this city.
I say the syllables as I turn a corner --

Kelly and Lee,
Medina, Nardella, and O'Connor.
When I peer into the woods,
I see a thick tangle where letters are hidden
As in a puzzle concocted for children.

Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash,
Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton,
Secrets in the boughs of an aboriginal maple.
Names written in the pale sky.
Names rising in the updraft amid buildings.

Names silent in stone
Or cried out behind a door.
Names blown over the world and out to sea.

In the evening -- weakening low-cal, the last swallows.
A boy on a lake lifts his oars.
A adult female by a window puts a match to a candle,

And the names are outlined on the rose clouds --
Vanacore and Wallace,
(allow X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound)

And so Young and Ziminsky, the concluding jolt of Z.
Names etched on the caput of a pin.
One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.
A bluish name needled into the skin.

Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,
The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.

Alphabet of names in a green field.
Names in the small tracks of birds.
Names lifted from a chapeau

Or counterbalanced on the tip of the natural language.
Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.
So many names, at that place is barely room on the walls of the centre.

New York City's mayor, Michael Bloomberg read an excerpt from a classic poem past John Donne (1572-1631):

No man is an island, entire of itself;
every man is a piece of the continent, a function of the main;
if a clod be done abroad by the body of water, Europe is the less,
likewise as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were;
whatsoever man'southward death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind,
and therefore never send to know for whom the bong tolls; it tolls for thee.

And former New Jersey senator, Donald DiFrancesco, who was the land's 51st governor when the planes hit the towers, read the following unattributed poem:

If tears could bring you back to me,
You'd be here by my side,
For God could make full a river total
of all the tears I've cried

If I could have one wish come true
I'd ask of God in prayer
to let me have merely one more than solar day
to testify how much I care.

If honey could reach the heavens shore
I'd quickly come for you,
my center would build a bridge of love
one wide enough for two

But this I know
the day will come
when we volition never part,
until that twenty-four hours we meet again
I'll keep you lot in my eye

Other touching poems have marked the memorial ceremony over the years.

In 2002, an 11-yr-old daughter from Brooklyn named Brittany Clark read a poem she wrote for her father, Benjamin Keefe Clark, a food service worker.

She has reappeared at memorial services since, just her start verse form was republished by the New York Times:

"This poem makes me experience similar my daddy is speaking to me," she had said. It has been circulated widely as a poem by "Anonymous" in e-mails, merely Clark'southward female parent says she wrote the poem for her male parent.

I give you this i thought to go along/
I am with you lot still, I do non slumber.

I am a thou winds that blow,
I am the diamond glint on the snow.

I am as sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle fall rain.

When you awaken in forenoon hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the soft stars that shine at dark.

Practise not recollect of me as gone,
I am with yous all the same in each new dawn.

In 2003, a young male child named Peter Negron, whose father Pete had perished in ane WTC, read a poem past children'southward author Deborah Chandra, called stars. See the entire verse form, and read more than virtually Negron, who appeared this twelvemonth at the memorial, at Yahoo! News.

Contact Jess Wisloski, NYC editor

longthatich.blogspot.com

Source: https://news.yahoo.com/blogs/upshot/turn-thee-again-life-read-september-11-ceremony-142150295.html

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