9/11, Seven Years On

We are indebted to Thomas Murphy for the following:

The Irish poet, Seamus Heaney, wrote the following poem with thoughts of an attack that came out of the blue, with no warning on 9/11: ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN after Horace, Odea I, 34 Anything can happen. You know how Jupiter Will mostly wait for clouds to gather head Before he hurls the lightning? Well, just now He galloped his thunder-cart and his horses Across a clear blue sky. It shook the earth And the clogged underneath, the River Styx, The winding streams, the Atlantic shore itself. Anything can happen, the tallest things Be overturned, those in high places daunted, Those overlooked regarded. Stropped-beaked Fortune Swoops, making the air gasp, tearing the crest off one, Setting it down bleeding on the next. Ground gives. The heavens' weight Lifts up off Atlas like a kettle lid. Capstones shift, nothing resettles right. Smoke furl and boiling ashes darken day. Seamus Heaney

As we sit here at the computer, it is all too painful to remember that beautiful morning in early September, arguing with a fellow commuter over which cycle in hell to consign the Reverend Ian Paisley for his support of the bombing of Catholic schools in Northern Ireland, to remember being underneath the Trade Center on the subway, heading for work. We will never forget and our prayers are with the families and friends reading the names of the deceased.

Patricia Jameson-Sammartano
Culture Editor, WGT