Monday, October 11, 2010

Of politicians, poetry, and a glass of whiskey

"MEANWHILE IN MASSACHUSETTS"
(a poem written by Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy in October 1953)

Meanwhile in Massachusetts Jack Kennedy dreamed

Walking the shore by the Cape Cod Sea
Of all the things he was going to be.

He breathed in the tang of the New England fall
And back in his mind he pictured it all,
The burnished New England countryside
Names that a patriot says with pride
Concord and Lexington, Bunker Hill
Plymouth and Falmouth and Marstons Mill
Winthrop and Salem, Lowell, Revere
Quincy and Cambridge, Louisburg Square.
This was his heritage -- this his share
Of dreams that a young man harks in the air.
The past reached out and tracked him now

He would heed that touch; he didn't know how.
Part he must serve, a part he must lead
Both were his calling, both were his need.

Part he was of New England stock
As stubborn, close guarded as Plymouth Rock
He thought with his feet most firm on the ground
But his heart and his dreams were not earthbound
He would call New England his place and his creed
But part he was of an alien breed
Of a breed that had laughed on Irish hills
And heard the voices in Irish rills.

The lilt of that green land danced in his blood
Tara, Killarney, a magical flood
That surged in the depth of his too proud heart
And spiked the punch of New England so tart
Men would call him thoughtful, sincere
They would not see through to the Last Cavalier.

He turned on the beach and looked toward his house.

On a green lawn his white house stands
And the wind blows the sea grass low on the sands
There his brothers and sisters have laughed and played
And thrown themselves to rest in the shade.
The lights glowed inside, soon supper would ring
And he would go home where his father was King.
But now he was here with the wind and the sea
And all the things he was going to be.

He would build empires
And he would have sons
Others would fall
Where the current runs
He would find love
He would never find peace
For he must go seeking
The Golden Fleece
All of the things he was going to be
All of the things in the wind and the sea.

---------------------------
I've read several places that Jackie Kennedy made points with her (then) new mother-in-law with this poem, which was inspired by "John Brown's Body" by Stephen Vincent Benét)

I liked the part that says,
"Part he must serve, a part he must lead
Both were his calling, both were his need."

(And what is the Golden Fleece? Is it like the Holy Grail -- the thing everybody's searching for??
OK, Googled it -- Greek mythology, 8th Century BC -- yes, it's something people wanted to find...not enough Time for the fine points. ...)

When I read that about "serve" and "lead," thought of this: when you win elected office it's called "public service." When I was working as a lobbyist, it occurred to me a few times that for some, once they get elected the first thing they forget is "the public" and then the next thing they forget is the "service."

That's cynical, though -- true but cynical, and most Importantly -- Not True Of All Of Them. Working with state senators and representatives, was privileged to know some people for whom I had terrific respect.

The chairman of the House Taxation Committee in 1989 (and several years after that, I think), would sit there with his ten-gallon hat and bang the gavel, and run that committee with precision and efficiency -- letting people have their say and yet keeping it rolling -- very professional, and yet self-effacing, humble, never even "driving down the highway past arrogant." He operated with Class, and with an attitude of, "Aren't we fortunate to get the opportunity to do this work, to conduct the people's business and participate in democracy?" -- which was how I felt.

In private, he was a great story-teller and appreciator of people and had a wonderful manner and sense of humor -- he could talk to anybody and was interested in many things besides his centers of expertise -- a sort of "Renaissance man."

I wanted him to write down all his good stories and get it published -- he always said, "I'd rather just sit and have a glass of whiskey and tell the stories...."

-30-

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