About John J. Ronan
John J. Ronan is a poet, playwright, movie producer, and journalist. He has received national honors for his poetry and is a former National Endowment for the Arts Fellow, Ucross Fellow, Bread Loaf Scholar, and Poet Laureate of Gloucester, MA. (On John’s regard for America, Gloucester and civic poetry, see his Op-Ed pieces and “The Lesson” and “Good Harbor, Home” below. In 2010, his volume of poetry, Marrowbone Lane, won Highly Recommended honors from the Boston Authors Club. In January, Taking the Train of Singularity South from Midtown, a homage to pluralism in New York City and the nation, was published by the award-winning Backwaters Press. Follow Backwaters on Facebook. Read more at: MassPoetry.org.
EVENTS: Abbott Public Library, Marblehead, MA, 2:00, June 18, 2017.
Also a playwright, Ronan’s works include The Yeats Game and The Early Bird Special. A pioneer in electronic publishing, in 2002 he introduced a humorous e-book, Damned If I Dotage, on the trials of turning 50. John is also founder of the media production company American Storyboard, a teacher of film, and host of Cape Ann Television’s The Writer’s Block with John J. Ronan which celebrates its 28th anniversary in the 2017-18 season.
Ronan lives in Gloucester, Massachusetts, with his wife, Sandy, and memories of their adopted Wyoming dog, Cowboy.
* * * *
The Newtown kids weren’t thinking of Aurora or Tucson,
They had not pledged themselves to weapons, and being kids
Could not remember Blacksburg, Columbine, Binghamton.
The earnest boys and girls of first grade
Weren’t linking patriotism to firepower and stripper clips,
Nor Christmas to domestic terror, cowardice, Congress –
Hadn’t learned the rhetoric of re-election and leadership,
Nor yet had alphabet enough to fathom madness.
Hands over their hearts, the kid-citizens
Called out justice, allegiance, republic,
The lofty thoughts of American civic prayer
Made a persuading faith by the pitch of children:
Simple witness and common sense, a mix
Of law and love, indivisible communion on a dare.
* * * * *
(Anthem for Gloucester)
Waves break on outcrop rock: granite,
fire-formed and hard, headland granite–
no coddled cape, no sandbar,
nothing soft in her city, no knickknack:
Gloucester-by-God, attitude granite.
The beaches are broken by wetland, woods of oak
and pine, grace in paintscape chasms, coves,
the harbor of ships, sailboats, a fishing fleet
today inner-harbored, home from the beast-broth
sea, safely moored to Cape and continent:
Cookie-cut, cradle states of the seaboard,
rust-belt, Bible-belt, rivers
priming the plains, Mississippi, Missouri, Illinois,
the corn of Illinois and Iowa, the Dakotas, Kansas,
squared-away states stretching west
to the Rockies, Cascades, a rival coast and ocean–
our daily wake, the entire entrained nation.
Its originals: Ojibwe, Pequod, Agawam, Pawnee.
Later, tribes of Irish, Latinos, Italians,
Poles and Portuguese, Africans, Asians… We,
the potluck people, this rare republic,
experiment America imagined over the land, are aged
or tender, bold or shy, yet rulers by right
and by law, the law of nature and of nature’s God,
true believers in clamor and compromise, believers
in reason, and so debating rights, wrongs, damning
terror and terrorists in just, seething sorrow,
yet protecting loudly law, the process of law,
stunned as the young to stagger and strut at once.
The noise of debate makes music. Now
playing in this sacred city hall, home
of mellow music, the oaths of public office,
friends elected in a free, local vote
to swear and serve under one weathervane,
minded by murals on history and honest government,
nothing abstract, far away or federal,
servants and citizens balanced in the same boat,
the ship of state a schooner, grand as Gloucester,
seaworthy, wise in the rhythms of salt water
and safeguarded today in the good harbor, home.
What matters happens here! We,
each of us proud, elect, the people of Gloucester,
by law and by luck neighbors in a great nation,
trust power for a term to others, themselves
strong in our common strength, the cast of democracy
in time and tide, a city’s lapstraked lives,
and so blessed, confident of grace and granite, bear
witness to America on the broad, abiding sea.
* * * * *
Gloucester, MA 01930
Copyright (c) 2017 by John J. Ronan