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David Rooney - Portraits & Lives |
Many Irishmen confronted the dilemma of whether to take part in the struggle for independence from England , or join in the larger conflict taking place in Europe . And while much of the Irish populace looked askance at the 1916 Easter Rising, the British hardline response – especially the executions of the Rising’s leaders – changed attitudes, not just about the rebellion but also about Ireland
Those who went off to war being hailed as heroes, while those who fought on Irish soil were seen with hostility.
JOSEPH MARY PLUNKETT is mostly known for his involvement in the 1916 Easter Rising and his constant crusade for Irish independence. Nevertheless, he was also an accomplished poet and journalist. He came from a wealthy and privileged family, but he eventually caught a passion for Irish nationalism that was to determine the course of his short life.His father, George Noble Plunkett, had been made a papal count.
Joseph contracted tuberculosis at a young age and spent part of his youth in the warmer climates of the Mediterranean and North Africa.
Plunkett's interest in Irish nationalism spread throughout his family, notably to his younger brothers George and John, as well as his father, who allowed his property in Kimmage, south Dublin, to be used as a training camp for young men who wished to escape conscription in Britain during the First World War.
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After joining the ranks of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, Joseph Mary became embroiled in negotiations for Irish freedom, which ultimately led to the planning of the an armed insurrection, known as the Easter Rising. He was instrumental in planning this uprising, and it was largely his plan that was followed. Other of the rising's leaders were Patrick Pearse ( another poet and writer) and Tom Clarke and his energetic aide de camp was Michael CollinsAfter the rebellion was crushed, Plunkett was imprisoned in Kilmainham Gaol, and faced a court martial. Seven hours before his execution by firing squad at the age of 28, he was married in the prison chapel to his sweetheart Grace Gifford, a Protestant convert to Catholicism, whose sister, Muriel, had years before also converted and married his best friend Thomas MacDonagh, who was also executed for his role in the Easter Rising. Grace never married again.
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While remembered as a revolutionary, Joseph Mary Plunkett left a legacy of incredibly stirring poetry. A famous priest once said that other than those committed to the life of religion, the two types of persons most likely to save their souls were poets and soldiers. Joseph Mary Plunkett was both.
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As a school child this is one of the poems we had to memorize- most probably not understanding the true meaning
I SEE HIS BLOOD UPON THE ROSE
I see His blood upon the rose
I see His blood upon the rose
And in the stars the glory of His eyes,
His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.
And in the stars the glory of His eyes,
His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.
I see His face in every flower;
The thunder and the singing of the birds
Are but His voice—and carven by His power
Rocks are His written words.
The thunder and the singing of the birds
Are but His voice—and carven by His power
Rocks are His written words.
All pathways by His feet are worn,
His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea,
His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn,
His cross is every tree.
His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea,
His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn,
His cross is every tree.
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I SAW THE SUN AT MIDNIGHT
I saw the Sun at midnight, rising red,
Deep-hued yet glowing, heavy with the stain
Of blood-compassion, and I saw It gain
Swiftly in size and growing till It spread
Over the stars; the heavens bowed their head
As from Its heart slow dripped a crimson rain,
Then a great tremor shook It, as of pain—
The night fell, moaning, as It hung there dead.
O Sun, O Christ, O bleeding Heart of flame!
Thou givest Thine agony as our life’s worth,
And makest it infinite, lest we have dearth
Of rights wherewith to call upon Thy Name;
Thou pawnest Heaven as a pledge for Earth
And for our glory sufferest all shame.
Deep-hued yet glowing, heavy with the stain
Of blood-compassion, and I saw It gain
Swiftly in size and growing till It spread
Over the stars; the heavens bowed their head
As from Its heart slow dripped a crimson rain,
Then a great tremor shook It, as of pain—
The night fell, moaning, as It hung there dead.
O Sun, O Christ, O bleeding Heart of flame!
Thou givest Thine agony as our life’s worth,
And makest it infinite, lest we have dearth
Of rights wherewith to call upon Thy Name;
Thou pawnest Heaven as a pledge for Earth
And for our glory sufferest all shame.