A few minutes ago I met Brigid Farrell on the street here in central Dublin and she told me the sad news of John Moriarty’s death – he died yesterday, if I’m not mistaken. Thanks to the kindness of Marie and Michael Hughes, I met John in their home some weeks ago for the last time .
Of course I knew he had cancer and that it was a matter of months at the outset, but it still came as a shock.
He died at his home near the Horses’ Glen at the foot of Mangerton Mountain, Killarney.
He will be buried in Aghadoe.
Turtle was a Long Time Gone. May he rest in peace.
It was with sad regret that I learned of the passing of John Moriarty. John was my professor, my friend, my mentor, while I was a much younger person studying English literature at the University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, Canada, in the late 1960′s. My how we loved how he expounded on his philosophies even back then…his first foray for us into the true meaning of “Lida and the Swan”. And then he left it all to return to his home, a desire “to gaze out at the North Sea” again and to give up the trappings of civilization as we understood it. Years later he returned to Winnipeg for a visit and we “groupies” all met and sat on the floor as once before soaking in the charisma, the aura that was John, enraptured once again by his words. He was a beacon to all of us. His like we shall not see again. RIP, John. Your student, Karin
Farewell blessed friend and inspiration for those who only sometimes glimpse the elephant who lingered so lovingly with you.
For John Moriarty
When Mangertons cap is hidden by the mist
And the furze blooms dip their yellow heads,
And the driving rain thunders on the roof
And every ditch and stone is dripping wet,
Then there is need for the seer
To look beyond the world that dreary hangs,
And touch the hidden sun,beyond the cloud
And kiss the smiling lips beneath the shroud,
And share the beauty-truths that still abound
Even in a world more lost than found.
For this time John, you were born
A benediction on all forelorn
To share the Eucharist of your wound
And bending down to hug the holy ground
Strong dweller of the solitary place,
Hermit who loves the swirling crowd,
Abstainer from every man cut creed,
Friend to the broken heart and face cast down,
Dreamer of substance more real than earth,
You have gone out and left the fetid camp
Like One who hung beyond a city wall.
You have climbed the ascending path
Beside the torrenting waterfall
And all the days of your life you have gazed upon it
And learned the lesson to be still
And found the essence of all our days
Hidden in the deep deep heart of God.
Gerard O’Shea
2006