Dear Friends and Scholars around the world,
Please join our peace project on Padlet! You can enter your wishes, questions, ideas; upload your images; record and share your audio or videos; showcase your projects below.
Thank you all for your support. We wish you the happiest, healthiest and the most peaceful holiday season!
NJ Advisory Board
NJ Fulbright 
Melda, This is very good. When I wanted to comment it rejected my ID and password. What ID and password should I use? Virgil From: NJ Fulbright To: blanclage@yahoo.com Sent: Friday, December 11, 2015 3:24 PM Subject: [New post] Peace! #yiv4583885882 a:hover {color:red;}#yiv4583885882 a {text-decoration:none;color:#0088cc;}#yiv4583885882 a.yiv4583885882primaryactionlink:link, #yiv4583885882 a.yiv4583885882primaryactionlink:visited {background-color:#2585B2;color:#fff;}#yiv4583885882 a.yiv4583885882primaryactionlink:hover, #yiv4583885882 a.yiv4583885882primaryactionlink:active {background-color:#11729E;color:#fff;}#yiv4583885882 WordPress.com | yildiz posted: “Dear Friends and Scholars around the world,Please join our peace project on Padlet! You can enter your wishes, questions, ideas; upload your images; record and share your audio or videos; showcase your projects below. Thank you all for your ” | |
Thank you Virgil. Your comment is posted here.
Dear Melda,
Thanks. and I bid you peace as well. I sincerely hope you have a wonderful 2016, and we continue to pray for your well-being and progress.
Dear Melda and Virgil,
Thank you! In response, I am sharing this poem from Derek Walcott’s Collected Poems
1948-1984, about peace:
THE SEASON OF PHANTASMAL PEACE
Then all the nations of birds lifted together
the huge net of the shadows of this earth
in multitudinous dialects, twittering tongues,
stitching and crossing it. They lifted up
the shadows of long pines down trackless slopes,
the shadows of glass-faced towers down evening streets,
the shadow of a frail plant on a city sill—
the net rising soundless as night, the birds’ cries soundless, until
there was no longer dusk, or season, decline, or weather,
only this passage of phantasmal light,
that not the narrowest shadow dared to sever.
And men could not see, looking up, what the wild geese drew,
what the ospreys trailed behind them in silvery ropes
that flashed in the icy sunlight; they could not hear
battalions of starlings waging peaceful cries,
bearing the net higher, covering this world
like the vines of an orchard, or a mother drawing
the trembling gauze over the trembling eyes
of a child fluttering to sleep;
it was the light
that you will see at evening on the side of a hill
in yellow October, and no one hearing knew
what change had brought into the raven’s cawing,
the killdeer’s screech, the ember-circling chough
such an immense, soundless, and high concern
for the fields and cities where birds belong,
except it was their seasonal passing, Love,
made seasonless, or, from the high privilege of their birth,
something brighter than pity for the wingless ones
below them who shared dark holes in windows and in houses,
and higher they lifted the net with soundless voices
above all change, betrayals of falling suns,
and this season lasted one moment, like the pause
between dusk and darkness, between fury and peace,
but, for such as our earth is now, it lasted long.
— Derek Walcott