Comments on: R. I. P. Jim Carrig

By: Rudy

Rudy — Tue, 15 Mar 2011 23:40:54 +0000

Here’s a poem in memory of Jim, written by Frank Rossini, and passed on to me by Jim’s son Eamon. Thanks, Frank.

a blues
for Bugs

Billy leans
into mornings rising
heat
his voice fills
with smoke
& dried roses
love a song all the blues
from the sky the sea
love he says taught me
to believe the joy flesh
brings to flesh
is a trick breath
cant braid
to breath make
a rope to hold
me to this spinning planet
Joe says the Lord never
gives us more
than we can handle
I think even Jesus begged
his father for a break

(stanza break)
love maybe it teaches us to play
the blues bend
an ear to the heart hear
god crying
for one more
day of heartache one more
night
without sleep

By: Rudy

Rudy — Sun, 12 Dec 2010 17:17:04 +0000

Thanks, Dick, that’s a beautiful poem. I still think of Jim, too. A wise shade, intermittently palpable, his smile in the shadows.

By: Dick Durisen

Dick Durisen — Sat, 11 Dec 2010 21:17:30 +0000

Lake George
(For Jim Carrig and Jim White)

Compromised,
the dock slumps wearily,
Waiting for some improbable arrival.
Initials carved
with youthful exuberance
Soften into deep, dark rot.

Who would have thought
that the hurtful message
Would arrive in whispers
through the ether?
Who would have thought
that the torrent of sorrow
Would burst upon me,
alone, on a glacier,
At the top of the world?

I came to this island
seeking the solace of mutual history
And found plants and people
still growing askew.
Now I listen to the lapping water
at an empty campsite,
Wanting some last fond memories
that will never disembark.

October 2010

By: Joe Craig

Joe Craig — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 14:35:09 +0000

I worked with Jim in the early 1980′s and “sort of” kept up with him over the years. But, I probably haven’t seen him for 10 years. I was just Googling around and discovered this. I’m greatly saddened.

If anyone can provide details, please let me know at jncraig at gmail.com.

By: Eleanor

Eleanor — Sun, 27 Jan 2008 03:55:34 +0000

I’m curious . . . was Anonymous thinking of another Jim Carrig who was from County Kerry?

By: "Moon"

"Moon" — Thu, 24 Jan 2008 22:12:54 +0000

I met Jim (never knew him as ‘Seamus’, so I cannot refer to him in that way) in 1978 or 79. His wife, Mary, was a colleague of my wife. We were often at Jim and Mary’s house for dinner and drinks, and they at ours. When I turned 30, Mary Lou threw a surprise party for me, and Jim elected to carry in the cake to the stirring tune of the Beatles’ “Birthday”. He had a beer in one hand, the two-part sheet cake, fully lit with candles, in the other, and danced about, the cake shifting precariously, threatening to split in two and drop to the ground. Fortunately, this did not happen. Neither did he spill a drop of his beer, and it remains a fond memory for me.

The other thing I remember is this: I could never understand how someone could get a doctorate in math. I have my degrees in Theology, and always felt that I didn’t need to know much more than how to count to three. I would ALWAYS pick on Jim, asking him “So, Jim, what’s new in math? Discover any new numbers lately? Perhaps something that goes between 7 and 8?”

When Mary called us with the news of Jim’s inexplicable death, we recalled these (and other) moments. She mentioned that my comments always made Jim go into a slow burn, but in a good way.

Although he and Mary were divorced, it seemed to me that they managed to put aside their differences when it came to Eamon (or, as I called him, Hey, Man!).

Thanks for the memories.
Moon

By: coilin owens

coilin owens — Sun, 13 Jan 2008 01:48:58 +0000

I knew Seamus off and on over the years since we both began teaching at George Mason–he in Mathematics, I in English. He showed up at a couple of our Irish language weekends, and later in a regularly meeting group to pursue our interest in the language. I found that Seamus had a love of the language, its turns of phrase, its idioms, and the nuances of grammar that revealed something that I think he felt he inherited. He would delight in recognizing a particular expression and come back, the next week, having evidently thought about it a lot. His relish had a poet’s touch. We will miss him, his kindness, his thoughtfulness, his gentleness, and his modesty about his considerable intelligence. Go ndeana Dia trocaire ar a anam!

By: Eleanor

Eleanor — Sat, 29 Dec 2007 05:24:02 +0000

I don’t think he was from Ireland.

By: Anonymous

Anonymous — Sat, 27 Oct 2007 22:49:07 +0000

hi what part of Ireland was Jim from?

By: Emily

Emily — Fri, 14 Sep 2007 22:00:51 +0000

Jim touched my soul. The words above brought tears to my eyes and I had to say something to honor the great Jim Carrig. I have had the honor of knowing Jim and even though I’ve only had a few experiences with him, I can wholeheartedly say, I am a better person because of it. He taught me through example how to smile shamelessly and to how to live life to the fullest – and with “certainty,” or truth, as stated above. I enjoyed talking with Jim at his kitchen table about my life pursuits and got great feedback just by being with him. He had a spirit that transcended the material world, and a character unique in all the world.

One summer I was lucky enough to be part of the “expedition” lead by Jim to Lake George. There he reminded us that we only need the sky above to be happy, to respect Mother Nature for all her beauty, and that everyone that comes to the Island (Turtle Island in my case) had to cook a meal to contribute to the clan. I will never forget Jim.

I love Jim, and from what I know of Jim, I believe he’s got a keg of Bass beer up stationed between himself and the stage where Jimi, Otis Redding, Jerry and many more are set to play in a few hours. His spirit will forever be with me, and I sincerely thank you, Jim for touching my life in such a tremendous way.

I love you Cosmo and I love you Jim! RIP Jim.