Poems for Christmas

So what is your favourite Christmas poem? Mine is probably Christopher Smart (see below). Despite my fondness for Dickens, catholic symbolism and opera, I’m not really romantic. I really appreciate the Augustan balance of the Eighteenth Century – Pope, Gibbon (the old atheist), Johnson and Austen. Christopher Smart was of the Age of Reason, but certified insane.

Samuel Johnson knew him personally and Boswell reports him saying: "My poor friend Smart shewed the disturbance of his mind, by falling upon his knees, and saying his prayers in the street, or in any other unusual place. I did not think he ought to be shut up. His infirmities were not noxious to society. He insisted on people praying with him; and I'd as lief pray with Kit Smart as any one else. Another charge was, that he did not love clean linen; and I have no passion for it."

An ouzel is a blackbird.

Where is this stupendous stranger,
Swains of Solyma, advise?]
Lead me to my Master's manger,
Show me where my Saviour lies.

O Most Mighty! O Most Holy!
Far beyond the seraph's thought,
Art thou then so mean and lowly
As unheeded prophets taught?

O the magnitude of meekness!
Worth from worth immortal sprung;
O the strength of infant weakness,
If eternal is so young!

If so young and thus eternal,
Michael tune the shepherd's reed,
Where the scenes are ever vernal,
And the loves be Love indeed!

See the God blasphem'd and doubted
In the schools of Greece and Rome;
See the pow'rs of darkness routed,
Taken at their utmost gloom.

Nature's decorations glisten
Far above their usual trim;
Birds on box and laurels listen,
As so near the cherubs hymn.

Boreas now no longer winters ]
On the desolated coast;
Oaks no more are riv'n in splinters
By the whirlwind and his host.

Spinks and ouzels sing sublimely,]
"We too have a Saviour born";
Whiter blossoms burst untimely
On the blest Mosaic thorn.

God all-bounteous, all-creative,
Whom no ills from good dissuade,
Is incarnate, and a native
Of the very world He made.

From Hymns and Spiritual Songs for the Fasts and Festivals of the Church of England

I can't think of any Christmas poem at the moment, but I consider song lyrics to be poetry, so here is a song that I like to hear at this time of year.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KVUPURixIsk

Mine is Good King Wenceslas: U-tube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQVUMG6LZGM

This is a very old Czech carol. Its story is here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Good_King_Wenceslas

Although I heard the Good King Wenceslas carol before, I realized I did not not know the lyrics nor the background story.

The one thing that I remember about my Hungarian parents was that we celebrated Christmas one day earlier than English families who had children of around my age. We celebrated it on Christmas Eve, with the Christmas tree smuggled into the sitting room, decorated and put presents wrapped and under the tree. Then came the exciting bit of the presents being handed out, us going into the sitting room and seeing the decorations up in the room and the tree decorated, too. As a small child my uncle always put a false beard on and red gown and hat and handed the presents out. When I was older this pantomime was dispensed with. After, we always had a traditional British Christmas Dinner with turkey and roast potatoes, and Christmas pudding.

But no other families with children celebrated on Christmas Eve, they had to wait for Christmas Day, and the business of a stocking filled with presents hanging by the bed. That always puzzled me. How did they get the presents into a stocking??? I never did get the answer but guessed that the big ones were put on the floor around the stocking. Or perhaps they used an old coal sack? Or perhaps presents were always small in size?

My father had another explanation. In Czechoslovakia Christmas was celebrated on Boxing Day, with smaller presents in a stocking. Hence boxing day. Boxing Day. In my teens I learned that Boxing Day was St. Stephen's (all days in Sweden and most other continental countries have their own Name day. Each day of the year is associated with a different name). Boxing Day is the feast of Stephen. A number of countries celebrate this, including Czechoslovakia. Read the Wikipedia item on this, it is most interesting. I didn't know about Ireland, for example, with Wrenboys.

I vaguely remember hearing that some people celebrated Name days, like birthdays. I assume the person would have to have been named after the saint celebrated on that day.

My family never celebrated it, as they adapted quickly after I was born to the system in the UK, and went over entirely to birthdays. I have absolutely no idea which day is my name day.

Here's a poem: Twas the Night Before Christmas. I can't believe I didn't think of it earlier. Here's a performance that seemed a little unusual to me:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tXrr8UWIM1A

That's a strange poem, and a really weird presenter!

My sister went to a Roman Catholic covent school. The nuns celebrated name days, ie the saint's day after whom they were named. So if you were called Stephen, your name day would be today (26 December) or if you were callled John it could be tomorrow (27 December for John the Evangelist or 25 June for John the Baptist.)

I thought German and Dutch children got their (modest) Christmas presents on St Nicholas Day, 6 December. Sweden made a big thing of St Lucy's Day, 13 December. Opening your presents on the evening of Christmas Eve isn't keeping Christmas one day early: it is still the case with Jews and Eastern Orthodox Christians to start the day at sunset the day before rather than at midnight. King's College Cambridge have their carol service on Christmas Eve and in Dickens' A Christmas Carol and Pickwick Papers the evening of 24 December is the time for parties. My grandmother's sister and her husband had the custom of opening their presents on Christmas Eve in the evening and then phoning us up to thank us. (This is Devon, UK in the 60s). We thought this odd as we only opened presents on Christmas Day. (Those in my pillow slip before breakfast and those round the Christmas Tree after the Queens' speech at 3pm.)

Here is a poem for St Lucy's Day

A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy's Day
BY JOHN DONNE
'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's,
Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;
The sun is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rays;
The world's whole sap is sunk;
The general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the bed's feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr'd; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compar'd with me, who am their epitaph.

Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring;
For I am every dead thing,
In whom Love wrought new alchemy.
For his art did express
A quintessence even from nothingness,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness;
He ruin'd me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death: things which are not.

All others, from all things, draw all that's good,
Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have;
I, by Love's limbec, am the grave
Of all that's nothing. Oft a flood
Have we two wept, and so
Drown'd the whole world, us two; oft did we grow
To be two chaoses, when we did show
Care to aught else; and often absences
Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.

But I am by her death (which word wrongs her)
Of the first nothing the elixir grown;
Were I a man, that I were one
I needs must know; I should prefer,
If I were any beast,
Some ends, some means; yea plants, yea stones detest,
And love; all, all some properties invest;
If I an ordinary nothing were,
As shadow, a light and body must be here.

But I am none; nor will my sun renew.
You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun
At this time to the Goat is run
To fetch new lust, and give it you,
Enjoy your summer all;
Since she enjoys her long night's festival,
Let me prepare towards her, and let me call
This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this
Both the year's, and the day's deep midnight is.

Remarkable how many different ways there are to celebrate Christmas! Nice poem...

I liked Donne's line: "Dead and interr'd; yet all these seem to laugh,". St. Lucy's day, being December 13th is not quite the winter solstice, but I think Donne references it as such when he writes:

This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this
Both the year's, and the day's deep midnight is.

Ah, YesNo, but Donne was writing when England was still using the Julian calendar so the dates were then some ten days behind the solar year.

I hadn't thought of that. That would make his poem accurate.

There are many beautiful poems in hymns and in carols, too. Many of these I remember from my childhood. That gives them a special meaning for me.