poems at Christmas

 I know I've linked/posted some of these in the past, but I grew up reading poetry - it was taught a lot in the schools when and where I was in school, and my mom had some books of poetry. And in high school, we memorized poetry, both in English class and in French. 

And the thing I like about poetry: it often distills down things I feel to a relatively few words. And often phrases of it are evocative and memorable, and come floating up into my mind at different times.

Like in this one, "A Christmas Sonnet, for one in Doubt" by Edward Arlington Robinson 

While you that in your sorrow disavow
Service and hope, see love and brotherhood
Far off as ever, it will do no good
For you to wear his thorns upon your brow
For doubt of him. And should you question how
To serve him best, he might say, if he could,
“Whether or not the cross was made of wood
Whereon you nailed me, is no matter now.”

Though other saviors have in older lore
A Legend, and for older gods have died—
Though death may wear the crown it always wore
And ignorance be still the sword of pride—
Something is here that was not here before,
And strangely has not yet been crucified.

I find the first lines of that come to me - perhaps more now than in the past, because now I DO feel like "love and brotherhood are as far off as ever" but I guess also Robinson is issuing a challenge to those who do feel it. 

I also think of Sir John Betjeman, who wrote in a happier vein, the poem "Christmas"

The bells of waiting Advent ring,
The Tortoise stove is lit again
And lamp-oil light across the night
Has caught the streaks of winter rain
In many a stained-glass window sheen
From Crimson Lake to Hookers Green.

The holly in the windy hedge
And round the Manor House the yew
Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge,
The altar, font and arch and pew,
So that the villagers can say
'The church looks nice' on Christmas Day.

Provincial Public Houses blaze,
Corporation tramcars clang,
On lighted tenements I gaze,
Where paper decorations hang,
And bunting in the red Town Hall
Says 'Merry Christmas to you all'.

And London shops on Christmas Eve
Are strung with silver bells and flowers
As hurrying clerks the City leave
To pigeon-haunted classic towers,
And marbled clouds go scudding by
The many-steepled London sky.

And girls in slacks remember Dad,
And oafish louts remember Mum,
And sleepless children's hearts are glad.
And Christmas-morning bells say 'Come!'
Even to shining ones who dwell
Safe in the Dorchester Hotel.

And is it true,
This most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,
A Baby in an ox's stall ?
The Maker of the stars and sea
Become a Child on earth for me ?

And is it true ? For if it is,
No loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies,
The sweet and silly Christmas things,
Bath salts and inexpensive scent
And hideous tie so kindly meant,

No love that in a family dwells,
No carolling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single Truth compare -
That God was man in Palestine
And lives today in Bread and Wine.

My understanding is he wrote this at a time when his faith had come back after a time of being absent, and so, there is what I hear as a grateful tone in the poem. I particularly like the final stanza. 

I also have a fondness for Longfellow's "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day," which is often slightly reorganized and used as a hymn in churches at Christmas

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
    And wild and sweet
    The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
    Had rolled along
    The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
    A voice, a chime,
    A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
    And with the sound
    The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
    And made forlorn
    The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
    "For hate is strong,
    And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
    The Wrong shall fail,
    The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men."

Longfellow was one of the so-called Fireside Poets - one of a group active in the late 19th century, who wrote following "conventional" styles and used sort-of-domestic subjects (hence: "Fireside," and also the idea that families would read these poems by the fire, a largely-vanished amusement). 

Longfellow experienced his share of tragedy; shortly before he wrote this his beloved second wife died after sustaining burns in a fire, and his son was badly injured fighting in a Union regiment in the Civil War. (And you can hear it, in the poem - that next to last stanza always, always gets me.)

One of the things I do like about some of these poems: they recognize that while Christmas is a joyful time, a celebration of the return of the Light of the World, they also recognize that individuals may have private tragedies, or melancholic inclinations, or be living in times that are less than the best, and so unalloyed joy may not be possible. The sort of "muddle on through somehow" attitude.