Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts

12.24.2019

what child is this




HOLIDAY MUSIC

The empty duplex is quiet tonight
though not completely silent.
Drumming in the basement –
Khaled rehearsing our old duet.

From different corners of the same planet
immigrants & refugees
hasten to the Twin Cities
as to gemütlich haven or warm magnet.

& history is like a palimpsest of pelts
trapped in somebody’s woods
before there were neighborhoods
or streetlights – only raw scalps, rotting guilts.

When we were that City on a Hill
of our imagination –
special paragon of Creation,
establishing law-&-order by God’s will

on earth.  But it wasn’t so beautiful.
The Magi rode by camel
across a parochial hell
subject to Herod & his trumpets (terrible);

the angels remained invisible, mostly;
& both the Ark of the Covenant
& ironclad Ship of State
came to resemble that drafty, mangy

manger itself.  Where Mary lay
& her shivering baby sighed
& Joseph almost died
of inhumanity.  Hush little baby, don’t you cry.

12.24.19

12.24.2018

wee bauble of Providence




MANGY TRUTH

Mark Twain, pilot, plummets
to the river-depths.
Hobo-poet steps
Twin Cities morris-dance (let’s

follow him).  The deep dive
of the mystery of each
child – landed on a beach
in Egypt, or in Bethlehem (I’ve

got a certain kid in mind).  Already
requiem in Alexandria
(the library).  Memento mori.
Osiris?  Full of bookworms, Henry.

A Master Mason?  Hire ‘im.
11.32 ft/sec...
– wait a sec – ham
radio?  In RI?  The signal’s dim.

Garfield died 23.5 degrees
off Library pedestal.
So we meet the eternal –
a starry Book Depository (seas

rising... queasy feeling) charms
the assassin into travesty
(sick temper, see).
O westward course of life’s alarms!

I don’t know where we’re going, Hobo
Henry wails.  An infant
Providence is born.  Want
mangy truth?  Frail monarch is a rainbow.

12.24.18

12.24.2017

quiet end of the year



LOVE’S CAVERN

At the quiet end of the year,
among the barn smells
a chilly infant wails –
a refugee.  Shepherds draw near.

He is king.  His mother is
queen.  His father is
a mule-driver (was,
anyway) – Vietnamese,

I think?  They live in Egypt now.
They’ve never seen Ghiberti’s
Gates of Paradise
that brazen lava overflow

to metamorphoses of fiery dream
and rock – sedimentary,
igneous, flickery...
roiling sun to spring, upstream;

they’ve never been to Providence
or heard the Rose Ensemble
whose violas tremble
with harmonious transience...

they live the poverty of innocence.
Light flickers in a manger.
Someone senses danger –
cows murmur, chickens grow tense...

enormous shadows of the monster-men
leer over flesh & blood.
It is the shadow of the rude
star burning in the last heaven

                  *

– the red star, bringing rectitude
out of the mild mien
of that child-man –
incarnate stony magnitude

heavy past sullen measurements
of every swollen tinpot
despot in his chariot.
Matrix of cosmic elements –

the figure of a man emerges,
burning in brazen tongs
and glossolalia of tongues
from every tribe.  Sea surges

multitudinous, incarnadine...
Ocean called universe
forging one verse
with arches (catenary, almondine).

So combers crested in a tower –
moonbright Witch’s Hat
tenting her desolate
oak-limbs (snowy owl’s bower).

Quetzalcoatl, brazen serpent,
lift each refugee of time
into your feathered rhyme
of flame.  Your flicker-tongue, sent

dancing into each soul’s paradigm –
the sparkling river, bent
back to its fundament;
Love’s cavern, salting every lime.

12.23.17

12.17.2015

Bathsheba takes a bath


HOBO SPAN

Nocturnal nadir of the year.
Gray oaks along the river
nestle in a manger
of their own dry leaves.  Cold here

for the wanderer, the no-count
strangeling (shiver-er).
Bring them in, Pierre.
We have room.  Starlight will haunt

the here & now (parochial).
Already the axe is laid
to the waste land, cried
Granddad (civil engineer).  O

Tannenbaum... (his favorite carol).
Would save the sacrificial
pine (last year’s Noël)
for this year’s fire.  King Cole

in Mississippi wood (sacred) –
The Bear, a Memphis barge
in Iowa (suspect
at large).  Uriah (Scapegoat Snared).

Bathsheba Takes a Bath (sit tight,
Hittite).  In poetry
Hamlet will flip & fry –
like Salem for bluff Endicott,

Sweet William in the vacant pine
(a free perennial).
Romany iron, after all.
This hobo span beams red & green.

12.17.15 

RR bridge, Minneapolis (red & green navigation lights barely visible)

12.23.2013

Christmas thoughts

O little towne of Providence, how cloudy-gray we see thee today...  looking out the library window on the old New England ville.  I'm about the last person here, the librarian-birds have flown the coop for the holidays.

"Providence" has a futuristic ring to it, in a theological sense.  It signals a Plan, a "divine economy" at work, somehow... a thought that easily leads us sleepy sheepies astray.  Into by-ways of fanaticism or complacency or quietism (quietism is a great danger to anyone spending a lot of time in a library).

The NY Times op-ed writer Ross Douthat posted an interesting column recently, sketching out some Babel-divides in the U.S. over beliefs & worldviews.  He suggests there are three main groups of thought : 1) believers in Biblical religion, all of whom ascribe, on a variable scale, some literal & historical actuality to the scriptures; 2) "spiritual" people, who trust in some over-arching spiritual meaning in experience, but who are not doctrinaire or especially focused on the rational grounds of same; 3) secular rationalists, people who do not believe in God or the promises of religion, but who are liberal idealists grounded in the humane reason of the Enlightenment.  Douthat presents his own opinions on the viability of each of these standpoints, & then closes with this passage :

"The cracks are visible, in philosophy and science alike. But the alternative is not. One can imagine possibilities: a deist revival or a pantheist turn, a new respect for biblical religion, a rebirth of the 20th century’s utopianism and will-to-power cruelty. 

"But for now, though a few intellectuals scan the heavens, they have yet to find their star." 

Their star.  It's been pointed out in various contexts that the Christmas holiday has morphed a lot over the centuries; that the celebration of Jesus's birthday was less important to the first Christians than the Easter time, & that the commercial/Santa-Claus family holiday we celebrate owes a lot to ancient pagan seasonal get-togethers.  All true.  But I guess to my mind our version of Christmas merges with the Epiphany holiday of early January (which is celebrated as Christmas, I think, in the Eastern Orthodox churches).  After all the nativity scene in the manger has its source in the Gospel story of the visit of the Magi, the three wise men from the East, who followed the "star" (perhaps an astrological symbol) to find the divine King... ie. this is the story of Epiphany.  All those Christmas creches and mangers stem from this story.

Epiphany... I believe the word originates in the Greek for "light".  Illumination.  The wonder of a discovery.  The Magi follow the star to find... the one about whom the Gospel of John states, "in Him was light, and the light was the light of men."

I had a delightful conversation at a neighborhood holiday party last weekend, with a young Brown professor (from India) who told me she was involved in a joint Brown/RISD project to develop a symposium/exhibit next year on the circus.  It sounds like a terrific idea.  Her own area of expertise happens to be the theme of animals in modern French/European literature.  I mentioned a New Yorker article from a few years back by William Dalrymple - I think it was called "Homer in India" - about contemporary Indian practitioners of archaic oral epic poetry.  I was reminded of a passage in that essay where Dalrymple talks about the special bond between humans and animals in the "shepherd" communities which maintained this kind of traditional poetry.

Anyway, it didn't occur to me at the time, but that little chat now seems sort of appropriate for the holiday season, with the stable & the manger & the sheep & the cows & the "shepherds keeping their watch by night". 

Poets have a professional bent toward metaphors, metamorphosis.  How a poem climbs up the "stairway of surprise" (Emerson's image).  So maybe we can develop an affinity for epiphany.  This is somewhat how I understand matters of theology & religion in general.  It's about metanoia - a "change of mind."  St. Paul talks about the main aim of discipleship (it's a discipline) as a "renewal of your mind".  Renewal through focus - training the eye toward God in all things.  Of course, in the end, it's about more than that, even : it's about a complete re-orientation of the whole person, a true and radical change of heart.  But it begins with epiphany - with a light turned on.

Nothing changes, seemingly, in the round of things.  The same stupid stuff happens.  There are no wonders in the sky or sea.  Yet we experience a change of heart... our eyes open.  In some mysterious fashion, our hard hearts of stone are softened into warm hearts of flesh.  Scrooge weeps & changes his ways.  We see our own ordinary lives in a completely new light.

The star... the star in the manger... among the animals.  What I see here is a symbol, a metaphor, for the wholeness of the human image.  I mean an image of global humanity assuming our whole dignity - our wholeness - among the domesticated animals.  Because outside the manger lurk the wilder beasts : the "ravening wolf", for example.  The wolf, the dragon, the monster... an image of the bloodthirsty tyrant, out hunting for the child, the true heir - Herod, massacring the innocents.  This is the counter-image of humanity stooping to sub-humanity : to brutality, violence, fraud, oppression.  This is the false tyrant seeking to destroy the true sovereign, the whole human Image.  This is the beginning of the Good Friday/Easter tale (at the other end of the "infancy narrative").  This is the tale of humanity's unfinished business : of a world still imprisoned by our own sub-human greed and brutality, our blind heartlessness, our bent toward complacent indifference, injustice.

Can we find the wisdom of Providence?  Perhaps it's emerging despite our foolishness.  Perhaps it's a gift which we don't deserve.  A new order of things, a reign of peace and justice together.

Ross Douthat describes an American Babel-divide between secularist, New Ageist, religionist.  If I were going to address this divide in a reasonable fashion, from my own perspective, I might refer people to the 20th-century philosopher/polymath/scientist Michael Polanyi.  I find in his writings, especially his main work Personal Knowledge, very strong and persuasive explanations of the intellectual gray area and battle-ground between science and faith.  For Polanyi, all human knowledge - science not excepted - is ultimately personal.  And yet he is able to synthesize this axiom with a conviction that knowledge also retains its proper objectivity, universality, and disinterestedness.

There is a theological corollary which fits as snugly as a shepherd's cap over Polanyi's argument.  This is the "theory" (or article of faith) that the facts and qualities we experience and understand about the human person represent partial evidence of a more profound, substantial Personhood.  It's hard to deny that this proposal requires a major act of imagination, or leap of faith, to accept.  But there it is.

So if we see the "child in the manger", under "the star", among the "shepherds with their flocks"... and recognize here a symbolic image, a story, representing some more general, universal fact - that is, the vision of the divine Person shining like a light through the human person there, in the "lowly stable"... well... maybe these are some of the materials of metamorphosis, a more pervasive Epiphany... something actually Providential...

12.26.2012

Jesus Thoughts (29) : happy birthdays

It occurred to me today - the day after Christmas, my mother's 85th birthday - that the enormous holiday which is Christmas is first of all a birthday celebration.  A feast-day, a name-day. & it brought to mind how important birthdays are in so many cultures around the world; & how, despite that fact that there seem to be much more weighty dimensions of Christianity (the kingdom of God; conversion, repentance; eternal life; the Trinity, & so forth), Christmas still a sort of birthday party, after all.

But maybe there's a way of thinking about this which reconciles these aspects - the kingdom of God & birthday parties.  What is the kingdom of God, after all?  Something we cannot enter "unless we become as little children."  A kingdom of metamorphosis : not just a Disney fantasy or Tolkien movie, something we go back to "real life" from (out in the theater complex parking lot).  The claims of Jesus for the kingdom of God are absolute : it's life outside the kingdom which is only a mirage.  The actual Way, Truth, and Life emerge in tandem with the real kingdom of heaven.

Jesus's message ravels together many threads, and centers them on his own person.  As Messiah, he brings the kingdom with him into Israel.  As the Son of God, he reveals the true character of each person's relationship with his or her Creator : he is the exemplar of an actual spiritual bond each of us can claim with God.  He celebrated this new actuality with feasting.  We behold the image of Jesus traveling about, opening doors wide - welcoming the sick, the poor & sinners into his banquet of kingdom come - of God come to earth as Man, binding the two together.

What is it about birthdays?  On birthdays, we celebrate & honor the unique, irreplaceable person.  There is no substitute for a life : there is no one just like my mother; there is no one just like you; there is no one just like me.  On birthdays we draw a magic circle around the life of one person, beginning with the day it began on earth : the day we came out of our mother's womb into the light of day : of time, space, love, pain, suffering, mortality...

Our birthday tracks back to our origins - in the womb, before the womb.  Thus birthdays have a metaphysical dimension, residing in a mystery, "the original origin."  Jesus says we must be born again to enter his kingdom : we must have a new birthday, which acknowledges the cosmic context of our original birthday.  We are born into a relationship with the mysterious personhood of God.  The entire cosmos was shaped to allow this bond of truth and love to become, to bloom - to fly free into multifarious, interplanetary "incarnations."  Bloomsday, indeed!

& it occurs to me that the feast of Epiphany, coming soon, is another kind of birthday celebration (the Orthodox Christmas, in fact) - since the Magi, the "wise men," sought out Jesus following a star - an astrological, natal star, guiding them to the royal one who has just been born.

(Of course birthdays seem to be a writerly obsession with me... if you do a google search of this blog with the word "birthday" you'll see what I mean.  Here's one example...)