Stellulam sequendo

[sovay]

As a small child, inexperienced in the ways of Christmas carols, I believed for years that "to certain" was a verb—to set someone straight, to explain the situation; to make them certain. The first Noel, the angels did say, was to certain poor shepherds in fields where they lay. What's with this star overhead? Who were those three foreigners? Why is an angel talking to me? Relax; we have all the answers. And in a minute, so will you. Noel.

With perhaps slightly less cause, but wider creative application, I also thought that the line in "Hark, The Herald Angels Sing" was not "God and sinners reconciled" but "God and Satan . . ."

Further deponent saith not. Merry Christmas.

Perdidit Spolia

This time of year, the angel on the doorstep
tousles no snow from his hair, bright as haws,
a halo only in sunrise or sunset flare,
but for him the candles bob down their flames
and the fire gutters like a heartbeat on the grate,
annunciatory, reverent, tell-tale: the tree-lights
alone shift their colored shadows on the walls.
Let him in, even if his hands are limned inside
with the death of the sun, bloodied and pale,
if, under his old coat, his shoulders settle
like restless ravens, if he smiles not wisely
at the star-scanned sky, but sidelong as scissors
snapped shut—he fingers absently at fir needles,
amber and smoke. Aurum, thus et myrrham
ei offerendo. Even if he tosses and catches
an apple, cold-flawed, not quite round as the world,
bid him welcome: in his pockets, up his sleeves,
he carries light. He will not speak of heights,
or falls. By firelight, his glance scalds,
but he will play solitaire among the glass-shine
and tinsel, quietly; entertained; aware.
Cathedral windows come and go in the branches.
The dragon-star burns westward through the dark.
With the dawn, he departs; the apple-core to lie
uncorrupted in the ashes until St. John's Eve,
but his price is paid. He leaves for his brother
seeds of fire in the snow and a garland of thorn
black as iron nails and berried with heart's blood,
yet flowered white in winter: a gift of souls
that harbor the daylight and the dark as one,
rooted, falling, rising, earthly, deathless.

Comments

[papersky.livejournal.com]

That's lovely. Thank you.

I used to think it was "God and singers reconciled" which made sense to me at the time. I also thought it was "O come let us adorn him" until I learned it in Welsh and Latin and found out what it meant.

[time-shark.livejournal.com]

I really like this poem. And this version of the holiday would be much more interesting.

[setsuled.livejournal.com]

Lovely poem. With a very intriguing character.

[shewhomust.livejournal.com]

Oh, very fine.

[clarionj.livejournal.com]

Thank you, once again you bring back the mystery, spark curiosity, build connections that make things, to me, more difficult but more hopeful, or maybe I mean more human.

[strange-selkie.livejournal.com]

Is it a poem, or a carol? I must evaluate the one differently from the other.

And. Did you get your parcel.

[sovay]

Is it a poem, or a carol? I must evaluate the one differently from the other.

It's a poem: I'm not sure it could be sung. It just makes use of "Personent Hodie."

And. Did you get your parcel.

I did! It turned out to have arrived several days ago, but my parents had squirreled it away to place—like a proper present—beneath the tree on Christmas morning. Thank you so much. Right now, books and tea really do help. I fear your present will be more like a New Year's arrival, but . . .

[strange-selkie.livejournal.com]

:) Let me know what you think of The Penelopiad. Also, you must learn a song called 'Ms. Fogarty's Christmas Cake'. I will try to dig up a copy.

[sovay]

I also thought it was "O come let us adorn him"

Makes perfect sense to me . . .

until I learned it in Welsh and Latin and found out what it meant.

That is a wonderful statement.

[sovay]

And this version of the holiday would be much more interesting.

Heh. Thank you. The first two lines and the last sentence arrived simultaneously with the idea that each Christmas Satan gives Jesus a wreath, which was not exactly how the poem came out. Oh, well.

[sovay]

Also, you must learn a song called 'Ms. Fogarty's Christmas Cake'. I will try to dig up a copy.

I seem to have destroyed the continuity of our conversation, but I'm certainly curious. It's not the baked-goods equivalent of "Who Threw The Overalls In Mrs. Murphy's Chowder," is it?

[sovay]

Thank you!

[thewriteratwork.livejournal.com]

What's with this star overhead? Who were those three foreigners? Why is an angel talking to me? Relax; we have all the answers. And in a minute, so will you. Noel.

*dies laughing*
*almost falls out of bed from laughing*


The poem is wonderful. I particularly love 'if he smiles not wisely
at the star-scanned sky, but sidelong as scissors snapped shut' as well as everything from 'cathedral windows'.

[sovay]

*dies laughing*
*almost falls out of bed from laughing*

May your days be merry and bright. : )

I particularly love 'if he smiles not wisely
at the star-scanned sky, but sidelong as scissors snapped shut' as well as everything from 'cathedral windows'.

Thank you!

[larryhammer]

Very nice. Nailed that ending, especially.

---L.

[sovay]

Nailed that ending, especially.

Thank you.

[sovay]

With a very intriguing character.

Thank you. I like folkloric devils.

[sovay]

Thank you, once again you bring back the mystery, spark curiosity, build connections that make things, to me, more difficult but more hopeful, or maybe I mean more human.

This is very high praise (and beautiful). Thank you!

[seajules]

Oh, that's gorgeous. I can't pick a favorite line, they're all so evocative. And possibly it's presumptuous of me, but I can't help but wonder what would happen if our gift-bearers were to meet.

[sovay]

I can't help but wonder what would happen if our gift-bearers were to meet.

That would be made of awesome.

[seajules]

Or at least made of awe. *G* They shop at the same fruit vendor, I'd wager.

[sovay]

They shop at the same fruit vendor, I'd wager.

Hee. Can you imagine being the owner of that store?

[seajules]

I have my suspicions the shop owner is similarly...unique.

[sovay]

I have my suspicions the shop owner is similarly...unique.

Tell me about them.

[ap-aelfwine.livejournal.com]

Also, you must learn a song called 'Ms. Fogarty's Christmas Cake'. I will try to dig up a copy.

I'm thinking I heard Robbie O'Connell sing that when I saw him with his cousins a few weeks ago.

Brilliant song, esp. the bit about needing a hatchet to cut it. ;-)

[ap-aelfwine.livejournal.com]

Quite lovely, and interesting.

As a small child, inexperienced in the ways of Christmas carols, I believed for years that "to certain" was a verb—to set someone straight, to explain the situation; to make them certain

*snort*

That makes sense, really.

As a child, I thought there must be a sort of raptor which particularly fed on cats, and that the place called "Kitty Hawk" had been named for them.

[asakiyume.livejournal.com]

Oh, just wonderful--came here and saw it only now because seajules referred to it in spec_poetry


if he smiles not wisely
at the star-scanned sky, but sidelong as scissors
snapped shut—he fingers absently at fir needles,
amber and smoke.

Sidelong as scissors snapped shut. That's an amazing image. Just great.

And--I like the whole *idea* of this poem. And I notice you said you like folkloric devils. Me too.

[sovay]

And--I like the whole *idea* of this poem. And I notice you said you like folkloric devils. Me too.

Thank you!