Two Christmas Poems

 

IN THE WEEK WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES

By Eleanor Farjeon

 

This is the week when Christmas comes,
     Let every pudding burst with plums,
And every tree bear dolls and drums,
     In the week when Christmas comes.

Let every hall have boughs of green,
With berries glowing in between,
     In the week when Christmas comes.

Let every doorstep have a song
Sounding the dark street along,
     In the week when Christmas comes.

Let every steeple ring a bell
With a joyful tale to tell,
     In the week when Christmas comes.

Let every night put forth a star
To show us where the heavens are,
     In the week when Christmas comes.

Let every pen enfold a lamb
Sleeping warm beside its dam,
     In the week when Christmas comes.

This is the week when Christmas comes.

 

********************

 

 

 

[little tree]                                            

By E. E. Cummings

 

little tree

little silent Christmas tree

you are so little

you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest

and were you very sorry to come away?

see          i will comfort you

because you smell so sweetly
 

i will kiss your cool bark

and hug you safe and tight

just as your mother would,

only don't be afraid
 

look          the spangles

that sleep all the year in a dark box

dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,

the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,

put up your little arms

and i'll give them all to you to hold

every finger shall have its ring

and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy

then when you're quite dressed

you'll stand in the window for everyone to see

and how they'll stare!

oh but you'll be very proud

and my little sister and i will take hands

and looking up at our beautiful tree

we'll dance and sing

"Noel Noel"

*************** 

 

Buffy Silverman has the Poetry Friday Roundup this week.

        

 

Things to Do If You Are Santa Claus: An Original List Poem



The year 2011 has indeed been a great one for me. I became a grandmother--which was truly a thrill! I also sold my first book--a collection of "things to do" poems--to Chronicle Press. I signed the contract in the fall. I thought I'd wait until now to make the announcement.

One of the most interesting things about the sale of my poetry manuscript: I didn't submit it to Chronicle. Grace Lin did. She sent it to her editor there--who liked the collection.



Grace Lin

As the year 2011 comes to a close, I'd to thank two good friends who helped critique and give me suggestions about my "things to do" poetry collection: Janet Wong and, of course, Grace Lin. I also want to thank my daughter and son-in-law for giving me the most adorable granddaughter in the world!

My Granddaughter Julia Anna



I thought I'd write a special "things to do" Christmas poem to celebrate the sale of my poetry manuscript. I still have to work on the ending. Note: I don't have as much time for blogging and writing now because I spend half the week providing daycare for Julia Anna. She's the gift that keeps on giving!

Things to Do If You Are Santa Claus

Have a big round belly,
Cheeks rosy red.
Wear a furry cap
On top of your head,
A wide black belt
With a buckle of gold.
Live at the top of the world
Where it's cold.
Grow a bushy beard
That's white as snow.
Be jolly and laugh
With a Ho-Ho-Ho!
On Christmas Eve,
Set off on your sleigh
With a red-nosed reindeer
Leading the way
Through a midnight sky
On a chilling night
When a guiding star
Blazes bright.



The Poetry Friday Roundup is at Dori Reads.

Christmas Poetry from Wild Rose Reader

I thought I'd post some of my original Christmas poems this Friday.

Wrapped around itself,
Red-ribboned
Evergreen, fragrant of winter forests,
Adorned with berries, baubles, bells of gold,
Tacked to the front door...
Home for the holidays.


Trimmed with tinsel, bedecked with shiny bulbs,
Ribboned with red satin, strung with bright lights—
Each twinkling like an earthbound star in an
Evergreen sky.


Santa snaps the reins. Red-nosed Rudolph
Leads the team of reindeer this early winter
Eve. Up, up
Into the sky with a cargo of Christmas
Gifts and goodies they rise, weaving through clouds. Can you
Hear the merry jingle of their silver bells?

Candy Cane

Wrapped in a cellophane of sound:
a striped stick of sweetness,
red as Rudolph’s nose,
white as Santa’s beard.
Crinkle open your peppermint present.
Let your tongue celebrate
the wintry taste of Christmas.

Christmas Tree,

silvered with tinsel,

sparkling with shiny bulbs,

twinkling with tiny stars,

breathing out

the scent of forest greenery

into our house for the holidays

Christmas Present

Gussied up

in bright red wrapping,

ribboned with gold—

what is the secret

that you hold?

Things to Do If You Are a Bell

Ride on a reindeer’s harness.
Tinkle in the icy air.
Jingle across milk-white snow.
Sing with a silver tongue.

MEMOIR POEMS

The Christmas Babka

 
We watch Babci make the Christmas babka.

With plump peasant hands

she kneads sweet dough

on the white porcelain-topped table,

places it in a large sky-blue bowl,

covers it with a damp towel,

and sets it on the kitchen counter

near the hissing radiator.

Swelling with bubbles of air,

the dough rises into a pale yellow cloud

flecked with bits of orange rind.

The baking babka fills the house

with the scent of Christmas.
 

 

We eat the bread fresh from the oven,

its insides steaming and golden—

a homemade treasure

rich enough to warm a winter night.

Christmas Eve

Just after sunset the whole family gathers
in my grandparents’ kitchen.
My father, Uncle Benny, and Dzidzi
bring up the spare table and chairs from the cellar.
Babci spreads white cloths printed with red ribbons
and bright green wreaths over the two tables.
Then she lays out platters of pierogis,
pillows of homemade dough
stuffed with fluffy mashed potatoes and onions
or sauerkraut, a bowl of jellied carp,
pickled herring smothered in onions,
and small dishes of horseradish
tinted pink with beet juice.
Before eating we stand around the table.
Dzidzi breaks the oplatek,
the thin white wafer blessed by the priest.
When everyone has taken a piece,
Dzidzi gives his blessing,
“May we all be happy, healthy,
and together in the year to come.”

Christmas Eve Polka

After dinner
Uncle Benny opens his black instrument case
and lifts out his accordion.
He stretches it open, presses it closed.
We listen to it breathe and sigh.
He straps it over his broad shoulders.
Then he taps his right foot
on the shiny yellow linoleum,
sways from side to side
and makes it sing.
We polka out of the kitchen,
across the tiny parlor,
and down the narrow hallway
back into the kitchen.
Round and round
we dance through the house
making circles of laughter,
making circles of love.

Remember

Dzidzi tells us to put on our coats.
He steps off the front porch
and leads us down the stone walk
into the night.
Standing at the edge of his garden,
He looks up at the winter sky.
“There,” he says pointing to Orion’s belt.
“There are the Three Wise Men.
They followed a bright star to Bethlehem.
They journeyed far from home
just as Babci and I did many years ago
when we left Poland to come to America.”
He turns his eyes toward the house,
red lights glowing in the windows,
then gazes at his snow-covered garden.
“Remember this night,” he tells us.
“Remember this place.
Remember all the happy times we have shared here.
Every Christmas Eve look up at the Three Wise Men
and remember.”

The Poetry Friday Roundup is at Book Aunt this week.

Christmas Eve: An Original Memoir Poem

I’ve already begun food preparations for our family’s Christmas Eve dinner. We still dine on traditional Polish foods on December 24th. Fish and pierogis, which look a lot like Chinese potstickers, are what we eat—no meat on Christmas Eve. One of the traditional dishes we don’t eat any longer is jellied carp. EW!!!

Yesterday, I prepared the stuffing for the potato and onion pierogis. Today, I’m going to get to work on the stuffing for the mushroom pierogis—which I make with mascarpone cheese and mushroom duxelles. This weekend my daughter, my two nieces, and I will be stuffing about 150 pierogis. (One of my nieces is going to make the potato and cheese pierogis at her house.) Then we’ll freeze all the pierogis and cook them up just before our Christmas Eve feast.

My older niece, who will be our holiday hostess, will bake haddock and scallops. We’ll also have pickled herring. We’ll serve the fish and pierogis with sour cream, horseradish, and my niece’s delicious homemade tartar sauce.

When I was young, my maternal grandparents hosted the family Christmas Eve dinner. It was always a magic night for me. I loved gathering together with my grandparents, aunts, my uncle, and my first cousins. We always had such fun together. We kids would stuff ourselves with pierogis. We’d dance around the house while my Uncle Benny played his accordion. We’d exchange presents—and share a lot of laughs.

Here’s a memoir poem I wrote about a typical Christmas Eve at my grandparent’s house. The details are still clear in my mind after more than half a century.


CHRISTMAS EVE
By Elaine Magliaro

Just after sunset the whole family gathers
in my grandparents’ kitchen.
My father, Uncle Benny, and Dzidzi
bring up the spare table and chairs from the cellar.
Babci spreads white cloths printed with red ribbons
and bright green wreaths over the two tables.
Then she lays out platters of pierogis,
pillows of homemade dough
stuffed with fluffy mashed potatoes and onions
or sauerkraut, a bowl of jellied carp,
pickled herring smothered in onions,
and small dishes of horseradish
tinted pink with beet juice.
Before eating we stand around the table.
Dzidzi breaks the oplatek,
the thin white wafer blessed by the priest.
When everyone has taken a piece,
Dzidzi gives his blessing,
“May we all be happy, healthy,
and together in the year to come.”

***************

Amy has the Poetry Friday Roundup at The Poem Farm.

Christmas Poems & A Christmas Video

I'm re-posting several of my original Christmas poems that have appeared at Wild Rose Reader in the past. I also have Christmas Eve Polka, a poem I wrote for my unpublished collection of memoir poems--A Home for the Seasons. Christmas Eve has always been the special holiday time for my family. We make traditional foods like pierogis for our Christmas Eve dinner. We eat no meat. We exchange gifts--and celebrate family.

When I was young, we gathered at the home of my maternal grandparents early on Christmas Eve. My Babci and Dzidzi had six grandchildren--all girls. We had a grand time together--eating, laughing, dancing around when my Uncle Benny played his accordion. I wrote Christmas Eve Polka in memory of my uncle--who always took time to make his four nieces feel like special people--and the happy times I spent at my grandparents' house on Christmas Eve.

I've also included a special Christmas video for you


Christmas Eve Polka

After dinner
Uncle Benny opens his black instrument case
and lifts out his accordion.
He stretches it open, presses it closed.
We listen to it breathe and sigh.
He straps it over his broad shoulders.
Then he taps his right foot
on the shiny yellow linoleum,
sways from side to side
and makes it sing.
We polka out of the kitchen,
across the tiny parlor,
and down the narrow hallway
back into the kitchen.
Round and round
we dance through the house
making circles of laughter,
making circles of love.


Wrapped around itself,
Red-ribboned
Evergreen, fragrant of winter forests,
Adorned with berries, baubles, bells of gold,
Tacked to the front door...
Home for the holidays.

Trimmed with tinsel, bedecked with shiny bulbs,
Ribboned with red satin, strung with bright lights—
Each twinkling like an earthbound star in an
Evergreen sky.


Santa snaps the reins. Red-nosed Rudolph

Leads the team of reindeer this early winter

Eve. Up, up

Into the sky with a cargo of Christmas

Gifts and goodies they rise, weaving through clouds. Can you

Hear the merry jingle of their silver bells?

Candy Cane

Wrapped in a cellophane of sound:
a striped stick of sweetness,
red as Rudolph’s nose,
white as Santa’s beard.
Crinkle open your peppermint present.
Let your tongue celebrate
the wintry taste of Christmas.


Things to Do If You If You Are a Bell

Ride on a reindeer’s harness.
Tinkle in the icy air.
Jingle across milk-white snow.
Sing with a silver tongue.


THE CHRISTMAS BABKA

We watch Babci make the Christmas babka.
With plump peasant hands
she kneads sweet dough
on the white porcelain-topped table,
places it in a large sky-blue bowl,
covers it with a damp towel,
and sets it on the kitchen counter
near the hissing radiator.
Swelling with bubbles of air,
the dough rises into a pale yellow cloud
flecked with bits of orange rind.
The baking babka fills the house
with the scent of Christmas.
We eat the bread fresh from the oven,
its insides steaming and golden—a homemade treasure
rich enough to warm a winter night.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!!!

At Blue Rose Girls, I have a video of Judy Garland singing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas and a special Elf Yourself greeting.

The Poetry Friday Roundup is at Book Aunt.