Saturday, December 17, 2016

More Winter Poetry



Christmas Trees

By William Logan b. 1950  

How should I now recall

the icy lace of the pane

like a sheet of cellophane,

or the skies of alcohol


poured over the saltbox town?

On that stony New England tableau,

the halo of falling snow

glared like a waxy crown.


Through blue frozen lots

my giant parents strolled,

wrapped tight against the cold

like woolen Argonauts,


searching for that tall

perfection of Scotch pine

from the hundreds laid in line

like the dead at Guadalcanal.



The clapboard village aglow

that starry stark December

I barely now remember,

or the brutish ache of snow



burning my face like quicklime.

Yet one thing was still missing.

I saw my parents kissing,

perhaps for the last time.
REFLECTIVE MUSIC: O Tannenbaum, arranged by Dave Brubeck




The Snow Fairy

By Claude McKay 1889–1948   

Throughout the afternoon I watched them there, 

Snow-fairies falling, falling from the sky, 

Whirling fantastic in the misty air, 

Contending fierce for space supremacy. 

And they flew down a mightier force at night, 

As though in heaven there was revolt and riot, 

And they, frail things had taken panic flight 

Down to the calm earth seeking peace and quiet. 

I went to bed and rose at early dawn 

To see them huddled together in a heap, 

Each merged into the other upon the lawn, 

Worn out by the sharp struggle, fast asleep. 

The sun shone brightly on them half the day, 

By night they stealthily had stol’n away


     II 





And suddenly my thoughts then turned to you 

Who came to me upon a winter’s night, 

When snow-sprites round my attic window flew, 

Your hair disheveled, eyes aglow with light. 

My heart was like the weather when you came, 

The wanton winds were blowing loud and long; 

But you, with joy and passion all aflame, 

You danced and sang a lilting summer song. 

I made room for you in my little bed, 

Took covers from the closet fresh and warm, 

A downful pillow for your scented head, 

And lay down with you resting in my arm. 

You went with Dawn. You left me ere the day, 

The lonely actor of a dreamy play.

REFLECTIVE MUSIC: The Snow Is Dancing by Claude Debussy




Reluctance

By Robert Frost 1874–1963 

Out through the fields and the woods

   And over the walls I have wended;

I have climbed the hills of view

   And looked at the world, and descended;

I have come by the highway home,

   And lo, it is ended.



The leaves are all dead on the ground,

   Save those that the oak is keeping

To ravel them one by one

   And let them go scraping and creeping

Out over the crusted snow,

   When others are sleeping.



And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,

   No longer blown hither and thither;

The last lone aster is gone;

   The flowers of the witch hazel wither;

The heart is still aching to seek,

   But the feet question ‘Whither?’



Ah, when to the heart of man

   Was it ever less than a treason

To go with the drift of things,

   To yield with a grace to reason,

And bow and accept the end

   Of a love or a season?
REFLECTIVE MUSIC: Now, O Now, I Needs Must Part by John Dowland



Winter Stars

By Sara Teasdale 1884–1933 

I went out at night alone;

 The young blood flowing beyond the sea

Seemed to have drenched my spirit’s wings—

 I bore my sorrow heavily.


But when I lifted up my head

 From shadows shaken on the snow,

I saw Orion in the east

 Burn steadily as long ago.



From windows in my father’s house,

 Dreaming my dreams on winter nights,

I watched Orion as a girl

 Above another city’s lights.



Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too,

 The world’s heart breaks beneath its wars,

All things are changed, save in the east

 The faithful beauty of the stars.
REFLECTIVE MUSIC: How Brightly Shines the Morning Star



Snowflake

By William Baer b. 1948 



Timing’s everything. The vapor rises

high in the sky, tossing to and fro,

then freezes, suddenly, and crystalizes

into a perfect flake of miraculous snow.

For countless miles, drifting east above

the world, whirling about in a swirling free-

for-all, appearing aimless, just like love,

but sensing, seeking out, its destiny.

Falling to where the two young skaters stand,

hand in hand, then flips and dips and whips

itself about to ever-so-gently land,

a miracle, across her unkissed lips:

as he blocks the wind raging from the south,

leaning forward to kiss her lovely mouth.
REFLECTIVE MUSIC:Winter (from "The Four Seasons") by Alexander Glazunov


No comments:

Post a Comment