December already, and Advent. I was in the cathedral yesterday for a candlelit ceremony of readings and music, including the Great 'O' Antiphons. The choir was on top form, creating some quite extraordinary harmonies; the cathedral was chock full; and the whole occasion was beautiful, numinous and joyful. I'll be back, at least for the Festival of Lessons and Carols.
And meanwhile, in parallel with Advent, the Xmas juggernaut of consumer excess, which got under way at least a month ago, trundles on, more oppressive and dispiriting (at least to me) every year. Soon I shall be writing Christmas cards, one of the less irksome tasks of the season – and, as it happens, have just come across this apposite poem by the Midwestern poet Ted Kooser –
Christmas Mail
Cards in each mailbox,
angel, manger, star and lamb,
as the rural carrier,
driving the snowy roads,
hears from her bundles
the plaintive bleating of sheep,
the shuffle of sandals,
the clopping of camels.
At stop after stop,
she opens the little tin door
and places deep in the shadows
the shepherds and wise men,
the donkeys lank and weary,
the cow who chews and muses.
And from her Styrofoam cup,
white as a star and perched
on the dashboard, leading her
ever into the distance,
there is a hint of hazelnut,
and then a touch of myrrh.
Kooser, who is still with us (in his 80s), is a poet I had not heard of before, a writer of short, accessible but subtle and very accomplished verse. His poems, to quote Dana Gioia, offer 'small but genuine insights into the world of everyday experience' and he makes no effort to court 'the specialised minority readership that now sustains poetry'. I'm going to be seeking out more of his work, and might well pass some of his poems on to the specialised minority readership that sustains Nigeness.
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