'dog in the manger' blood wine these cannibalistic rites -nice songs
though!! anyway happy midwinter from here to your midsummer P (crachty old
atheist!)
-----Original Message-----
From: Max Richards
Sent: Wednesday, December 30, 2015 4:49 AM
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: 'Singing to Myself'
Singing to Myself
[Seattle, 24 December 2015]
Standing room only tonight
in the Catholic Cathedral -
bleak midwinter’s festival -
Christmas Eve’s big turn-out.
There’s a choir obliging
their conductor and us,
a lot of assistants
in long white garments
processing with candles
held high - then the mitred
Archbishop smiling as if
a world-celebrity chef.
Carols everyone knows
and joins in heartily:
Hark the herald angels
sing - and all but me.
Once I had a voice, once
I sang - in choirs, in the car,
in the bathroom, in the bar.
That was then - since when
I stand mute, while round me
Christmas carolers’ ‘God
rest you, merry gentlemen,
let nothing you dismay’
touches me immensely,
silently. I feel it in my
larynx and lungs, tensely.
Eyes sometimes water.
The young! how they sing!
the middle-aged also.
I’ve been middle-aged too.
Though not of any flock,
I sang for my memories
of sweetness in company,
my lack of a shepherd,
my sceptic’s teasing,
dog in the manger,
amused at believers
whose Christmas music
gave me the shivers.
Sumptuous this high
cathedral where we well-fed
folk celebrate with brass
fanfare and great organ
a proud religion’s
humble origin
in a baby being born.
On a tall pole leans
a wooden cross, nailed
to it a silver Christ.
In the procession
it came in first.
I could come back
at Easter-time, music
also beyond my voice,
miracles even further
beyond me; singing
to myself about peace,
no-faith nor multi-faith,
without sustaining myth;
voicing no image
of the divine,
just of human
love, bread and wine.
|