Of course, Max is in the US, so was still writing before 2015 arrived, while Bill is writing from the other side of that divide.
Whatever: my wishes for a terrific 2015 to all…
Doug
On Dec 31, 2014, at 4:11 PM, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Bad form. It's funny isn't it, Max. You both so seem to agree with the ludicrousness of all the festivity and yet some vestige of hankering for surprise and/or ritual play lingers.
>
> Hadn't thought about that chimney lack being such a 'fretful' thing. But I suppose it could be, like another diminished thing: backyards, no longer available to go out and play in, new houses being banged up hard against fences, no room for a clothesline much less a makeshift cricket pitch.
>
> Ho ho,
> Bill
>
>
>> On 31 Dec 2014, at 4:39 pm, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>>
>> Christmas Trees
>>
>> Days to go before Twelfth Night
>> and I’m stumbling on the pavement
>> stubbing my toes on pine trees -
>>
>> last week in those apartments
>> they were propped up, lit up,
>> crowned with angel or star.
>>
>> At the base piled up gifts
>> wrapped in red and green, tied
>> with gaudy ribbons. Kids
>>
>> wrote notes to Santa, helped
>> mother in the kitchen, fretted
>> that they lacked a chimney.
>>
>> Red stockings fastened
>> to high window ledges.
>> The shopping! in the elevator
>>
>> dog and I, nostrils twitching,
>> leaned towards bulging
>> bags of food, leaned back
>>
>> as pine-tree pongs assailed us,
>> and prickly pine-arms pushed
>> us to the elevator corner.
>>
>> I spoke to a human behind one,
>> smaller than the tree he’d bought.
>> Wonderful custom, he grumbled.
>>
>> Outside town, acres had been
>> clear-felled of these, next year’s
>> crops were in the offing.
>>
>> Have a good one, everyone
>> was saying to everyone.
>> These days, happy for others,
>>
>> I don’t do Christmas.
>> Music, yes, croaking first
>> verses of old carol favorites,
>>
>> leaving the choirs to finish.
>> I wrapped some books, recently
>> smuggled in (unwarranted expense),
>>
>> propped them by our bed
>> at midnight, saying Let’s open
>> our parcels now, then sleep.
>>
>> Bad form. Christmas breakfast,
>> two of us and the dogs,
>> a certain ruefulness.
>>
>> At least we didn’t have a tree.
>> Now I’m walking a dog,
>> our nostrils twitching -
>>
>> superfluous evergreens
>> endanger our outing -
>> wishing the world preferred
>>
>> the artificial everlasting
>> totally kitschy trees that get
>> squeezed back in their box
>>
>> like resolutions briefly
>> on show for the time of year,
>> seeing out the old, seeing in the new.
>>
>> 29 December 2014 / Seattle / Max R
>
Douglas Barbour
[log in to unmask]
Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuation 2 (UofAPress).
Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
that we are only
as we find out we are
Charles Olson
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