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Two Christmas Poems
Joseph O'Brien
Native Scene
- The beasts of Jerusalem will murder him, but in the meantime the beasts of Bethlehem warm him with their breath. — Giovanni Papini
- Nights are still cold on the starry hillside;
- Dew still freezes in our sockets at dawn;
- Our flocks still stir at a tree’s windy shade,
- Moonlit and star-crossed, now and now again.
- In camp, we still sound David’s ditties on long
- Winter nights and the trade still goes, father
- To son. A ewe’s birthing-bleat stills our song
- And calls us back to scenes of another:
- A brute moldy odor stunk up the hay,
- Cows munched and passed the new into roughage,
- And lice jump from stall to stall. You might say
- All these were keepsakes, too, for heart’s old age.
- But it’s only right. Beasts should have been there
- First. Didn’t they see the world first, unspoiled
- And native as the ruddy-faced mother,
- The chafed flesh of her winter-glowing child?
- The quick and measured jets of breath halted
- At our entrance. Each looked on with an im-
- Patient flap of an ear, heads piqued and tilted.
- Yes, each seemed to say, it’s been a long time.
Christmas
…cujus coelesti mysterio pascimur et potamur.
- No blood would pass, and maidenhead unabridged
- Retained a purity beyond all words —
- All words but One of course. Yet double-edged
- To spit her heart and turn her sorrow, swords
- Would point her toward another moment cradled
- By wood before she lifted up and coddled
- His body once again. While Bethlehem
- Will drink the blood not his, Jerusalem
- Remains in shadows not his — for King Herod
- Will wait. He sleeps in peace. But innocence
- Today awakes this hour of recompense
- For evergreen and blood’s more fragile merit;
- Each announces in a tremendous way
- The hue and cry that colors Christmas day.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Two Christmas Poems
Two Christmas Poems
Joseph O'Brien
Native Scene
- The beasts of Jerusalem will murder him, but in the meantime the beasts of Bethlehem warm him with their breath. — Giovanni Papini
- Nights are still cold on the starry hillside;
- Dew still freezes in our sockets at dawn;
- Our flocks still stir at a tree’s windy shade,
- Moonlit and star-crossed, now and now again.
- In camp, we still sound David’s ditties on long
- Winter nights and the trade still goes, father
- To son. A ewe’s birthing-bleat stills our song
- And calls us back to scenes of another:
- A brute moldy odor stunk up the hay,
- Cows munched and passed the new into roughage,
- And lice jump from stall to stall. You might say
- All these were keepsakes, too, for heart’s old age.
- But it’s only right. Beasts should have been there
- First. Didn’t they see the world first, unspoiled
- And native as the ruddy-faced mother,
- The chafed flesh of her winter-glowing child?
- The quick and measured jets of breath halted
- At our entrance. Each looked on with an im-
- Patient flap of an ear, heads piqued and tilted.
- Yes, each seemed to say, it’s been a long time.
Christmas
…cujus coelesti mysterio pascimur et potamur.
- No blood would pass, and maidenhead unabridged
- Retained a purity beyond all words —
- All words but One of course. Yet double-edged
- To spit her heart and turn her sorrow, swords
- Would point her toward another moment cradled
- By wood before she lifted up and coddled
- His body once again. While Bethlehem
- Will drink the blood not his, Jerusalem
- Remains in shadows not his — for King Herod
- Will wait. He sleeps in peace. But innocence
- Today awakes this hour of recompense
- For evergreen and blood’s more fragile merit;
- Each announces in a tremendous way
- The hue and cry that colors Christmas day.