Three Poems for Christmas
In light of the holiday season, here are three poems for Christmas.
Langston Hughes wrote quite a few Christmas poems, but this one about Midnight on Christmas Eve in Manhattan is of course my favorite. There is no place like New York City on Christmas.
"Christmas Eve: Nearing Midnight In New York," by Langston Hughes
The Christmas trees are almost all sold
And the ones that are left go cheap
The children almost all over town
Have almost gone to sleep.
The skyscraper lights on Christmas Eve
Have almost all gone out
There’s very little traffic
Almost no one about.
Our town’s almost as quiet
As Bethlehem must have been
Before a sudden angel chorus
Sang PEACE ON EARTH
GOOD WILL TO MEN!
Our old Statue of Liberty
Looks down almost with a smile
As the Island of Manhattan
Awaits the morning of the Child.
Rita Dove is one of my favorite poets, ever. And though "Wiring Home" isn't exactly a poem about Christmas (at least not obviously so), something about the city scene she sets—the way she moves through the imagery, the warm tone, and especially the chestnuts roasting on an open fire!— reminds me of Christmas in...you guessed it, New York City!
"Wiring Home," by Rita Dove
Lest the wolves loose their whistles
and shopkeepers inquire,
keep moving; though your knees flush
red as two chapped apples,
keep moving, head up,
past the beggar's cold cup,
past fires banked under chestnuts
and the trumpeting kiosk's
tales of odyssey and heartbreak
until, turning a corner, you stand
staring: ambushed
by a window of canaries
bright as a thousand
golden narcissi.
Finally, this poem by E.E. Cummings is just a charming and lovely one. A little ode to the earthly and ethereal Christmas tree.
"[little tree]," by E.E. Cummings
little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower
who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly
i will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don't be afraid
look the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,
put up your little arms
and i'll give them all to you to hold
every finger shall have its ring
and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy
then when you're quite dressed
you'll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they'll stare!
oh but you'll be very proud
and my little sister and i will take hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we'll dance and sing
"Noel Noel"