.
Dim and Not
He carries one white candle in the space
Beneath cathedral vaults. He has to hold
His hand in front of it so just a trace
Of light escapes. The candle’s flame shines gold
Yet it is blocked by palm and fingers, so
A forward gleam is not allowed. It shines
Against them and his face and chest, but low,
A slightly flickering soul. His hand confines
The depth of glow within the space. Beyond,
Above him arches feel the hovering sheen
And vestments beam like silk as if a wand
Were passing there beneath them. None more clean
_Than this can be imagined. In his eye
__Held tears imply the Christmas stars on high.
.
.
Simplicity and Complications
The Virgin comes first, then an angel from
On high, a rainbow bolt from heaven. He
Speaks holiness so deep she must succumb.
Already it has moved from simple. She
Might think that she could hide in manger scene
Alone, but no, the donkey, husband, ox
And baby were required. The shepherds mean
Well, but they leave unguarded, frightened flocks
Scared silly by the hovering host. But worst
For complications is that royal ilk
Of Magi as belatedly they burst
Upon the Maiden in brocaded silk.
_It started out quite simply but that aim
__Was harmed when wealth and threat filled in the frame.
.
.
.
Karen Among the Silly Sopranos
A gorgeousness was throbbing at the heart
Of girls there singing Christmas carols. They
Were wearing curlers, stupidly. One part
Pulsed utterly among their midst. “Give way,”
It urged the others, weak sopranos high
And thin above it like a tightrope stretched
Above that voice. Though lower, it could fly
Above them all, while cutting through them, etched
Above, a paradox of beauty. She
Sliced through their plain 4/4-ness, all those
Excuses, slight. The serendipity
Of alto purity cut through their prose.
_She stood there in the center like a flame
__Of holiness beyond their homely shame.
.
.
Phillip Whidden is an American living in England who has been published in America, England, Scotland (and elsewhere) in book form, online, and in journals.
Phillip, as always, your sonnets richly repay close attention. “Dim and Not” develops the theme of light very gradually as it reaches objects in the sacred space and causes the reader to perceive them. When you stop to say, “Nothing more clean than this can be imagined,” we must look forward to what you mean. Suddenly eyes and tears and stars appear with clearer, more living light than any yet encountered. Except perhaps the “flickering soul,” but that is an internal and invisible light.
“Simplicity and Complications” likewise develops by listing necessary complexities. Here again you anticipate the end by declaring that “virgin” plus “angel” has already moved beyond simplicity. I feel a little sorry for the royal sages, as their intent is adoration of the child who is center to the whole. Their wealth is a positive contribution to the portion of the story untold here–while the threat they had no intention of causing is the peril of Herod. You need not name him. You are quite right, however, that the meaningful manger scene merely seems simple.
As an alto in Sunday polyphony and a soprano for Saturday melody, I value your appreciation of Karen. A rich contralto voice can overwhelm others with its beauty. And alto parts sometimes rise above the soprano line, which can confuse singers not well enough trained–though it reflects greatness in the music of some composers. You make several statements suggesting that sopranos in this group are not well trained. Though Karen may outperform them, these singers desperately need a competent choirmaster. It’s only when every voice takes its part in musically appropriate stride that the total effect is pleasing. Hope you will hear carols of that sort in upcoming days, Phillip. Merry Christmas!
Margaret Coats, As always I feel enriched by your responses. I’m not at all sure that I deserve the attention you give or the time and effort spent on them.
Your words about “Dim and Not Dim” are richer than the sonnet itself. I should feel humble.
I very much like the fact that you and I agree about the manger scene as it is usually depicted in paintings, for instance. Perhaps some of us find it a challenge to think of it since it has always, always, always not been simple. The elements within it militate against simplicy, at least by their juxtaposition.
It’s really good to learn that you have a wide range in your voice. Some people, such as me, have a very limited range. As soon as my voice comes near the baritone range, it becomes laughable. If it tries to go beyond second tenor range, it becomes approximately as screechy as when Propero is upset.
I’ve loved very few alto/contralto voices. I’m a bit of a cliche, preferring sopranos and tenors. (I once in person heard Beverly Sills trill octaves.) Joan Sutherland stabs my heart beautifully every time. Cupid isn’t a patch on her.
Tomorrow evening (Christmas Eve) my former tutee is taking me to Saint George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle, for the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols. For me Anglican choir music at that level is supernal. It is the apogee of Western civilization. I took this former tutee to this same place and service the first Christmastide after my wife’s death. Suyash Singh, this Hindu young man, was instantaneously converted (to high-flown Anglican choir music). This year HE offered to take me to the service. Almost he persuadest me to be a Hindu–or at least a total inter-faith person. Credo (I believe) everyone should have a Suyash in her or his life.
I wish I could show you the photographic snap from almost 60 years ago of Karen singing outside the boys’ dorm at the academy, singing among the silly sopranos. I don’t know if one is allowed to paste pics in here.
Merry Christmas, Margaret Coats.
Merry Christmas once more, Phillip! I hope you and Suyash enjoyed the lessons and carols and one another’s company. A good friend is a great gift.
Margaret Coats, The service was supernal. His is the only young person friendship I now have in my life.
All my older friends are separated from me by hundreds or thousands of miles. A now dead friend of mine, Chuck, once said to me that if you are not in the same room with a man, it isn’t friendship, not really. After Suyash and I were in the large “room” of the chapel, he took me to a restaurant dining room for a meal. And…wait for it…from the luxury ice cream shop Amorino he brought to me scoops of intense chocolate ice cream and hazelnut ice cream beside it for me to eat while in the huge queue for the service. Yes, Margaret, I do know that sitting out of doors under the Christmas Eve sky eating ice cream means we were not in a room together. But still. Merry Christmas.
Phillip, what a marvelous story of friendship at Christmas! Thank you for telling it. I think you were really in one another’s presence, even if not (strictly speaking) in a room. May the remaining eleven days of Christmas be happy as well!
Margaret, Perhaps your perennial positivity towards my poetry and me will result in something else wonderful happening to me in the remaining days of Christmas. If it were possible to send you a pic of Suyash and me at the occasion, I would. When we finally got back to my house, Prospero was waiting eagerly to greet me. Because Suyash, who is a cat lover, is not, because of circumstances allowed to have a cat, both of them were happy when I suggested to Suyash that he could open the pouch of wet cat food and feed it Prospero. They were both nearly inordinately pleased. All three of us were in a room together.
Margaret Coats, Another type of friendship rears is lovely head: my neighbor two doors along brought me a complete Christmas dinner platter, hot and delicsious. This was more than just good: I had spent Christmas Day alone, and then, WHAM, her Christmas Dinner platter brought with love and care to my door. She is a Ukrainian lady.
Margaret Coats, A new Christmas treat has happened today. Evan Mantyk has arranged for the photography of Karen among the silly sopranos to be pasted into the sonnet.
Glad to receive these additional festive notes, Phillip! I’m sure you enjoyed Christmas dinner when it arrived, and are still enjoying the delicious feast in thoughts of the lovely preparer. Is Karen the one in the old photo with her mouth wide open to pour forth the finest sound? I will ask Evan to give you my e-mail address when he can spare the time to deal with another request. When you have it, you can send me the picture of Suyash and yourself with Christmas Eve ice cream.
The Christmas dinner filled a very large plate. It had all the bits and pieces that an American would put into such a dinner–and a few more besides. It took me two days to eat my way through it. Several items had been flavored in Ukrainian ways–which, for me at least, made them more special. Yes, Karen is the full-bodied girl in light top and dark trousers. You guessed right. She was, I suppose, more the female body that Titian loved, not the body of a girl in fat-shaming America of today. I will e-mail you a pic of Suyash and me inside the chapel and one of me with ice cream while entering the castle grounds. Suyash had a pistachio macaroon sandwich–luxury ice cream in it.