.
The Drift of Dark Days
November is a time for us to grieve
About the dying of the warmth and light,
About the passing of our joie de vivre,
As we await the bitter arctic bite.
Near-perfect vees of fleeing geese are gone
From curdled skies reminding us of slate;
The only promise found in each new dawn
Is that the day’s already growing late.
And so it is, we’re hoping that December
Will steer us past the solar minimum
And cause us, shortly after, to remember
The Child that lit the whole continuum.
.
.
In a Manner of Speaking
__Just why do all our colloquies
__Devolve into frivolities?
We’ve squandered most of what we have received
And lost the thread of what we once believed.
__Don’t be afraid to speak your mind;
__Your audience is not unkind.
Far better that we often disagree
Than that forevermore we silent be.
__Contentious statements ring our bells,
__Yet stir afresh our deepest wells.
Our arguments should be imbued with vigor
And always point the way to something bigger.
__So never hesitate to speak—
__The earth is wasted on the meek.
.
.
C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. Hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Austria, Australia and India. His collection, Mortal Soup and the Blue Yonder was published in 2013 by White Violet Press.
These are both great poems, C.B., but I especially admire the progression of thought that leads us from grief to the awesome light represented by the Child who is the reason for the season. And, as always, I drool over your rhymes: grieve/joie de vivre and minimum/continuum stand out. And then there is your brilliant phrasing of “curdled skies” and “solar minimum.” Absolutely terrific.
You are a close reader, Brian, and I am glad that you think my poems bear close reading. I too thought that minimum/continuum was a pretty fair slant rhyme. A good rhyme is is something like the meat of a pistachio, where the line structure is the shell, no? I wish I were able to articulate my thoughts and feeiings about the work of others as well as you can. May your Florida skies be always cream-silky.
C.B, you continue to dazzle and amaze with your erudite poetic skills and masterful rhymes. Like Brian, I praise you for “The Drift of Dark Days” that reflects the doldrums of the somber surroundings of the end of year months, but then like a piercing beam of light shines on the hope that was the birth of the Christ child. This switch of emotions can be felt in the heart and soul of believers. What a great concluding couplet contained “In a Manner of Speaking” when you say: ”
__So never hesitate to speak—
__The earth is wasted on the meek.
You reflect my own belief in the need, especially for Christians, to speak without hesitation. Great poems that should endure.
Thank you, Roy. Though I might have a few talents, I would never list erudition as one of them. I just try to keep things simple. I guess it would be fair to say that “The Drift …” is actually a Christmas poem, the first I have written in many years, to my discredit. And regarding the second poem, I hope it was not offensive that the final couplet seems to contradict the Beattitude Jesus spoke in the Sermon on the Mount. And that just brings us back to the pesky First Amendment thing.
Kip, these are two knockout pieces — just stunning in their clarity and force.
The first is upsetting and consoling at the same time, and its alliterative title hits us with the coming seriousness. It can’t get any more serious than the approach of winter and death, but it ends with the light of the Child in a magical turnabout.
The second is the perfect doctor’s prescription for the West’s current paralysis of self-censored speech; and the interplay of tetrameter and pentameter couplets turns the poem into a series of sequential epigrams. And the last line (“The earth is wasted on the meek”) is a powerful jolt of reality.
K.A.N.D!
It could be said, Joseph, that I grew up in the safe harbor of Trinacria, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the many essays of yours Leo published in The Pennsylvania Review, which were always head-turners. I struggled to find the right title for the first poem, but I settled on “Drift” because of its manifold meanings, if you catch my drift. As for the second poem, I didn’t begin with the intention of making it a series of non-enjambed couplets; that’s just how it worked out.
I love your description of November and the transition into December; and especially that beautiful last line of “The Drift of Dark Days”. I agree that the alternation of pentameter and tetrameter makes the already interesting content of “In a Manner of Speaking” even more interesting.
Indeed, Cynthia, the winter solstice is when everything turns around, which might be one of the reasons Christmas is celebrated in December, when many scholars have argue that Jesus was born in the spring. You know as well as anyone that playing with nonce forms/structures is one of the things we most enjoy doing.
C.B., what an absolute privilege to read these two striking poems. “The Drift of Dark Days” (I love the alliterative title) is a beautifully crafted, unique Christmas message that says it all. I particularly like those “Near-perfect vees of fleeing geese” – a mellifluous marvel! “In a Manner of Speaking” speaks to my spirit and spurs me on in an exquisitely rhymed and metered composition. You’ve made my Texas evening. Thank you!
Perhaps, Susan, there is another reason why Texas is called the Lone Star State. Do Canada geese winter in Texas?
C.B., yes, Canada geese winter in Texas. They are also resident in the UK, and feisty flocks of them are the bane of many a jogger and cyclist. One aggressive goose can literally knock you off your bike. I’m not too fond of them.
And from what I understand, Susan, they aren’t even good to eat. Around here they are most despised by golfers, for reasons you can well imagine.
Dear C.B.,
The hopeful ending of, “The Drift of Dark Days,” was delightful and unexpected. The encouragement of, “In a Manner of Speaking,” is well taken.
Thank you for these eloquent reminders of Truth and duty.
Gigi
As always, Gigi, you are quite welcome. What good is the First Amendment if we don’t invoke it?
Two wonderful poems! I especially enjoyed ” The drift of dark days” which drifted beautifully to an ending of hope and light.
We are in the midst of such days, Isabella, and I am hoping for a bright outcome.
Two perfect poems, in sentiment and skill. You are indeed a master craftsman.
Perhaps so, Rohini. Nowadays I find it easier to wield a pen than to handle a rake or a hammer.
C.B. Goodly advice well-said in the second, with the first piercing the dark’ning slate of winter like a star-tipped arrow pointing the way to the child in the manger.
Thank you for both. Both, in their own, well-crafted ways, “point the way to something bigger.” And Christmas is most certainly “something bigger.”
Thank you, James. It’s never a bad idea to acknowledge a New Possibility.
A “Drift” you are with excellent direction, C. B. While many scholars have argued that Jesus was born in springtime, more over a longer period have argued that He was born at solar minimum, thus lighting the whole continuum in geophysical time. Our calendar corrections have brought the date of the liturgical celebration close–and some fine tunings may still be unapplied. As for your final rhyme in “A Manner of Speaking,” it’s a comprehensive one because there is really no contrast between meekness and speaking. Something bigger tends to be accomplished by those who use few words.
Some great points here, Margaret. There are not “many scholars” with whom I would care to argue, but when it comes down to brass tacks, Christmas is what Christmas is, period. I might disagree with your concluding point however, because “mute” and “laconic” are not synonyms. In any case, your subtle excerpts from my text in your comment were not lost on me. Like Brian, Joe and a few others, you are a very close reader, and that is something I cherish.
C.B., I enjoyed both of these, and can’t decide which I find more relatable.
Even in Colorado, which boasts an abundance of bright, sunny days east coasters can only dream of, I find the dearth of daylight distressing. Once we hit the solar minimum, I usually observe aloud and happily to my family that the days will be getting longer now…
Regarding the second, a quote I came across attributed to Winston Churchill: “If two people agree on everything, one of them is unnecessary.” I lament the rarity of the occurrence of a healthy disagreement leading to a hearty, honest debate of ideas, that can “ring our bells” and “stir afresh our deepest wells.” I was always known as one who “likes to argue” and in the current climate, willing opponents can be hard to come across.
Incidentally, my recent Scripture reading makes an interesting connection between the Child of your first poem and the unflinching speaking of truth in the second. In Luke 11, following a series of “woe to you”s to the Pharisees, we come to verses 45 and 46: “And one of the lawyers answered and said to Him, Teacher, by saying these things, you insult us also. And He said, Woe to you lawyers also!…”
As a native Pennsylvanian myself, Anna, I have seen both rainbows and blizzards aplenty. Even cradles of liberty are not immune to corruption or from being turned into the subject of a drinking game. Keep arguing! The world depends on it.
“The Drift of Dark Days” uses a common allegory for Christmas and the winter solstice, but illustrates how an often-used theme can still seem fresh and new. You spring the allegory at the end, saving it to drive home the point in one fell swoop.
“In a Manner of Speaking” showcases your trademark aphoristic style.