[a variation on the traditional Christmas carol, "The Twelve Days of Christmas"]
This poem was simultaneously inspired by the incomparably beautiful poem of Yevgeny Yevtushenko 'Colours' which I believe, translated from the Russian into English stands as one of the most beautiful poems in the English language (and surely the Russian, if I only knew it there) I am quoting it here in full because if this poem were a musical composition I would want the carol and the 'Colours' to bear an equal part...
I remember the pear tree
though you would not call it a golden thing now-
or even possible;
the partridge with its ruddy wing;
the swans upon their pond:
that they were spun of fine glass
like my escalating heart into
which God could pour in snow bright radio waves
deep colours
when I thought, it was only you, my late remembered
picture book of days.
oh that you had given me unnumbered ways,
His mirrors, the flocks of the stars.
many dancers danced to my door;
the wreathed singers under the windows
that I flung wide that day
in my amazement stunned,
though the pipers drove me mad at daybreak
till I sent them away.
how glad was I for the singing colours,
the rainbow ribands, floating tides
of some Divine clear victory decreed;
the inner scars branching into cherry healing;
the vivid air you christened with crystal.
and merriment, in waves.
now the castle is dun.
the dulcimer dimmed with dusk and
the way is shut to me,
littered with your fantastical presents.
so once upon!...
how will you answer me when I call,
dressed all in silver, caroling to the last;
unclasping the sunset colours.
no gold upon the tree.
with only the mourning doves for company.
mary angela douglas 29-30 november 2015 rev, 3 december 2016
This poem was simultaneously inspired by the incomparably beautiful poem of Yevgeny Yevtushenko 'Colours' which I believe, translated from the Russian into English stands as one of the most beautiful poems in the English language (and surely the Russian, if I only knew it there) I am quoting it here in full because if this poem were a musical composition I would want the carol and the 'Colours' to bear an equal part...
COLOURS
When your face
appeared over my crumpled life
stood
only the poverty of what I have.
cular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea
became my beginning in the coloured world
in which I had not yet had my beginning.
I am so frightened, I am so frightened,
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations
and tears and the excitement finishing.
I don't fight it, my love is this fear,
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's shipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in.
I am conscious that these minutes are short
and the colours in my eyes will vanish
when your face sets.
appeared over my crumpled life
stood
only the poverty of what I have.
cular light
on woods, on rivers, on the sea
became my beginning in the coloured world
in which I had not yet had my beginning.
I am so frightened, I am so frightened,
of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
of revelations
and tears and the excitement finishing.
I don't fight it, my love is this fear,
I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
love's shipshod watchman.
Fear hems me in.
I am conscious that these minutes are short
and the colours in my eyes will vanish
when your face sets.
Yevgeny Yevtushenko
I remember the pear tree
though you would not call it a golden thing now-
or even possible;
the partridge with its ruddy wing;
the swans upon their pond:
that they were spun of fine glass
like my escalating heart into
which God could pour in snow bright radio waves
deep colours
when I thought, it was only you, my late remembered
picture book of days.
oh that you had given me unnumbered ways,
His mirrors, the flocks of the stars.
many dancers danced to my door;
the wreathed singers under the windows
that I flung wide that day
in my amazement stunned,
though the pipers drove me mad at daybreak
till I sent them away.
how glad was I for the singing colours,
the rainbow ribands, floating tides
of some Divine clear victory decreed;
the inner scars branching into cherry healing;
the vivid air you christened with crystal.
and merriment, in waves.
now the castle is dun.
the dulcimer dimmed with dusk and
the way is shut to me,
littered with your fantastical presents.
so once upon!...
how will you answer me when I call,
dressed all in silver, caroling to the last;
unclasping the sunset colours.
no gold upon the tree.
with only the mourning doves for company.
mary angela douglas 29-30 november 2015 rev, 3 december 2016
