Thursday, 6 December 2012

Ding Dong Merrily on High

08:00:00 Posted by Damp incendiary device , 3 comments
Just as the gobby child is correct to point and laugh at the naked emporer, so it is only right that Charlie Brooker, Ebenezer Scrooge and I should hammer nails into the tyres of the big red holiday truck, boycott the grotesqueries of the fat brands and punch in the mouth anyone (no matter how old) who dares present us with a 'wishlist' this December.

And I've got news for you.  I've been eating turkey all year.  It's pretty cheap and the dark meat's tasty in a casserole.  Sorry birds.  You lucked out.  Not that it would have helped if you'd been pretty; bullocks have those big brown eyes and we have no qualms about hacking them to pieces around their first birthday.

Christmas is:
A naked, power-crazed old man. 
Stalin in a onesie. 
Savile in a bathing suit. 

Please allow me to prove my point via poetry.

e.e. cummings wrote a festive poem which I think backs up my deep suspicion of all things Christmassy.  General analysis seems to consider little tree a delightful, innocent ode to Christmas joy.  Look more closely.  little tree is a dark picture of forced cheer and the abuse of innocents.  The image of the 2 children holding hands and singing 'Noel' at the end is particularly disturbing.  There's something fraudulent and deceitful about Christmas and it took the specialist fuckuppery of e.e. cummings to lay the festering corpse out for what it is; a dangerous farce, shitting glitter and fake snow over malingering wounds which will not be healed on 25th December but will decay and putrefy into a stagnant, black, pus-filled sore.

little tree

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" 
(I have underlined the most disturbing parts of the poem for your convenience)


Lisa McFleeca said...

I'm no Scrooge, but that bloody coca-cola truck really got my goat... What the hell has that foul soda got to do with Xmas. Don't get me wrong, I like it with my JD but the truck is just a truck with lights on... I don't remember baby Jesus chuffing down a bottle in the bible?

Anyway..... Rant over! Love the post, we have an artificial tree, but very tempted to steal down to Booths and liberate some pine!

Lisa x

Anonymous said...

Who would have thought someone could make me enjoy an e.e. cummings poem? Great post.


Adele said...

I have no money for Christmas this year. So I have reconnected with the real spirit of giving. I am openning my home to a homeless pal of my son. All the gifts are hand made - knitted cushions, ragdolls and scarves, jars of cherries in booze, handmade cakes stands and shortbread. For my mum, I have framed a canvas of a photo taken in 1933 when she was thirteen. Everything is personal and and full of love. I have even made decorations for a hand knitted Christmas tree, proudly displayed at Thornton Library.

It has been a truly inspirational journey into really connecting with my special friends and closed family. I am waiting tentatively for reactions when my gift are opened. May be heaven - could be bah humbug!

Your choice of poem reminds me that it not always a joyous even - just a papering over of cracks. God bless those who suffer at this time of year. You have chosen to be their voice. Well done. X