Overheard

I elected not to blog last Saturday in the wake of the Friday 13th general election result. In the immediate aftermath, words failed me; and then when they did come, they weren't fit for sharing, being as blue as most of England! It's ironic, given that the blog theme last week was Altered States (chosen and scheduled back in June before there was a hint of a December election). However, the trip out to cast my vote did at least give me material for this week's Overheard blog.

What follows is a conversation I couldn't help but catch as I walked from the polling station and across the school playground behind two loudly spoken women after we had all exercised our democratic rights. (The words may not be 100% precise but they are pretty close - I didn't have a notebook to hand!)

Woman #1: I hope Corbyn doesn't get in. He's a nasty piece of work, used to be in the IRA and he hates Jews.
Woman #2: Yeah there's too many immigrants. Send them all back.
Woman #1: So who you vote for?
Woman #2: I wanted to vote for Boris but he wasn't on the list so I did 'Brexit'.
Woman #1: Me too. Won't make any difference though. They're all the same...

To be perfectly honest, I wish I hadn't been privy to that conversation. It was a depressing augury. I was almost expecting one of them to say "Anyway, the end of the world is coming soon". She may have done so once they were out of earshot - which imaginative flight of fancy led me to thoughts about elections just before Christmas, the festival of Saturnalia, the crowning of the Lord of Misrule et cetera...more of which further on.

My favourite overhearing dates back to a few Christmases ago. I'd opened the front door on Boxing Day night to let the cat in - there was a perfectly serviceable cat-flap in the back door, but cats will be cats - and a middle-aged couple were arguing loudly as they walked past my house:

She: But you don't even like Christmas pudding!

He: Yes I do. I love it. It's you I can't stomach!

I suspect I only remember this overheard exchange because it was both somewhat bizarre and unwittingly witty. Ah, that Christmas spirit.

I'm currently reading Ian McEwan's 2016 novel Nutshell and thoroughly enjoying it, one of the best things I've read in a long time. I mention it here because the protagonist is an unborn baby who overhears everything from the confines of his mother's womb. It is brilliantly plotted and wittily written; actually an audacious take on the story of the love triangle in Hamlet. You don't need to know the play to enjoy the book but it will double your pleasure if you do.

Saturnalia, then. This is the season - December 17th to 23rd. The Romans gave us one of the major precursors to our current festive period; Norse yuletide being the other. (Check out my Yuletide blog from the tail-end of last year for more details of the latter.) Little gifts, much feasting and a few days of turning the world upside down in the name of comic relief - the Romans wrote the script, all in honour of the God of life spirit and appetites, Saturn.

I'm sure that, like the majority of the good people of England this month, Saturn would have admired our intoxicating new Lord of Misrule, Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson, larger than life, buffoon when it suits, 'lovable rogue' in the eyes of the many - certainly in preference to the vinegar serious Jeremy Corbyn. Well, the people are getting the present they asked for, with a jolly populist ho ho ho. I hope they remember that a turkey's not just for Christmas! OK, I'm done with the commentary and will waste no more words on the subject. Let the future unfurl.

It's penultimate poem of the year time. This is still a work-in-progress, so subject to change, but I offer my moral support to Nancy Pelosi and a symbolic tilt at the Trumpkin for what it's worth (the imaginarium being a bit depleted at the moment)...

Saturnalia
Allegedly overheard
through the wafer thin walls
which the Devil's Diner shares
with FBI HQ,
the  good ol' USA is now 'technically'
not so much a democracy
as a Demonocracy
for bad men and narcissists
are running the show.

There's no denying
it was a populist steer
stage-managed by cheerleaders
mouthing a simple
triumphalist mantra.
What was it a wise man
once implored?
"Forgive them Lord, for
they know not what they do."
Heaven help us all then!

As Saturn rings in the changes
at the ragged, weary end
of another crazy year,
while he stands there
tainting highest office
in his bronze-gone-wrong,
with his gritted millionaire's
lying white teeth,
shedding onion tears
and madly tweeting his innocence
even as he leeches still
on a people's hopes and fears,
there's a plan to impeach
this Lord of Misrule.

Time has come, it seems,
to teach the unconscionable
baby-faced Fool.
Tie his feet with wool.

Thanks for reading. Merry Festives, one and all! S ;-)

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Yuletide

It seemed appropriate for this 'betwixtmas' blog to cast a brief look back at the origins of the festive season we are currently enjoying, in all its layers of tradition. Here goes...

Prior to it being a Christian festival (literally Christ's Mass) celebrating the birth of baby Jesus - who was actually born in September if forensic analysis of the historical data is to be believed (and why not?) - it was a seasonal observance of profound significance marking the 'turning of the year' at the winter solstice, as the shortest day passed and the new year beckoned.

This event was most acutely felt in the far north (from the Germanic tribes up through the Nordic lands) for winter there was particularly bleak and dark and the concept of yuletide derives from thence, jol or geol in Norse and Old English meaning feast and tide indicating a season or period of time. There is plenty of evidence that yuletide was a twelve-day festival (precursor of our Twelve Days of Christmas) with ritual observances and sacrifices to thank and appease the Gods (chief among them Odin), accompanied by lots of eating, drinking and making merry to lift the spirits of mere mortals at the lowest period of the year and a celebration of one more successful transition beyond the shortest, darkest days - light in our darkness as a symbol of hope and regeneration.

It was an event that was also marked in the slightly warmer and lighter winter of the Mediterranean lands, first in Greece in the Kronia, celebrating mighty Cronos and then in the Roman Empire where it morphed into the festival of Saturnalia in honour of the God Saturn (the Roman equivalent of Cronos). As well as generous libations to the God there was much feasting, carousing and the exchanging of gifts and poems (fore-runners of our presents and Christmas cards) over a seven day period from 17th to 23rd December. There was also a tradition of turning the tables, a day or days when roles became reversed and the masters would wait on their slaves in recognition of the service they gave throughout the rest of the year (as close to the original spirit of Boxing Day as you can get).

When Christianity began its pervasive progress north and westwards through Europe, it first of all lived beside and then shrewdly gradually co-opted the timetable and much of the symbolism of the older, pagan rituals - the Christmas tree with lights (originally candles pre-electricity) as a symbol of regeneration side by side with the nativity story; the exchanging of gifts latterly linked to the arrival of the shepherds and the magi presenting of lambs, gold, frankincense and myrrh to Jesus; the celebratory feasting and expression of goodwill to all men and so on.

Nowadays, with the influence of Christianity seemingly on the wane, significantly it is the older symbolism of our seasonal response to the cycle of the year that retains most power, if we did but know it, as we deck the halls with mistletoe and holly, put up our Christmas trees and strings of coloured lights and enjoy a holiday to cheer us through the darkest days and celebrate having turned the bleakest corner of the year one more time.

I didn't have the opportunity to write a new poem on theme this week, it's all been a bit of a manic scramble if I'm honest; but at least it's been fun and spending time with loved ones was the priority.

Given that's the case, here's something that has been gestating for a while, has a tenuous link (better than none) to the seasonal idea of gifting and - in the absence of anything more appropriate - has persuaded me against my better judgement that finally its moment has come. I have to stress that although it is rooted in a couple of true events, in the end it is as fictive as the best Christmas myths.

Thanks For The Marmalade
I want to find romance
With a partner
Who won't lead me a merry dance

You are decorative
And articulate
But there's not a chance you'll give
All your heart for love

When the grief
Outweighs the pleasure
Then I think we know
It's time to let you go
Take back your five gold rings

Though this dream was doomed to fade
I wish you nothing but good things
Thanks for the marmalade
Sorry I ironed your carpet
I go to seek another
So long, lover...

There you have it. I think we're done here. I have thank you letters to write.

Until 2019, enjoy the rest of the holiday and a Happy New Year to all, Steve ;-)

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