{"id":479,"date":"2011-12-29T18:01:28","date_gmt":"2011-12-29T18:01:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ink.verticalplus.co.uk\/archive\/?p=479"},"modified":"2012-03-31T12:34:52","modified_gmt":"2012-03-31T12:34:52","slug":"the-fifth-day-of-christmas","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/the-fifth-day-of-christmas\/","title":{"rendered":"The Fifth Day of Christmas"},"content":{"rendered":"

When<\/span>
Angels understand eternity.<\/span>
<\/span><\/p>\n

Always causes mortals trouble
\nas they try to grasp the absence
\nof an afterwards
\nor believe before has been
\nemptied of all meaning.<\/span><\/div>\n

Angels speak to shepherds first.<\/span>
<\/span><\/p>\n

Shepherds\u2019 long night-watches,
\non slowly-changing hillsides
\nbeneath\u00a0 sky\u2019s starred enormity,
\nprepare them, more than most,
\nto be at peace with vast
\nand heaven-centred wonder;<\/span><\/div>\n

Angels borrow shepherds to run errands.<\/span>
<\/span><\/p>\n

Their trade persuades them they can find
\nwhatever they go looking for \u2013
\neven if it\u2019s wandered off
\nrisking it will lose itself
\nalong a dead-end path.<\/span><\/div>\n

Angels visit intermittently.<\/span>
<\/span><\/p>\n

Shepherds simply do not leave:
\nthey keep on pushing through
\nthe crowds, like eager strangers,
\nfull of what they\u2019ve seen, intent
\non stretching more imaginations
\nround the notion of an always
\ncrosswise-intersecting now. <\/span><\/div>\n

*Michael Bartholomew-Biggs<\/a><\/span> is a retired mathematician living in London. He has published several poetry collections, most recently <\/span>Tradesman’s Exit\u00a0 <\/span>(Shoestring
\n2009). He is poetry editor of the on-line magazine London Grip and
\nco-organiser of the Poetry in the Crypt reading series in Islington.<\/span>




Nativity<\/span>
\u00a0<\/span>
In our West Country town<\/span>
we raised a Nativity —<\/span>
it was almost life-size<\/span>
in the way it’s done here<\/span>
\u00a0<\/span>
the Joseph and Mary<\/span>
big-boned types from Chard<\/span>
attending a manger<\/span>
its yellow muslin bundle<\/span>
\u00a0<\/span>
its four turned chair-legs<\/span>
and the kings no better<\/span>
the shepherds as tinkers <\/span>
but the remarkable thing<\/span>
\u00a0<\/span>
was a piebald mongrel<\/span>
that visited the stable<\/span>
each evening for weeks<\/span>
sometimes to lift a leg<\/span>
\u00a0<\/span>
but vanishing away . . .<\/span>
till a day it never came<\/span>
and the people of this town<\/span>
as one met the bill<\/span>
\u00a0<\/span>
to stuff its pelt life-hard<\/span>
with a fine yellow sawdust<\/span>
to install a modern saint<\/span>
in the familiar stable<\/span>



*Martyn Crucefix<\/a>\u2019s most recent collection, <\/span>Hurt<\/span>, was published by Enitharmon. His translation of Rainer Maria Rilke\u2019s <\/span>Duino Elegies<\/span>
\n(Enitharmon 2006) was shortlisted for the 2007 Popescu Prize for
\nEuropean Poetry Translation. His translation of Rilke\u2019s Sonnets to
\nOrpheus will be published in 2012. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\n
Three French Hens<\/span><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n


\n<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

Click here<\/a> for accompanying singing hen film<\/span><\/p>\n

*Ira Lightman<\/a><\/span>
\nmakes public art in the North East (the Spennymoor Letters, the Prudhoe
\nGlade, the Gatesheads) and lately Willenhall and Southampton. He
\ndevises visual poetry forms and then asks local communities to supply
\nwords that will bring them alive. He is a regular on BBC Radio 3\u2032s The Verb.<\/span>
\n<\/span><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

WhenAngels understand eternity. Always causes mortals trouble as they try to grasp the absence of an afterwards or believe before has been emptied of all meaning. Angels speak to shepherds first. Shepherds\u2019 long night-watches, on slowly-changing hillsides beneath\u00a0 sky\u2019s starred enormity, prepare them, more than most, to be at peace with vast and heaven-centred wonder; […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-479","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/479","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=479"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/479\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1847,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/479\/revisions\/1847"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=479"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=479"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=479"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}