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Donauschwaben in den USA |
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VISITING AUTHOR/EDITOR ARTICLE DECEMBER 2008
CHRISTMAS 2008
Forwarded From Los Angeles Donauschwaben by Karl Seitz
Christmas
2008
Christmas would not be Christmas had it not been for a poem
written many years ago. Interestingly, the poem wasn’t written by a poet
at all but by the son of a Revolutionary War Loyalist Episcopal Bishop who
officiated at both the inauguration of George Washington and the funeral of Alexander
Hamilton. The unlikely author was actually a New York clergyman and a
professor of Oriental and
Greek literature who considered his life’s
work editing his Hebrew lexicon; not a likely source for a Christmas poem.
Regardless, the author read “the mere trifle” as a
Christmas present to his wife and six children the night he wrote it on Christmas
Eve 1822. Had it not been for a relative who sent the poem to the New
York Sentinel, where it was published anonymously, this great poem and the
traditions with spawned may have lain in easy obscurity. It was first
published on December 23, 1823 and it was an
immediate success. The author never copyrighted his poem, and only claimed it as
his own over a decade later.
Despite his personal scholarship, it was this simple but
magical poem about a mysterious Christmas Eve visitor and his eight tiny
reindeer that has kept the memory of the author alive. Although he was
embarrassed for most of his life that his scholarly works were overshadowed by
what he publicly considered a frivolous poem, the author will forever be
remembered as the person who truly gave St. Nicholas to the world. The poet of
the Christmas Eve poem lived a long and
productive life and died in Newport, Rhode Island, his summer home, on July 10,
1863, just a few days short of his eighty-fourth birthday. Along with members of
his family, he is buried in New York’s Trinity Cemetery at the Church
of the Intercession. An annual New York Christmas tradition since 1911
commemorates the author with a candlelight procession the Sunday before
Christmas at the Church.
This Christmas, we invite you to gather your children,
grandchildren, family, friends and loved loves to read the author’s poem. If
you’re fortunate, some of the author’s Christmas
memories may rub off on you and those around you. Oh, the Hebrew Lexicon that the author labored so long on … it never really caught on.
A
Visit From Saint Nicholas By Clement Clarke Moore ’Twas the night before Christmas,
when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes
that Saint Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while
visions of sugarplums danced in their heads. And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, had just
settled our brains, for a long winter’s nap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang
from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the
shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, gave a
luster of midday to objects below. When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a
miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a
minute it must be Saint Nick! More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he
whistled and shouted and called them by name. “Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On,Comet!
on, Cupid! on, Donner, and Blitzen! To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, now, dash
away, dash away, dash away all!” As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they
meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So, up to the housetop the coursers they flew, with a
sleigh full of toys -- and Saint Nicholas, too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing
and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head and was turning around, down the
chimney Saint Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, and
his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, and he looked
like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! His
cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. His
droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard on his chin was as
white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the
smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly, that shook,
when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He
was chubby and plump -- a right jolly old elf, and I laughed when I saw him, in
spite of myself. A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, soon gave me to
know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and
filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk. And laying a finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up
the chimney he rose. He
sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like
the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere they drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”
“May Your
Days
Be
Merry
And
Bright
And
May
All
Your
Christmas’
Be
White” Karl & Lisa Seitz
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