Christmas at The New Yorker: Stories, Poems, Humor, and Art (Modern Library)

by New Yorker

  To feel cold cracks in the floor, the blankness of hunger.

  Imagine the desert—but the desert is everywhere.

  Imagine striking a match in that midnight cave,

  The fire, the farm beasts in outline, the farm tools and stuff;

  And imagine, as you towel your face in enveloping folds,

  Mary, Joseph, and the Infant in swaddling clothes.

  (photo credit 48.1)

  Imagine the kings, the caravans’ stilted procession

  As they make for the cave, or, rather, three beams closing in

  And in on the star; the creaking of loads, the clink of a cowbell;

  (No thronging of Heaven as yet, no peal of the bell

  That will ring in the end for the Infant once he has earned it).

  Imagine the Lord, for the first time, from darkness, and stranded

  Immensely in distance, recognizing Himself in the Son

  Of Man: His homelessness plain to him now in a homeless one.

  (Translated, from the Russian, by Seamus Heaney)

  2000

  FLIGHT TO EGYPT

  JOSEPH BRODSKY

  Inside the cave (an off-plumb dugout,

  But a roof above their heads, for all that),

  Inside the cave the three felt close

  In the fug of fodder and old clothes.

  Straw for bedding. Beyond the door,

  Blizzard, sandstorm, howling air.

  Mule rubbed ox; they stirred and groaned

  Like sand and snowflake scourged in wind.

  Mary prays; the fire soughs;

  Joseph frowns into the blaze.

  Too small to be fit to do a thing

  But sleep, the Infant is just sleeping.

  Relief for now. They’ve gained a day:

  Herod off his head, his army

  Outwitted but still closing in,

  And the centuries also, one by one.

  That night, as three, they were at peace.

  Smoke like a shy retiring guest

  Slipped out the door. There was one far-off

  Heavy sigh from the mule. Or the ox.

  The star looked in across the threshold.

  The only one of them who could

  Know what its fervent staring meant

  Was the Infant. But He was infans, silent.

  (Translated, from the Russian, by Seamus Heaney)

  2000

  GREETINGS, FRIENDS!

  FRANK SULLIVAN

  It may be argued, and with some reason,

  That we could skip this Christmas season,

  There being no great cause for mirth

  And precious little peace on earth.

  Not me. I’m sorry, but I’ll keep Yule

  With any kindred spirit who’ll

  Accompany me in a Christmas caper,

  So how’s about it, Muriel Draper?

  I’ll keep Christmas until hell freezes

  With Joan Blondell and Royal Cortissoz,

  Franchot Tone and Justice Stone,

  And Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Cohn;

  With Howard, Ruth, and Peter Moody,

  Surrogate George O. Tuck and Trudy,

  Morris Bishop, Sam Byrd,

  Donald Duck and Mortimer Snerd.

  Though Bethlehem’s star’s eclipsed by Mars,

  My glass is clinking with Bert Lahr’s;

  Though good old Civ is on the brink,

  I’ll take a chance and lift a drink

  To General Gamelin of France,

  To Justice Hughes and Vivian Vance,

  Ed Wynn, Billy Conn,

  Caesar Bozzo, Thomas Mann,

  The Ward Cheneys, Irene Dunne,

  And all the boys at Twenty-One,

  The Bradfords, Mary Rose and Roark,

  And the friendly Ganymedes at the Stork,

  June Walker, Joe Kerrigan,

  George Ritchie, Tom Berrigan,

  Bob Davidson and Marietta,

  The Carl Van Dorens and Papa Moneta.

  I drink a wassail to Dave Cort,

  To Lida Thomas and Viscount Gort,

  Raymond Parker, Winston Churchill,

  Charlie Merz and Freddie Birchall,

  Senator Hattie Caraway,

  Premier Ed Daladier,

  Lester Cuddihy, Zorina,

  Leopold and Wilhelmina.

  Pardon the proud alumnal beam

  I cast upon the Big Red Team,

  The rootin’, tootin’ mass Blitzkrieg

  That flattened out the Ivy League;

  Oh, far above Cayuga’s waters,

  With its waves of H2O,

  Cornell’s sons and Cornell’s daughters

  Have a perfect right to crow!

  Here’s to Tony Canzoneri,

  Tom Chalmers, Daise Terry,

  Sam Forrest, Georges Enesco,

  Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco!

  The world’s a vast Pandora’s box,

  But I still have faith in Fontaine Fox,

  In Sophie Kerr and David Niven,

  The New Republic and Bruce Bliven,

  Edward Johnson and the Met,

  The Gibbses, Arthur and Jeannette,

  Mrs. Caroline O’Day,

  Ruth Gordon, Alice Faye,

  Frank Buck and M. K. Gandhi,

  Dan Parker, Baby Sandy,

  Louis Sobol, Grantland Rice,

  Father Cashin and Garrett Price,

  Don Stewart, Harriette Finch,

  Parker Merrow and Walter the Winch,

  Ernest Lindley, Gertrude Macy,

  Leggett Brown and Spencer Tracy.

  Give out some Christmas propaganda

  For Veloz and his pal Yolanda,

  For Johnny Cheever and Wickham Steed,

  McKinlay Kantor, Senator Mead,

  The John Roys, Don Beddoe,

  The McIntoshes, Blanche and Neddo,

  Dorothy Stickney, Miriam Doyle,

  Rebecca West, Selena Royle,

  John Hadfield of J. M. Dent,

  Paul Robeson and Silas Bent.

  God rest the G. O. Pachyderm,

  But give us Frank for another term!

  Thus having disposed of politics,

  I clasp to my arms the Sheldon Dicks.

  Assuming a more surly vein,

  Let’s wish a whacking Yule chilblain

  To Father Coughlin, the clerical wowser,

  And every other rabble-rouser.

  And then, in doggerel-cum-verse,

  Let’s launch a hearty Christmas curse

  On the Nazi-minded everywhere,

  Whether here or over there;

  In our midst or oversea,

  All Kuhns look alike to me.

  So raise your mugs and drink distress

  To Rosenberg and Rudolf Hess;

  Dismay to Comrade Molotoff—

  For Czar: Prince Michael Romanoff!

  Here’s hoping something dire may happen

  To Goebbels, Himmler, and von Papen,

  To Göring and von Dribblepuss,

  And their whilom sidekick, Benny the Muss!

  Wise Men who are really wise

  Will keep one eye upon the skies,

  For the Holy Night is rent by bomb

  As Ouija reads the Führer’s palm.

  Lebensraum he wants? So! Well,

  Let’s hope he gets it soon, in hell.

  And his Kremlin crony, Joe the Tricky—

  Give him a Finn, but make it a Mickey!

  Of all these knaves we crave surcease;

  What this world needs is a good Blitzpeace.

  1939

  (photo credit)

  GREETINGS, FRIENDS!

  FRANK SULLIVAN

  The début of this Christmas stanza,

  This annual Yule extravaganza,

  Took place in 1932,

  So silver greetings, friends, to you,

  And frankincense and myrrh and nard

  From your aging but still frisky bard.

  For Ike,
three rousing Christmas cheers

  And vigor through the coming years.

  A New Year bow to Borden Deal,

  Edith McCarty, and Howard Keel.

  We’ll roar out a couple of gladsome staves

  To whoop it up for the doughty Braves,

  And hymn the glory of Fortune’s Pet—

  Who else but Selva Lewis Burdette?

  Charge your glasses and drink to the health

  Of Good Queen Bess and her Commonwealth!

  Nab the nearest Christmas mummer;

  Get him to mum for Christopher Plummer,

  And do his stuff for Dick Surrette,

  Romney Brent, Carol Burnett,

  Ruth Anderson, Niels Bohr,

  Ted Atkinson, and Senator Gore.

  Minnesingers, sound your A!

  Launch a paean for Dorothy Day,

  For Ed Wynn, Carmel Quinn,

  Ellin Berlin, and all their kin;

  And add a toast to all the kith

  Of Master Joseph Michael Smith.

  Noël, Noël to Coco Chanel,

  Hunt Bradley, Maria Schell,

  And a bend of the knee from this genuflector

  To Captain and Mrs. William Waechter.

  Peace to thee, O Matt McDade!

  Joy to Banker Katie McQuade!

  Minstrels, raise a stout hosanna

  For Herbert Erb and Charlie Manna;

  Sing noisily, yet civilly,

  For Saul Bellow of Tivoli;

  And belt out a carol for Buff Donelli,

  For George Hemstead and his consort, Ellie,

  For Polly Hanson, Frank Lary,

  And the Atlantic, on its centenary.

  Buon Natale, Carmen Basilio!

  Long may you champ it, mio figlio!

  Nancy Walker! Jane Morgan!

  Love from me and Paul Horgan!

  Peace to tycoon Cyrus Eaton,

  Cantinflas, and Cecil Beaton!

  Wassail to Borough President Cashmore,

  Arkansas Editor Harry Ashmore,

  And a genial, cozy, cricket-on-the-hearthy

  Kind of Yule for Kevin McCarthy.

  Tootle an anthem for Conrad Janis,

  Edmund Gilligan, and Marya Mannes;

  Trill a Christmas obbligato

  To serenade Jockey Frank Lovato;

  And sound the rebeck and the hautboy

  For that old reliable rider No Boy.

  Sing tooraloo for Shirley MacLaine;

  Sing hi-de-ho for John Ruane,

  Terry Brennan, Eddie De Hass,

  Lester Pearson, and Peggy Cass.

  Vintner, spike the Christmas brew

  For Stork Sanford and the Cornell crew;

  Pass the port to Ezra Benson,

  Harold Craig, and May Swenson.

  We’ll dance the lancers with Jo Van Fleet,

  Gargle a brandy with Cabell Greet,

  And with seasonal zeal we’ll ululate

  For Pauline Sadlon, Sam Slate,

  Percy Waram, Jane Greer,

  And Altrincham, the Prickly Peer.

  We’ll sing in praise of Nigel Dennis;

  We’ll ascertain where Leo Penn is,

  And crack a bottle of rare champagne

  For Leo, and for Eddie Lane.

  Thomas Chalmers, of Firenze—

  Love from me and Gisele MacKenzie!

  Gerald, Constance, and Archie Moore—

  Love to you from Charlie Poore!

  Bake a Christmas cake for Quincy Porter;

  Send a Christmas tie to Enos Slaughter;

  Send opulent gifts to Anthony Quayle

  And a Broun by the name of Heywood Hale.

  Choir, please warble a New Year glee

  For André Laguerre and Nathalie,

  And lift your voices in sweet accord

  To gladden the spirits of Benson Ford.

  A Merry Christmas to Dorothy Quick,

  To Connie B. Gay, of Lizard Lick,

  And the dolciest kind of far niente

  To Bambi Linn and Tony Parenti.

  Now let us sit with Rudolf Bing

  And tell glad stories of Nicholas King,

  And raise a glass of vintage hock

  To the Herald Trib and Ambassador Jock.

  We’ll paint the town with Frank Lloyd Wright

  From New Year’s Eve until Twelfth Night;

  We’ll go on a high old Yule carouse

  With Kathy Crosby and her spouse,

  With Sterling North and Anthony West

  And Gerald Green and Denzil Best.

  The year is going. Let it go.

  It hasn’t brought us much but woe—

  Khrushchev, Faubus, flu, and frights,

  Inflation, Nasser, satellites,

  And other plagues from Pandora’s box.

  But are we therefore on the rocks?

  Not so, my hearties! With cautious tread

  We’ll enter the year that lies ahead,

  Not elated, not downcast,

  Glad to be rid of the year that’s past,

  Hoping the coming year of grace

  Will bring Peace on Earth and Peace in Space.

  1957

  GREETINGS, FRIENDS!

  ROGER ANGELL

  Rap, rap! To order! May we dispense

  With last year’s minutes, whose trifling sense

  Proposed immediate end to woe

  And a party neath the mistletoe—

  A plan I trust will bear repeating

  At this, our latest Yuletide meeting?

  Faithful readers, God rest you well

  And give you each a sweet Noël.

  Who knows? Perhaps the muse will send a

  Hug to you in our agenda;

  Would there were rhymes enough for all

  Within this dogged caterwaul!

  Karol Wojtyla! Well, that’s a rhyme

  We won’t hunt up this Christmastime,

  Now that there is hardly call to—

  Happy Christmas, Pope John Paul II!

  And happy hols, dear Claudia Weill,

  Cornell MacNeil, and Kitty Carlisle.

  Season’s greetings, Allegra Kent!

  Hail to Jimmy, our President!

  Wassail to Rosalynn, the President’s spouse,

  And Fred Astaire and Timothy Crouse!

  Ring out, carillons, for the sake

  Of Carmine Peppe and Eubie Blake,

  Then chime in a more dulcet strain

  For lovely Queen Noor al-Hussein;

  Now let some joyous bongs be heard

  For Justice Rose Elizabeth Bird,

  And next a brassy triple bob

  For Alydar and Rusty Staub,

  And then tack on a cheerful coda

  For Cyrus Vance and Ron Swoboda!

  I wish a Yule right out of Boz

  For Henny Youngman and Amos Oz;

  Let Fezziwigian bliss befall

  Tito Gaona and Tom T. Hall.

  May Christmas Eve be brisk and snowy

  For Heinrich Böll and David Bowie,

  And the morn break all crisp and tingly

  For Swoosie Kurtz and Darryl Stingley;

  And may the Day itself go gladly

  For Sen.-elect and Ms. Bill Bradley!

  Hello, Santa? Hold that sleigh!

  I have some toys for Nora Kaye,

  Valerie Harper, Jerry Rafshoon,

  And our man in Moscow, Malcolm Toon.

  Hello, Bekins? Will you cart in

  Crates of presents for Ned Martin,

  Zubin Mehta, Sissela Bok,

  Samuel Beckett, and Pete LaCock?

  I’m here to state that naught can alter

  My deep esteem for Stephanie Salter;

  I want it known that what I harbor

  Are friendly thoughts for Myron Farber,

  Ellsworth Kelly, Nick Nolte,

  George Balanchine, and Sir Georg Solti.

  Adeste, shoppers! Let costs go hang!

  Let’s d
o up Christmas with a bang!

  To arms against Old Man Inflation!

  We’ll spend with more imagination

  And seek out true epiphanies

  At Bloomingdale’s and Tiffany’s

  With lavish gifts for Crystal Gayle,

  Günter Grass, and Clamma Dale.

  Come, seed a storm of Christmas bills

  With things to cheer up Garry Wills,

  Walter Matthau, Kathleen Raine,

  Viktor Korchnoi, and Frank MacShane!

  With friends like these, there’s no tomorrow;

  Twixt shop and bank we’ll spend and borrow,

  Get stocking toys by Fabergé

  For Cheryl Tiegs and Jack Macrae,

  Find diamonds like the Koh-i-noor

  For Gemma Jones and Melba Moore,

  And a nice blue Maserati

  For Yale’s A. Bartlett Giamatti.

  Then quickly we’ll snap up a set

  Of Lalique bowls at Parke Bernet

  For Andrew Young, Paloma Picasso,

  Hildegard Behrens, and Ella Grasso,

  And a golden trinket by Cellini

  To please Maurizio Pollini;

  Then cases of some modest wine

  (Like Château Margaux ’29)

  For John Belushi, Seymour Krim,

  Laz Barrera, Barbara Pym,

  Governor Carey, Claiborne Pell,

  Nancy Teeters, and Tom Carvel!

  On New Year’s Eve, we’ll share a schnapps

  With the Martin Mulls and the Joseph Papps,

  Then sip a delicious crème de moka

  With Meat Loaf and Lee Iacocca;

  We’ll crack a bottle of muscatel

  With Wolfman Jack and Quentin Bell,

  And clink a glass of vin du pays

  With D. D. Lewis and I. M. Pei;

  We’ll quaff some cups of antifreeze

  With Janet Guthrie and Parton Keese,

  And toss off a brandy smash

  With Louise Bourgeois and Johnny Cash.

  Nancy Kassebaum, Bernadine Morris,

  Will ye nae sup a wee doch-an-dorris?

  Well supped, ladies! Now gie us a glee

  For Anwar Sadat and Muhammad Ali!

  A toast to Tsenator Paul E. Tsongas!

  A toast to the whole damn U.S. Congras!

  To Truth and Beauty! To Helen Reddy!

  To the next Prime Rate and Crazy Eddie!

  Good friends, we’ve come to our envoi,

  Which bids you each a year of joy,

  And invokes, to close these greetings,

  The spirit of Camp David’s meetings—

  Peace to us all, that is to say,

  Upon this ancient holiday!

  1978

  GREETINGS, FRIENDS!

  ROGER ANGELL