Ramblings of more earnestness on Wendy Cope
Now that I have warmed up, I feel like I should write a thing or two of more earnestness and substance about Wendy Cope, a poet who admits that some of her funniest poems were written out of deep despair. Years ago I read a moving newspaper article on her life, and only wish I could find it again. But here's one from the Guardian that will give you some idea.
As a poet she humorously takes on many of life's sadder states, but the sadness is there all the same, and has wandered out of, then back towards, Christianity. She's been known to write such lines as this about Christmas: 'And happy families go to church and cheerily they mingle/ And the whole business is unbelievably dreadful, if you're single.' And then there's this:
Bloody Christmas, here again,
Let us raise a loving cup,
Peace on earth, goodwill to men,
And make them do the washing up.
But I don't think she realises how close she actually comes to the truth in this Christmas poem below, one of her not-so-funny poems. That it's part of the reason Christ came to earth and cried, then died, to bear our griefs and carry away our sorrows. Some celebrate Christmas in July, so here it is.
A CHRISTMAS SONG
Why is the baby crying
On this, his special day,
When we have brought him lovely gifts
And laid them on the hay?
He’s crying for the people
Who greet this day with dread
Because somebody dear to them
Is far away or dead,
For all the men and women
Whose love affairs went wrong,
Who try their best at merriment
When Christmas comes along,
For separated parents
Whose turn it is to grieve
While children hang their stockings up
Elsewhere on Christmas Eve,
For everyone whose burden
Carried through the year
Is heavier at Christmastime,
The season of good cheer.
That’s why the baby’s crying
There in the cattle stall:
He’s crying for those people.
He’s crying for them all.