!Caramba! ?Que pasa?
Topic: Poetry and Poets
We have all heard that lovely Christmas poem, "Twas the Night before Christmas", (sometimes called, "A Visit from St Nicholas"), written by Clement Clarke Moore in 1822. Well, I hope he will forgive me for passing on this "Spanish/English" version, which I came across recently. It should amuse my Spanish relatives!

'Twas the Night before Christmas ("Spanglish" version)

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the casa,
Not a creature was stirring - !Caramba! ?Que pasa?

Los ni?os were tucked away in their camas,
Some in long underwear, some in pijamas,
While hanging the stockings with mucho cuidado,
In hopes that old Santa would feel obligado,
To bring all children, both buenos and malos,
A nice batch of dulces and other regalos.

Outside in the yard there arose un gran grito,
and I jumped to my feet like a frightened cabrito.
I ran to the window and looked out afuera,
And who in the world do you think that it era?

Saint Nick in a sleigh and a big red sombrero,
Came dashing along like a loco bombero.
And pulling his sleigh instead of venados,
Were eight little burros approaching volando.

I watched as they came and this quaint little hombre,
Was shouting and whistling and calling by nombre:
"Ay Pancho, ay Pepe, ay Cuco, ay Beto,
ay Chato, ay Chopo, Maruco, y Nieto!"

Then standing erect with his hands on his pecho,
He flew to the top of our very own techo,
With his round little belly like a bowl of jalea,
He struggled to squeeze down our old chiminea.

Then huffing and puffing at last in our sala,
With soot smeared all over his red suit de gala,
He filled all the stockings with lively regalos,
None for the ni?os that had been very malos.

Then chuckling aloud, seeming very contento,
He turned like a flash and was gone como el viento,
And I heard him exclaim, y ¡esto es verdad!

Merry Christmas to all, ¡y Feliz Navidad!

- author unknown

Of course, most children in Spain receive their presents from the three Kings on 6th January, El Dia De Reyes (Epiphany) and, instead of a stocking, they put their shoes out the night before by a door or a window to be filled with little presents.

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An Old Lady's Poem
Topic: Poetry and Poets
Well, the comment I made at the end of yesterday's entry about having three different ages, our chronological age, our biological age and our mental age (the age we feel we are), reminded me of something I heard on the radio quite a few years back. The subject was Geriatric Wards in hospitals and I heard this doctor say that there had been an old lady in one of the beds on his ward. He had not taken much notice of her, she had seemed unimportant. Perhaps she had had a stroke and couldn't communicate very well. She died and the nurses found a poem in the drawer of her bedside cabinet. In it she said how she was still a young girl inside and how she felt. It changed the doctor's view of all his patients, he now saw them as people with feelings, not just old bodies waiting to die. I couldn't remember the poem so I searched the internet. I found it. I cried a little when I read it. My husband came downstairs, I read it out to him, with some difficulty because my voice was quivering. He had a little tear in his eyes to. It is sad and uplifting at the same time. Here it is.

This information was also given:
When an old lady died in the geriatrics ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was felt that she had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Ireland. The old lady's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem. ...And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the authoress of this "anonymous" poem winging across the Internet. Goes to show that we all leave "some footprints in time."
May She Rest In Peace

What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
What are you thinking when you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice, "I do wish you'd try!"
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe

Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill
Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse; you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten ...with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at twenty-my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now, I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide and a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn.
At fifty once more, babies play round my knee,
Again we know children, my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead;
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.

I'm now an old woman ...and nature is cruel;
'Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again.

I think of the years ...all too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, nurses open and see,
Not a crabby old woman; look closer ... see ME!!

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