CHRISTMAS CENTURIES OLD.

2009 - The year poetry hit the headlines. First, there was CAROL ANN DUFFY, who made history when she became the country's first female POET LAUREATE, a mere 341 years after Charles II's inaugural appointment of John Dryden. Duffy, who has won every major UK prize for her generous, plain-spoken poetry, attached her own remit to the position -

"I will write what needs to be written. I wouldn't write a poem if it felt forced. But if something occurred at a public or political moment, and it genuinely felt truthful to me, then I would do it."

So far, she's 'stuck to her guns', limiting herself to a handful of offerings, including the caustically reworked 'TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS'. And the quality and integrity of her official output are such that, just months into her tenure, the issue of her gender has already dropped off the radar.

- Edited version of an article by Sarah Crown, reporting in the Guardian.

And now over to Cara at Ooh ... Books! for our weekly FREEVERSE visit.

This week, as promised, I decided to bring you some festive poetry. Both written by persons unknown, or certainly long since forgotten, they are centuries old and yet show that things haven't really changed over the years.

NOW THRICE WELCOME, CHRISTMAS.

Now thrice welcome, Christmas

Which brings us good cheer,

Minced pies and plum porridge,

Good ale and beer;

With pig, goose and capon,

The best that may be,

So well doth the weather

And our stomachs agree.

Observe how the chimneys

Do smoke all about;

The cooks are providing

For dinner, no doubt;

But those on whose tables

No victuals appear -

Oh may they keep Lent

All the rest of the year.

With holly and ivy

So green and so gay,

We deck up our houses

As fresh as the day,

With bay and rosemary

And laurels complete,

And every one now

Is a king in conceit.

- Published 1695.

O YOU MERRY, MERRY SOULS.

O you merry, merry souls,

Christmas is a-coming;

We shall have flowing bowls,

Dancing, piping, drumming.

Delicate minced pies

To feast every virgin,

Capon and goose likewise,

Brawn and a dish of sturgeon.

Then, for your Christmas box,

Sweet plum cakes and money,

Delicate holland smocks,

Kisses sweet as honey.

Hey for the Christmas ball,

Where we shall be jolly;

Jigging short and tall,

Kate, Dick, Ralph and Molly.

Then to the hop we'll go,

Where we'll jig and caper,

Maidens all-a-row;

Will shall play the scraper.

Hodge shall dance with Prue,

Keeping time with kisses;

We'll have a jovial crew

Of sweet smirking misses.

- Published 1740.

Apologies, there seems to be some problem with the spacing, doubtless my fault, I shall rectify it as soon as I am able/when Husband dearest gets home from work.