Winter Night – a Poem | Marlene A. Bumgarner

Winter Night

It snowed and snowed, the whole world over,

Snow swept the world from end to end.

A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.

As during summer midges swarm
To beat their wings against a flame
Out in the yard the snowflakes swarmed
To beat against the window pane

The blizzard sculptured on the glass
Designs of arrows and of whorls.

A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.

Distorted shadows fell
Upon the lighted ceiling:
Shadows of crossed arms, of crossed legs-
Of crossed destiny.

Two tiny shoes fell to the floor
And thudded.

A candle on a nightstand shed wax tears
Upon a dress.

All things vanished within
The snowy murk-white, hoary.

A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.

A corner draft fluttered the flame
And the white fever of temptation
Upswept its angel wings that cast
A cruciform shadow

It snowed hard throughout the month
Of February, and almost constantly
A candle burned on the table;
A candle burned.

by Boris Pasternak

Translation by John Dougherty

As I sat down to write on Midwinter Night, December 21, I looked out at the darkness and remembered reading this poem. It isn’t about the Winter Solstice, and it isn’t even snowing here in California (or on the east coast either, my local meteorologist tells me), but Pasternak evokes how I often feel on long, dark nights – dependent on the light of a candle or a lamp to vanquish the blackness, yet subject to the distortion such light creates. It helps me understand why candles are such a part of our family Christmases, and why there is an oil lamp on a shelf in every room. My roots are in West and North Yorkshire, where long dark nights are very long, very dark, and very cold, and where even today electricity is unpredictable.

I have candles on my mantel. My daughter, who has never lived in Yorkshire, has candles on her mantel too. Tonight we celebrate turning the corner on winter. Even in California, I will be grateful for the return of the light evenings. So will Kismet, who finds all this darkness quite boring.