Continuing this weekend's theme of starry stuff, I am posting a slightly revised appreciation of a poem by Ron Lavalette.
Why I love “Outside the Inn” by Ron Lavalette
An editorial by Oonah V Joslin Winter 2014: revised 2020
Outside the Inn
by Ron. Lavalette
There would, of course, have to be a star
—as there always is—
but
only a single star, luminous
beckoning above the merest shelter.
Around the meager
dwelling,
its wattle daubed with ordinary
midnight, there would of course be
shepherds, nodding, and music
of
sheep bells a softly ringing lullaby.
There would have to be an angel.
The sky, a clear intoxicant,
would
open and the angel would sing
and the shepherds, keeping their sheep
would have to spread the
word
and be certain.
Ron. Lavalette lives on the Canadian border in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom. His debut chapbook, Fallen Away, from Finishing Line Press, is now available at all standard outlets. In addition, more than 200 of his creations (poetry and short prose) have appeared in journals, reviews, and anthologies ranging alphabetically from Able Muse and the Anthology of New England Poets through the World Haiku Review. A reasonable sample of his published work can be viewed at EGGS OVER TOKYO: http://eggsovertokyo.blogspot.com
Outside the Inn by Ron Lavalette, remains one of my favourite poems. We published it at Every Day Poets, on Christmas Day 2008 and included it in our first anthology. I have read it every Christmas since and today I have come back to it again. Why? Because it is not just about Christmas. It is about history, art, tradition, scepticism and magic. It's about not throwing the baby out with the bathwater!
First of all the title tells us Ron is going to turn Christmas inside out and outside in: he is going to examine this tale that began long ago with a guiding star.
“There would, of course, have to be a star”
That is a great hook line. So matter of fact. We all accept that, don’t we? But why would there ‘have to be a star’? Because it’s traditional as Ron points out. Only this star is unique. It is not just a star among many in the night sky. It is a guiding star.
Now ask yourself: which of us nowadays would follow a star? We may read the occasional horoscope for fun but to believe in it is a different matter – to let it guide your life. But that is what religion is about – guiding your life. And to physically follow a star is not part of our modern mindset at all. Or is it? There's a bit of a hooha just now about the conjuntion of two planets and plenty of people reading into it all manner opf spurious meassages! But we are not ancient astronomers. We are not medieval sailors. We live in a world where stars surely are understood?
When I first read the poem, I immediately thought of my favourite part of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C S Lewis:
“In our world,” said Eustace, “a star is a huge ball of flaming gas.”
“Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is but only what it is made of.”
replies Ramandu, who is a fallen star. I have always loved the thought that mythology goes beyond our physical universe and in a way Lewis was saying that religion and science are two different ways of looking at and understanding the universe.
Ron also takes advantage here of tapping into the whole mythology of stars and of all the stories we heard as children. We didn’t literally believe all of those but they give us reference. Thay are part of who we are. This poem is challenging the complacency of our beliefs and our sense of logic.
This particular star turns its spotlight on;
“the merest shelter.”
“its wattle daubed with ordinary
midnight”
I love the way he describes the scene as painted – daubed. This is the ordinary, the humble made into a tableau, instantly recognisable by millions: recreated for two millennia in art and nativity backdrops, painted scenery, miracle plays, make-believe with carols. And in Ron’s poem the music begins as:
“sheep bells a softly ringing lullaby.”
Again that simplicity shines through here and it also reminds us of sleigh bells and those other good old myths we used to believe but discard in adulthood along with Santa Claus. On the other hand, C S Lewis didn't dismiss Santa Claus... Should we not do the same with this is a tale of a baby and of shepherds? In a way it’s a story about ordinary folk.
All at once in stanza 4, the supernatural takes over.
“There would have to be an angel.”
There would?
“The sky, a clear intoxicant, would
open and the angel
would sing”
Really? “an intoxicant” Well yes. What are these guys on? Appealing to our logic, perhaps they’d taken a wee nip of something against the chill. That would explain things. But in truth we seldom see the night sky as they used to see it. The awe. The wonder! I would love just once to see the night sky in that way.
So far Ron has challenged our belief but in the final stanza, he turns that inside out, a play on the title, and challenges our scepticism, and he does it through the medium of language used in a traditional Christmas Carol, The First Nowell, which people have been singing for two hundred years now – not two thousand. You probably know how it goes and it tells the same story:
“The first Nowell the angels did say
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay;
In fields where they lay a keeping their sheep”
“certain poor shepherds” doesn’t mean they were certain about anything. It is an old fashioned way of saying ‘some’, or maybe even, ‘a chosen few’. Whatever the case, those shepherds were impressed enough to leave their flock and go down to see this new baby. Shepherds do not neglect their duties lightly. Sheep were their livelihood. Why would they do that? And why would they take the risk of talking about it all over the place; spreading the word? Well they’d have to be pretty certain it was real, wouldn’t they? They’re so certain they’re going to tell people about this. They are going to risk being thought mad. So maybe they were utterly convinced of the supernatural. At least of their own experience of awe.
He here he brings us full circle. And there Ron ends the poem – on the word ‘certain.’ And with that phrase;
“and be certain.”
Or to be precise
“spread the word
and be certain.”
This is a very short poem, succinct, complex in its apparent simplicity and beautifully written. As befits the topic, it is traditionally set out, making use of subtle rhymes and assonance, tapping into allusions from our collective memory, literature and song and turning Christmas inside out and back again.
I love it and will always love it because it speaks to me of what Christmas is really about – that sense of mystery. That magic. Our need to tell a story and the one thing we all long for -- the gift of certainty that the truth is not always in what is said but rather in the traditions behind what is said. It’s the structures that matter – the scaffolding of faith.
‘wattle daubed with ordinary’
Like Christmas itself, like with everything, you have to look behind the words, behind what its made of to see what this poem is.
To me, it's simply glorious! And once more I thank Ron for allowing me to share it with you.
