* Lincoln, Nude

Lawrence Ferlinghetti wrote a poem with the line "Christ climbed down from his bare tree this year" but no one has dared to write a poem with the image, Lincoln left his marble throne at last.


Until now.

Fred Kaplan's Lincoln: Biography of a Writer, not only lets Lincoln leave the captivity of his greek Washington temple, it puts him naked, about to get in bed with a prostitute:

Speed [Lincoln's roommate in Springfield] has "a pretty woman", a prostitute with whom he had exclusive privileges.  When Lincoln expressed an interest, Speed sent him to see the girl with a note, so Speed told William Herndon.  When they were naked, Lincoln remembered to ask the price. It was two dollars more than he had. "I'll trust you, Mr. Lincoln, for $2". He mulled it over. "I do not wish to go on credit -- I'm poor & don't know where my next dollar will come from and I cannot afford to Cheat you."  He got dressed "and offered the girl the $3.00, which she would not take, saying ---Mr. Lincoln --- You are the most conscientious man I ever saw"  (kindle 1715-1717)


Even in a whorehouse he was Honest Abe.

CHRIST CLIMBED DOWN 

by 

Lawrence Ferlinghetti, 1958

Christ climbed down

from His bare Tree

this year

and ran away to where

there were no rootless Christmas trees

hung with candycanes and breakable stars

Christ climbed down

from His bare Tree

this year

and ran away to where

there were no gilded Christmas trees

and no tinsel Christmas trees

and no tinfoil Christmas trees

and no pink plastic Christmas trees

and no gold Christmas trees

and no black Christmas trees

and no powderblue Christmas trees

hung with electric candles

and encircled by tin electric trains

and clever cornball relatives

Christ climbed down

from His bare Tree

this year

and ran away to where

no intrepid Bible salesmen

covered the territory

in two-tone cadillacs

and where no Sears Roebuck creches

complete with plastic babe in manger

arrived by parcel post

the babe by special delivery

and where no televised Wise Men

praised the Lord Calvert Whiskey

Christ climbed down

from His bare Tree

this year

and ran away to where

no fat handshaking stranger

in a red flannel suit

and a fake white beard

went around passing himself off

as some sort of North Pole saint

crossing the desert to Bethlehem

Pennsylvania

in a Volkswagen sled

drawn by rollicking Adirondack reindeer

and German names

and bearing sacks of Humble Gifts

from Saks Fifth Avenue

for everybody's imagined Christ child

Christ climbed down

from His bare Tree

this year

and ran away to where

no Bing Crosby carollers

groaned of a tight Christmas

and where no Radio City angels

iceskated wingless

thru a winter wonderland

into a jinglebell heaven

daily at 8:30

with Midnight Mass matinees

Christ climbed down

from His bare Tree

this year

and softly stole away into

some anonymous Mary's womb again

where in the darkest night

of everybody's anonymous soul

He awaits again

an unimaginable

and impossibly

Immaculate Reconception

the very craziest of

Second Comings