Winter: Naughty or Nice/ We say Nice to Exquisite Ice!*
This is the last one; that is, the last post of our winter theme – Dead of Winter” to be exact. Or was it “Winter: the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly?” In any case, you may be saying, “About time,” or “I thought it would never end.” The latter statement is how many will feel about winter in sixty days or less. So, let’s enjoy one last fling with the season everyone loves to talk about, maybe even more than the weather in general.
“Cold enuf fer’ya?”
“Think it’ll snow?”
“How many inches did’ja git?”
“That storm was a doozie, eh?” / “You betcha’ hey!”
“Why’d we git somuch snow? / “Aconnabecuz it’s winter, ya idjet!”
That last one is a Wisconsin-ism. Having lived there until I was thirty years old, I was subjected to assaults on the language like that.
Our winter theme is capped off with New England writers: Emily, Frostie, the Long Fellow, and . . . oops! The bard isn’t exactly a New Englander, but he was an Old Englander. Ha! What about Emerson and Thoreau, you might rightly ask. The Green Leaf, and that rascal Walt of great wit? We’ve only got so much room for selections before you nod off; that is, if you are even reading these words.
In any case, winter. It’s what makes us Minnesotans.We finish with a winter salute to some of our most famous and beloved poets provide their various takes on winter. Emily even weights in on our winter question: Good, Bad, Ugly of some combination. Imagine! “Winter is good – his Hoar* Delights . . .! **
We wish everyone who enjoys our winter snow activities and heaven forbid we forget, our ice antics. Bundle up snow bunnies! Wear your favorite team’s T-shirt; cuddle up for tummy-rubbers, for the iceman cometh.
*But not under our toes nor under our vehicle tires!
** adjective. showing characteristics of age, especially having grey or white hair. “"whose beard with age is hoar"-Coleridge” synonyms: gray, gray-haired, gray-headed, grey, grey-haired, grey-headed, grizzly, hoary, white-haired old. / hoarfrost. / (ˈhɔːˌfrɒst) / noun. a deposit of needle-like ice crystals formed on the ground by direct condensation at temperatures below freezing point. Also called: white frost.
Winter is good - his Hoar Delights (1316)
Emily Dickinson
Winter is good - his Hoar Delights
Italic flavor yield -
To Intellects inebriate
With Summer, or the World -
Generic as a Quarry
And hearty - as a Rose -
Invited with asperity
But welcome when he goes.
Robert Frost
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
When winter winds are piercing chill,
And through the hawthorn blows the gale,
With solemn feet I tread the hill,
That overbrows the lonely vale.
O'er the bare upland, and away
Through the long reach of desert woods,
The embracing sunbeams chastely play,
And gladden these deep solitudes.
Where, twisted round the barren oak,
The summer vine in beauty clung,
And summer winds the stillness broke,
The crystal icicle is hung.
Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs
Pour out the river's gradual tide,
Shrilly the skater's iron rings,
And voices fill the woodland side.
Alas! how changed from the fair scene,
When birds sang out their mellow lay,
And winds were soft, and woods were green,
And the song ceased not with the day!
But still wild music is abroad,
Pale, desert woods! within your crowd;
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord,
Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.
Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear
Has grown familiar with your song;
I hear it in the opening year,
I listen, and it cheers me long.
As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII [Blow, blow, thou winter wind]
William Shakespeare
Lord Amiens, a musician, sings before Duke Senior's company
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That does not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not.
Background
I find it interesting that poets of many northern lands write about the seasons. Japan’s haiku poets consider a mention or allusion to one of the seasons de rigueur.
New England poets seem to make a habit of grounding many poems. (Hmmm . . . maybe I went overboard in my selection of our Northeast poets.)
Here are some parting winter laughs – I hope.
- What do you call a penguin in the Sahara? Lost!
- It’s so cold even my boogers are freezing together.
- It’s so cold I farted snowflakes!
- What kind of ball doesn’t bounce? A snowball.
In February, we start a new theme. Stay tuned, and I promise no more bad jokes. Corny? Maybe.
Exploration 1: Are you relieved that our “winter theme” is over? Curious to know what’s coming in February. Stay tuned.
Exploration 2: Which of the poems above to you judge to be the best at conveying the essence of winter.
Exploration 3: Select a couple of images from the poems that you particularly like. One or two that rub you the wrong way (cliché) or have too many clichés or rocky rhythms or rhymes. If you care to, provide a few lines of comment to explain your choice(s).
Nay, winter is far from over JPS ... You're not kidding anyone. Even come February it'll be here; I'll still be blowing snow with the tractor, still stand and watch appreciatively the county grader blade our 'yard' and long winding road opening it even farther; pushing winter over the ditch banks and down into the creek basin, farther into the woods and away from our house. The deer that feel safe enough to bed down under the crab apple trees, curled up like huskies in the snow their noses buried against their chests with only their ears erect, wish winter away too. You're not fooling them either.
ReplyDeleteYour 'winter theme is over, wait til February' is so much hot air! Typical Wisconsinite BS ... but I understand winter's impermanence too; it could be worse. We could be awaiting late June and the 4th of July weekend tornadic forecasts. Yep, could be worse.
ReplyDelete1. I’m curious about the next theme, but not relieved to see Winter go. It’s the most explorable season and draws the darkest thoughts.
2. All the poems are good. I’m a sucker for Shakespeare with Frost in second place.
3. “The only other sound’s the sweep of easy wind and downy flake.”
“But welcome when he goes.”
“Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not.”
“There’s no bad clichés, only misplaced ones.” -Chairman Joe