The Calends of Winter

[Blackbird]

Sadly, this excellent offering is not one of my own - this poem comes from the Red Book of Hergest. For me, it is wonderfully evocative of the season, and gives us an understanding of how the winter season was experienced and celebrated hundreds of years back

The Calends of winter, hard is the grain;
The leaves are on the move, the plash is full
In the morning before he sets off,
Woe to him that trusts to a stranger.

The Calends of winter, the time of pleasant gossiping,
The gale and the storm keep equal pace;
It is the work of the wise to keep a secret.

The Calends of winter the stags are lean,
Yellow, the tops of birch, deserted the summer dwelling;
Woe to him who for a trifle deserves disgrace.

The Calends of winter, the tops of the branches are bent;
Uproar from the mouth of the vicious is common;
Where there is no natural gift there will be no learning.

The Calends of winter, blustering is the weather,
Unlike the beginning of summer;
Except God, there is none that divines.

The Calends of winter, gay the plumage of birds;
Short the day; loud the cuckoos;
Mercifully has the most beneficent God made them.

The Calends of winter, it is hard and dry;
Very black is the raven, quick the arrow from the bow;
At the stumbling of the old, the smile of the youth is apt to break out.

The Calends of winter, lean is the stag:
Woe to the weak! if he chafes, it will be but for a short while;
Truly better is amiability than beauty.

The Calends of winter, bare is where the heath is burnt,
The plough is in the furrow; the ox at work;
Amongst a hundred there is hardly a friend.

[Heron]

WINTERFALL


Autumn bides her weary time till trees like setting suns have had
their evening splendour out and even misty mornings bring the joy
of rattling rusts and roses bristling in the breezes, sere like
the skins of bark beneath them.



Bright their hue in the sun's rich light

In gold & yellow & dun they're dight

But they keen in the wind's chill breath.



In a brief storm in a black night

One falls and is wan in the paling light

And the dun darkens to death.


*


Cold was the mire underfoot

And wet were the feet that trod

Thin was the cry she heard in the storm

And broken in the sod - her god.



Sorrows untold for her weary wight

Pierced her through with pain

And she gave him her gown of

Gold & brown and one of black she made.



Then the land was dark

As she cast it wide

And the bare hillside

Was chill and stark

As winter's grip

The spells unrhymed

That summer made;

Hoar frosts pinched

The sleeping seed

And the forest path led

On and on through barren dells

And misty slopes fell sheer away

And the dark road had

no ending

[viridis]

admin said:

For me, it is wonderfully evocative of the season, and gives us an understanding of how the winter season was experienced and celebrated hundreds of years back

Also some remarkably pithy (and accurate) bits about human nature
I love this one, though the one that begins

Mountain snow - every region is white
The raven is accustomed to sing
No good will come from long sleeping

also from the Red Book is another favourite

[crowshadower]

She wakes
Her mantle white about the land to spread
A crown of frost upon her brow
Eyes of frost as clear as ice
Her hammer blow turns bent grass to frigid blade
The rise of winter
Her land is made.

Brother crow and sister Raven
High over head they soar
Their midnight wings in pallid sky
The only birds we saw
This battle was ours in the fields of snow
And our glory history will know
But in truth
The only victory was hers
For our blood stained the snow