We are not having fun. We got more than 30" of snow over the weekend, and another 10" to 20" is expected in the next 24 hours. I am sore from shoveling: shoulders, back, hands, forearms. Everyone is worried that roofs will cave in and basements will flood. The worst, so far, was losing electricity for 36 hours—so no heat, no light, no phone. The house temperature was at 50 degrees and falling when the power finally came back on.
[after digging out the car]
But there are some silver
linings. I get these emails from my
local county government, concerning trash pick-ups, mostly. But this week the
emails, which I always used to think of as anonymously created by some computer
program, have included poems along with information on changes to the
trash-collection schedules. This is
apparently the work of Susanne
Brunhart Wiggins of the Montgomery
County, Maryland, Division of Solid Waste Services, and I salute her.
Here are two of her choices:
Winter: A Dirge
The wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain does blaw;
Or the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snaw:
While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
And roars frae bank to brae;
And bird and beast in covert rest,
And pass the heartless day.
“The sweeping blast, the sky o’ercast,”
The joyless winter day
Let others fear, to me more dear
Than all the pride of May:
The tempest’s howl, it soothes my soul,
My griefs it seems to join;
The leafless trees my fancy please,
Their fate resembles mine!
Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme
These woes of mine fulfil,
Here firm I rest; they must be best,
Because they are Thy will!
Then all I want—O do Thou grant
This one request of mine!—
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,
Assist me to resign.
— Robert Burns
The Garden in Winter
Frosty-white and cold it lies
Underneath the fretful skies;
Snowflakes flutter where the red
Banners of the poppies spread,
And the drifts are wide and deep
Where the lilies fell asleep.
But the sunsets o'er it throw
Flame-like splendor, lucent glow,
And the moonshine makes it gleam
Like a wonderland of dream,
And the sharp winds all the day
Pipe and whistle shrilly gay.
Safe beneath the snowdrifts lie
Rainbow buds of by-and-by;
In the long, sweet days of spring
Music of bluebells shall ring,
And its faintly golden cup
Many a primrose will hold up.
Though the winds are keen and chill
Roses' hearts are beating still,
And the garden tranquilly
Dreams of happy hours to be
In the summer days of blue
All its dreamings will come true.
— Lucy Maud Montgomery
And I have been thinking of Jesse Winchester's song "Snow," a classic from 1970:
I was tuning in the six o'clock
newscast
And the weather man mentioned snow
As soon as I heard that four-letter word
I was making my plans to go
If I was a bird I would fly back South
A bear I would go to sleep
Anything rather than hang around here
When the snow starts getting deep
Now you know what they say about
snow flakes
How there ain't no two the same
Well, all them flakes look alike to me
Every one is a dirty shame
My ears are cold
My feet are cold
Bermuda stays on my mind
And I'm here to say that if winter comes
Then spring is a ways behind
I don't have no heavy hip boots
I don't have no furry hat
I don't have no long-john underwear
No layer of protective fat
I'd take a plane right to sunny Spain
Oh, but I don't have the dough
But I'd build a bridge and I'd walk there
To get away from all that snow
Oh, I'd build a bridge and walk there
To get away from all that snow
(c) 1970 Jesse Winchester
Since this post is a reply to Laura Orem, I want to thank her for alerting us to Savage Chickens. They made me think of Dave Morice's Poetry Comics, in which parts of poems become the balloon text for comics. (Dave on how to make poetry comics.) A brilliant and silly idea:
[from More Poetry Comics]
