While flying back from the Aspen conference in Italy I came down with my second cold in a month. In honor of that, and of this generally dark season, I offer another occasional poem, this one by Ezra Pound.
“Ancient Music”
Winter is icumen in, Lhude sing Goddamm, Raineth drop and staineth slop, And how the wind doth ramm! Sing: Goddamm. Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us, An ague hath my ham. Freezeth river, turneth liver, Damm you; Sing: Goddamm. Goddamm, Goddamm, 'tis why I am, Goddamm, So 'gainst the winter's balm. Sing goddamm, damm, sing goddamm, Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.
Pound got the idea from one of the most famous middle English lyrics still floating around — a much more cheerful ode to summer (below). If we can just hold out for five more months! (By the way, those funny little letters are called ‘thorns’ and should be pronounced as ‘th.’ It’s my personal theory, with no evidence whatever behind it, that the ‘y’ in phrases like ‘ye olde coffee shoppe’ is a broken thorn, and the phrase was originally intended to read ‘the’. But what do I know?)
“Sumer Is Icumen In”
Svmer is icumen in Lhude sing cuccu! Groweþ sed and bloweþ med and springþ þe wde nu. Sing cuccu! Awe bleteþ after lomb, lhouþ after calue cu, Bulluc sterteþ, bucke uerteþ. Murie sing cuccu! Cuccu, cuccu, Wel singes þu cuccu. ne swik þu nauer nu! Sing cuccu nu, Sing cuccu! Pes Sing cuccu, Sing cuccu nu!
