Winter Poetry

[WinterMoon]

Maybe it's the theme of this forum or the chill in the air outside, but I am in the mood for winter......

Place your favorite winter poems in this thread. Here is mine:

The Snowman
Wallace Stevens


One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

[Vulpix]

A Winter Sunset
Nancy Russell

Placed upon the backdrop
of a teal grey sky,
crystalized trees
stand placid.
Brittle and petrified,
they cast
long leaden shadows
across tawny
washed snow.
Beautiful and ablaze,
they glimmer
in the afterglow
of a winter sunset.


http://www.4freeimagehost.com/show.php?i=PUSH952e3bc33601.jpg http://www.4freeimagehost.com/resized/PUSH952e3bc33601.jpg (http://www.4freeimagehost.com/show.php?i=PUSH952e3bc33601.jpg)


Winter Warms
Laurie Benedict


New dew at dawn's break,
Sunlight streams through window panes.
Wondrous sights make hearts ache,
Sparrow's songs so lightly sung the ear strains.
Soaring high in clear blue sky,
Eagles recklessly tango on crosscurrent.
Knowing winter is close by,
Each dance becomes recurrent.
Snuggle warm with babes so close,
Blankets tight to dispel the chill.
No more time to be verbose,
Jabbering at last comes to a still.
Winter warms our hearts in cloaks,
Sleepy eyed and warm as toast.
Hunkered down deep beneath the oaks,
The earth mother acts as their host.
Silent snow and gentle moon,
Starlit sky shows traveler's way.
Sleepy eyes will now close soon,
Dreaming of distant summer's day.

http://www.diversionary.net/daily/images/temp/au-syd-pyrmont-leaves.jpg

[Oresai]

Coin Is Madaidhean-allaidh Dogs and Wolves
Thar na sìorruidheachd, thar a sneachda,
chì mi mo dhàin neo-dheachdte:
chì mi lorgan an spòg a' breacadh
gile shuaim hneach an t-sneachda:
calg air bhoile, teanga fala,
gadhair chaola 's madaidhean-allaidh,
a' leum thar mullaichean nan gàradh
a ' ruith fo sgàil nan craobhan fàsail,
ag gabhail cumhang nan caol-ghleann,
a' sireadh caisead nan gaoth-bheann:
an langan gallanch a' sianail
thar loman cruaidhe nan àm cianail,
an comhartaich bhiothbhuan na mo chluasan
an deann-ruith ag gabhail mo bhuadhan;
rèis nam madadh 's nan con iargalt
luath air tòrachd an fhiadhaich,
troimh na coilltean gun fhiaradh,
thar mullaichean anm beann gun shiarach;
coin chiùine cuthaich mo bhàrdachd,
madaidhean air tòir na h-àilleachd,
àilleachd an anama 's an aodainn,
fiadh geal thar beheann is raointean,
fiadh do bhòidhche ciùine gaolaich,
fiadhach gun sgur, gun fhaochadh.



Across eternity, across its snow,
I see my unwritten poems:
I see the spoor of their paws dappling
the august whiteness of the snow:
bristles raging, bloody-tongued,
lean greyhounds and wolves,
leaping over the dykes,
running under the shade of the trees of the wilderness,
taking the narrow defile of glens,
making for the steepness of windy mountains;
their baying yell shrieking
across the hard barenesses of the terrible times,
their everlasting barking in my ears,
their hot onrush seizing my mind;
career of wolves and eerie dogs
swift in pursuit of the quarry,
through the forests without veering,
over the mountain tops with sheering;
the mild mad dogs of my poetry,
wolves in chase of loneliness,
loveliness of soul and face,
a white deer over hills and plains,
the deer of your gentle beloved beauty,
a hunt without halt, without respite.

[Oresai]

Madainn Sneachda Snowy Morning
Th àinig an sneachd gu sàmhach,
gile gu samhach air gile,
air a' choille, air an fheurach, air a' mhuir,
gu coma.

Bha reodhadh na linne do- mhothaichte,
doilleireachadh sula
's an corp a' ragadh.
Chomhdaich an sneachd i
gu coma, mar bhrat.

Tha darach air tuiteam
air an leathad gheal,
ceud samhradh a' crìonadh
san t-solas fhann,
a' feitheamh ri sàbh
ann an lamhan meilichte.

A' srannail mar dhràgonan aig a' gheata,
na bà air am buaireadh leis an fhuachd,
mì-fhoidhidinn 's an t-acras gan iomain:
an àiteigin bidh na laoigh air chrith,
neo-challaichte is aineolach,
fon raineach.

Tha na caoraich neo-ghluasadach,
a' coimhead gun chaogadh on bhruthach,
a' leigeil deatach lag arms an àile reota:
fo thughadh sneachda,
cnàmh-losgadh na beatha
'na sàmhchair so-leònte.



The snow came in silence,
whiteness silent on whiteness,
on the forest, on the meadow, on the sea,
indifferently.

The pool's freezing was imperceptible,
the dulling of an eye
and the body stiffening.
The snow covered it
indifferently, like a blanket.

An oak has fallen
on the white slope,
a hundred summers wasting
in the wan light,
waiting for a saw
in chilled hands.

Snorting like dragons at the gate,
the cows distracted by the cold,
impatience and hunger driving them:
somewhere the calves will be shivering,
untamed and unknowing,
under the bracken.


Both poems courtesy of the Gaelic Poetry Nook. :)

[Nastrander]

A CALL

The Days Grow Shorter.
Night Threatens to Cover the World
In perpetual darkness.
The Ancient Fires,
Lit once Again
In Sacred Places,
Entice The Sun
To Journey Northward,
Bringing with it
Life, Warmth, and Spring.

Light the Ancient Fires,
Dance the Ancient Dances,
Sing the Ancient Songs,
With Pride and Honor.

[Hrolf Kraki]

How about one of Goethe´s more known works?


Der Erlkönig

Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind;
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.

"Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?"
"Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron und Schweif?"
"Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif."

"Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel' ich mit dir;
Manch' bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand,
Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand."

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht?"
"Sei ruhig, bleib ruhig, mein Kind;
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind."

"Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehen?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön;
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn,
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein."

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort?"
"Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh es genau:
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau."

"Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt;
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt."
"Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an!
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan!"

Dem Vater grauset's, er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind,
Erreicht den Hof mit Müh' und Not;
In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.

Who rides, so late, through night and wind?
It is the father with his child.
He holds the boy in the crook of his arm
He holds him safe, he keeps him warm.

"My son, why do you hide your face so anxiously?"
"Father, do you not see the Erlking?
The Erlking with crown and cloak?"
"My son, it's a wisp of fog."

"You lovely child, come, go with me!
Many a beautiful game I'll play with you;
Some colorful flowers are on the shore,
My mother has many golden robes."

"My father, my father, can't you hear,
What the Erlking quietly promised me?"
"Be calm, stay calm, my child;
The wind rustles through dry leaves."

"Do you want to come with me, fine lad?
My daughters should be waiting for you;
My daughters lead the nightly dances
And will rock and dance and sing you to sleep."

"My father, my father, can't you see there,
The Erlking's daughters in the gloomy place?"
"My son, my son, I see it well:
The old willows seem so gray."

"I love you, your beautiful form entices me;
And if you're not willing, I shall use force."
"My father, my father, he's grabbing me now!
The Erlking has wounded me!"

The father shudders; he rides swiftly,
He holds in his arms the moaning child.
Barely he arrives at the yard in urgency;
In his arms, the child was dead.

[Goswinus]

The Hazelnut

by Ida Gerhardt

It was still winter as
unexpectedly at the crossing
of two paths I happened
upon a flowering hazelnut.

Backlit hung ribbons
of gold they are;
hesitating, captive
I brush against the wood.

Trembling from above a fine
cloud lets loose and descends;
and so dusted with pollen
in the bare forest

I stand there shivering
remaining reluctlantly,
and I touch for a moment
the darkness of its woody trunk.

Orig. Dutch version:

De Hazelaar

Onverwacht mij tegen
in 't nog winters jaar
op de sprong der wegen
bloeit de hazelaar.

Tegen 't licht gehangen
slingertjes van goud;
aarzelend, bevangen
raak ik aan het hout.

Trillend dwaalt van boven
't fijne wolken los;
en met bloei bestoven
in het naakte bos

blijf ik in een beven
teruggehouden staan,
en ik raak nog even
't donker stamhout aan.