Winter Solstice 21st December Shortest Day

Winter solstice - Wikipedia

 

Used to be St Lucy's day until they messed about with the calendar. John Donne's utterly brilliant but utterly sad A Nocturnal upon St Lucy's Day (his wife had died) says it all

'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's,
Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;
The sun is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rays;
The world's whole sap is sunk;
The general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the bed's feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr'd; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compar'd with me, who am their epitaph.

Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring;
For I am every dead thing,
In whom Love wrought new alchemy.
For his art did express
A quintessence even from nothingness,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness;
He ruin'd me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death: things which are not.

All others, from all things, draw all that's good,
Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have;
I, by Love's limbec, am the grave
Of all that's nothing. Oft a flood
Have we two wept, and so
Drown'd the whole world, us two; oft did we grow
To be two chaoses, when we did show
Care to aught else; and often absences
Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.

But I am by her death (which word wrongs her)
Of the first nothing the elixir grown;
Were I a man, that I were one
I needs must know; I should prefer,
If I were any beast,
Some ends, some means; yea plants, yea stones detest,
And love; all, all some properties invest;
If I an ordinary nothing were,
As shadow, a light and body must be here.

But I am none; nor will my sun renew.
You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun
At this time to the Goat is run
To fetch new lust, and give it you,
Enjoy your summer all;
Since she enjoys her long night's festival,
Let me prepare towards her, and let me call
This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this
Both the year's, and the day's deep midnight is.

 

Sunrise and sunset times in London

 

Here in Helsinki sunrise was at 9:25am and sunset 3:12pm. So day was 5h 47min long.

 

I have experienced mid winters day in Tampere and mid summers day in Helsinki and the same close to the equator where the length of day/night hardly varies. I think that despite the gloom Finland has the better of it - although I can see where some Scandinavian drinking habits come from.

 

I’ve seen things… seen things you little people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion bright as magnesium… I rode on the back decks of a blinker and watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments… they’ll be gone

 

and in Toronto

7:48 am – 4:43 pm
8 hours, 56 minutes

 

Nope done none of that, but I have got out pf a taxi in Tokyo and found myself on a rainy night in the street used in the opening of Blade Runner! My professional career took me to over fifty countries.

 

Cant beat that but have spent a few years in high security units due to not understanding reality from fact or fiction

 

The back garden is a soggy mess, not seen any icicles, had to scrape the car a few times , had twice as much rain in East Anglia so far this month than we are due for December, and I'm just not in the mood for John Donne ( although it is appreciated ) so Love's Labour's Lost for me.

WHEN icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipped, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-whoo;
To-whit, to-whoo, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson’s saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian’s nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-whoo;
To-whit, to-whoo, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

 

You sound more in the Ezra Pound school
Winter is icumen in
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.

 

Clive:


Tim

 

This time of year always reminds me of a long time ago


Now heres a little story,
to tell it is a must
about an unsung hero,
that moves away a dust
Some people make a fortune
others earn a mint
my old man dont earn much
infact, hes flippin skint!
My old mans a dustman
he wears a dustmans hat
he wears cor-blimey trousers
and he lives in a council flat
he looks a propa 'nana in his great big hobnail boots
hes got such a job to pull 'em up that he calls 'em daisy roots
Some folks give tips at Christmas
And some of them forget
so when he picks their bins up
he spills some on the step
now one old man got nasty
and too the council wrote
next time my old man went round there
he punched him up the throat!
My old mans a dustman
he wears a dustmans hat
he wears cor-blimey trousers
and he lives in a council flat
I say i say i say Les
Yeah?
I, er, i found a police dog in my dustbin
How'd you know he's a police dog?
he had a policeman with him!
Though my old mans a dustman
hes got a heart of gold
he got married recently
though hes 86 years old
we said 'here, hang on dad. youre getting past your prime!'
he said 'when you get my age it helps to pass the time!'
My old mans a dustman
he wears a dustmans hat
he wears cor-blimey trousers
and he lives in a council flat
I say I say I say
eh?
my dusbins full of lilies!
Well throw them away then!
I cant, Lillie's wearing them!
Now one day whilst in a hurry
he missed a ladies bin
he hadnt gone but a few yards when she chased after him
"What game do you think your playing?!"
She cried straight from the heart
"youve missed me! am i too late?"
nah jump up on the cart!
My old mans a dustman
he wears a dustmans hat
he wears cor-blimey trousers
and he lives in a council flat
I say... I say... I say...
Not you again!
my dustbin's absoloutely full of toadstools
How do you know its full?
Cause theres not mushroom inside!
He found a tigers head one day
nailed to a piece of wood
the tiger looked quite miserable
but I suppose he should!
just then from out the window
a voice began to wail... it said
'oy, wheres me tigers 'ead?'
four foot from its tail!
My old mans a dustman
he wears a dustmans hat
he wears cor-blimey trousers
and he lives in a council flat
next time you see a dustman
looking all pale and sad
dont kick him in the dustbin
it might be my old dad...!

 

Not really my cup of tea, rather leaden. But thanks anyway.

 

The author of the above is actually the person who wrote the script for "Two-Way Stretch" and still hasn't been caught.

 

It is of course a parody of Sumer in a cumen in

 

I did get that, Robert, but it's still a bit more Gabriel Harvey ceaseless repetition and not the twinkle-toed Thomas Nashe. Not that I've got that much against dear old Gabriel. And anyway, by my reckoning they were the best of mates and not literary enemies.

 

I agree with you on both counts