Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, WORKS AND DAYS: WINTER, by HESIOD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

WORKS AND DAYS: WINTER, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Aroint the january month! The bad days fit to skin
Last Line: And trust your mother earth her various fruitage to renew.
Subject(s): Animals; Winter


AROINT the January month! the bad days fit to skin
An ox alive, the bitter frosts, yea, bitterer than sin:
When Boreas blows across the heath, and thro' the herds of horse
That range and crop the Thracian heaths he buffets down in force
On the spread sea, and heaves it high, and field and forest howl
As fierce on topping oak he falls, on screen of pine afoul,
And smashes them in mountain glens flat on their nursery ground,
While mile on mile thro' echoing wood runs panic of the sound:
And shuddering beasties tuck their tails beneath their hinder parts,
Yet shag nor fur on breast or rump defeat his icy darts.
He pierces past the bullock's hide, unhindered on he goes
Clean thro' the goat's cuirass of hair; only in vain his blows
Rain on the sheep; their heavy pelts defeat him—they'll not feel.
But any old rheumatic man he'll bend like any wheel!
There's some one else despises him—the tender maid who stays
Indoors, her mother mothering, and knows not yet the ways
Of Aphrodite, wedlock-ripe, but keeps her body clean,
Anointed, tucked in inner room the blankets warm between.
Corners there be for winter days! So think of her and then
Think on the famished cuttlefish that in his fireless den
Gnaws his own foot: for him no food the partial Sun provides
That thro' midwinter to and fro o'er Æthiopia rides
And warms the dingy African—but creeps an insect pace
Ere spreads it north to shine upon the wide Hellenic race.
Thus miserably scatters all the wild-wood, deer and hare,
With chattering teeth, 'cross holt and heath, and all to find a lair,
All of a mind some den to find, to huddle down and hutch
Against the cold that kills the old man pegging with his crutch,
Snow-strayed, two-doubled, shielding eyes his window-light to find....
Against this season then, if wise, you'll wear a jerkin lined,
A tunic reaching to your knees almost, with plenty knap:
Fat as a flea to snug therein, to tramp and care no rap
For weather; not the worst can raise a goose-flesh on your skin.
Item, a pair of rawhide boots well stuffed of felt within:
Item—against the frost a sound specific 'tis to tack
A pair of kid-skins edge to edge with thongs. They warm the back
And turn the rain, you'd hardly think! Item, a close felt cap
With wind-guards wide and closely tied o'er either ear a flap
'Gainst Boreas when he swoops and drives the morning damp to spread
O'er fold and field, in time to yield us souls our daily bread.
Good lack! The gods are over us: but how this blessed juice
Sucks up from earth to fall again and nourish us, by Zeus
If I can make that out! Yet sure at night it turns to rain,
And then, with just a fetch to North, the muck comes back again!
Get home before the beggar starts: beware of him: don't let
Him catch and drench and soak you till thro' shirt and skin you're wet.
Plague on this January month! as hard on beast as wights!
Cut down your cattle-fodder—feed your belly 'gainst the nights—
That's my advice—and carry on and see the nuisance through:
So wait upon the Equinox to fetch the circle true,
And trust your Mother Earth her various fruitage to renew.





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