As the Northern hemisphere enters Winter, a bit of seasonal humor from that bilious old Fascist, Ezra Pound, to the tune of Sumer Is Icumen In, the oldest song in English (circa 1350) to which we still have both words and music,.
Pound's piece, in mock Middle English, turns the original on its head. One is about the joys of spring in the natural world, in which humans appear not at all; the other evokes the discomforts of urban winter in a world entirely human, in which nature is reduced to the inconveniences that it brings. (His reference to "winter's balm [=ointment]" refers ironically to the road-slop with which the passing bus has just sprayed him.) The implied contrasts between the two offer a mordant critique of what the West has become. Even Fascists have their occasional points.
You can hear a spirited Winter Solstice performance of this modern classic by the Bayesian choir here (though the audience clearly doesn't get the joke).
Happy Winter!
Antient 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!
Winter is icumen in
Winter is icumen in