Winter is icummen 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,
Damn 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.
—Ezra Pound, Ancient Music
Bitter cold this morning, -1º when I went out the door at 4:30 and most likely still dropping. Though it is crystal clear and razor sharp dry, it reminds me of the poem above from Ezra Pound. It’s the kind of cold that inspires swearing, especially in early December when the memory of the milder temperatures of autumn are still fresh in my mind. You expect this kind of cold in February but in December it feels like an ambush.
I looked for a painting of mine that fit Pound’s words and cadence, but his hard chops and ire don’t show up much in my work, at least in recent times. So, I focused on the ancient part of the poem and chose the piece above, Dusk of Time, which is in a way about the connection of all times. The same cold that drove Pound to swearing when he wrote it, and myself this morning, is that same bitter cold that probably caused the ancients to utter a profanity or two. This painting is not so much about the cold as it is about how our experiences of this world, in the end, are little different than those who lived hundreds and thousands of years before.
Cold is cold. Dark is dark. Alone is alone.
Then and now.
I thought someone might have put Pound’s verse to music but only a single composer wrote a piece of music and it is not recorded anywhere as far as I can see. Pound’s verse has a kind of Kurt Weill rhythm that reminds me of some Tom Waits music. Here’s a song, God’s Away on Business, that feels like it would work with Pound’s words or in a Kurt Weill Threepenny Opera-type piece. It’s got that bite and spit, just right for swearing away the cold.
Redtree Times 
If our 8th grade English teacher hadn’t introduced us to this Ezra Pound poem, we probably wouldn’t have found the one you included here. Once we found it, there was no stopping us. None of us had the courage to recite it at the dinner table, but we’d share it whenever we could, giggling like crazy at the fact that we had an excuse to use bad words. Eventually, we reached the age when we were shoveling our own driveways and trying to get to work on icy roads, and gained a whole new appreciation for Pound’s view of things.
I had to laugh when I saw that Pound poem shared by your teacher. But as short as it is I can see why it was shared. It uses few words to create a vivid image– plus it’s easy to memorize.