Poem of the Day: ‘Wynter Wakeneth al my Care’

A beautiful lyric from the early 14th century, “Wynter wakeneth al my care” is in the kind of Middle English that, like Chaucer’s “Canterbury Tales,” is just within the reach of Modern English readers. Read “y” as “i,” “ant” as “and,” “u” as “w,” and you’re most of the way through the poem.The song is performed occasionally these days by singing groups, but the lyric lacked a memorable traditional melody that might have promoted it in the culture’s memory, the way, say, “Sumer is Icumen in” remains alive for us. Yet as a poem, it has a deep drive toward showing us winter’s slaying of summer as a figure of death: “Nou hit is ant nou hit nys” — now it is, and now it not-is. The poem concludes, “Jesu, help that hit be sene / Ant shild us from helle. / For y not whider y shal, ne hou longe her duelle” — Jesus, help this to be seen / and shield us from hell. / For I know not where I shall go, nor how long I shall dwell here.A quick prose translation might look like this: Winter awakens all my care, now these leaves grow bare. Often I sigh and mourn sorely when it comes in my thought of this world’s joy, how it goes all to naught. Now it is, now it not-is, as though it never were, in truth. This, many men say, and so it is. All goes but God’s will, and all we shall die, though we like it ill. All the grass that grows green, now it fades altogether. Jesus, help that it be seen, and shield us from hell, for I don’t know where I shall go, nor how long I shall dwell here.But it is in the Middle English itself that the listener will find the contemplation of winter at its deepest, as winter wakens all our care.Wynter Wakeneth al my Careby AnonymousWynter wakeneth al my care,Nou this leves waxeth bare.Ofte y sike ant mourne sareWhen hit cometh in my thohtOf this worldes joie, hou hit goth al to noht.Nou hit is ant nou hit nys,Also hit ner nere, ywys.That moni mon seith, soth hit is.Al goth bote godes wille.Alle we shule deye, thah us like ylle.Al that gren me graueth grene,Nou hit faleweth al by dene.Jesu help that hit be seneAnt shild us from helle.For y not whider y shal, ne hou longe her duelle.___________________________________________ With “Poem of the Day,” The New York Sun offers a daily portion of verse selected by Joseph Bottum with the help of the North Carolina poet Sally Thomas, the Sun’s associate poetry editor. Tied to the day, or the season, or just individual taste, the poems will be typically drawn from the lesser-known portion of the history of English verse. In the coming months we will be reaching out to contemporary poets for examples of current, primarily formalist work, to show that poetry can still serve as a delight to the ear, an instruction to the mind, and a tonic for the soul.

Poem of the Day: ‘Wynter Wakeneth al my Care’

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