Winter Solstice Rediscovered

December 21 - January 5

In this special double-length episode, Alexis and Kit celebrate the long Winter Solstice night with music, recipes, books, and joyful traditions of the holiday season. Together, they look forward to the coming new year: the Year of the Tiger.

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The Winter Solstice Spotify Companion Playlist

Poems Featured in this Podcast

Winter by Louisa May Alcott

The stormy winter's come at last,
With snow and rain and bitter blast;
Ponds and brooks are frozen o'er,
We cannot sail there any more.

The little birds are flown away
To warmer climes than ours;
They'll come no more till gentle May
Calls them back with flowers.

Oh, then the darling birds will sing
From their neat nests in the trees.
All creatures wake to welcome Spring,
And flowers dance in the breeze.

With patience wait till winter is o'er,
And all lovely things return;
Of every season try the more
Some knowledge or virtue to learn.

***

So the shortest day came, and the year died,
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.

— Susan Cooper

***

Excerpt from “Little Gidding,” by T.S. Eliot

Midwinter spring is its own season
Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown,
Suspended in time, between pole and tropic.
When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire,
The brief sun flames the ice, on pond and ditches,
In windless cold that is the heart's heat,
Reflecting in a watery mirror
A glare that is blindness in the early afternoon.
And glow more intense than blaze of branch, or brazier,
Stirs the dumb spirit: no wind, but pentecostal fire
In the dark time of the year. …

***

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren,
Since o’er shady groves they hover
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.
Call unto his funeral dole
The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole
To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm
And (when gay tombs are robb’d) sustain no harm;
But keep the wolf far thence, that’s foe to men,
For with his nails he’ll dig them up again.

— John Webster

***

The north wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then?
Poor thing.

He'll sit in a barn,
And keep himself warm,
And hide his head under his wing,
Poor thing.

***

The Yule Cat (Jólakötturinn) - (Abridged)
Adapted by Kit,
from an Icelandic poem by Jóhannes úr Kötlum (1899-1972)

Now listen, and learn of the Yule Cat
whose legend is dark and grim;
No one knew where he came from
Nor what became of him.

His whiskers are sharp as needles,
His back arches with furious rage,
His claws dart from his shaggy paws
As he begins his yuletide rampage.

Hungry and wild, he prowls
Through the bitter Yuletide snow;
Yet it was not the cold that made people shiver
Wherever the Yule Cat did go.

Despair befell those who heard the yell
Of that huge and vicious Yule Cat.
‘Twas not mice but men he hunted -
Everybody knew that.

He preyed upon the very poor
who received no new clothes for Yule,
Those whose lives were very hard
When winter was especially cruel.

So the mothers of the houses all would knit
And work their spinning wheels,
To make a dress, or scarf, or hat,
Or socks with colorful heels.

For you mustn’t let the Cat
Get hold of the innocent.
The children must have something new to wear
Each year, each parent is vigilant.

So when candles were lit on Yule Eve
And the cat’s glowing eyes peered in,
The little ones showed off their clothes proudly
And celebration at last could begin.

Some might get new shoes,
Or an apron with a ruffled hem,
Whatever was needed, as long as it was new,
That would be enough to save them.

The Yule Cat could not eat them, you see,
If they had new clothes to put on.
He’d growl and he’d hiss, but after this
He eventually had to move on.

Is the Cat more than legend? I cannot say;
But I can tell you this much is true:
As long as each Yuletide you have new clothes to wear
He’ll never have to come visit you.

Now you might be thinking of helping
Where help is needed most each year.
There are children with nothing, remember,
Your gifts surely would bring great cheer.

Those who live in a lightless world
Sometimes need a little help, it’s clear -
So help where you can, and I wish that you’ll have
A merry Yule, and a happy new year!

***

even dawn gets closer
to the last day of the year -
the sound of pounding mochi

— Matsuo Basho

***
to my hut too
New Year's arrives...
the zoni vendor

— Kobayashi Issa

***

with the poor man
who lives next door
I share some mochi . . .

— Masaoka Shiki

***

The year ends fast -
with the echo of rice-cake pounding
I sleep alone.

— Matsuo Basho

***

Every year, I pass the winter solstice alone in a foreign land,
Every day, I suffer from depression and sorrow.
In this place, I am the poorest and oldest one.
Everywhere in the world, families get together this day.
With my walking stick, I climb on the hill to watch the snowy scenery,
Imagining myself in jade, leaving the palace after meeting with the Emperor.
— Du Fu

***

The Winter Spiral by Nancy Foster

Deep Mid-Winter drawing near,
Darkness in our Garden here - -
One small flame yet bravely burns
To show a path which ever turns.

Earth, please bear us as we go,
Seeking Light to send a-glow:
Branches green and moss and fern,
Mark our path to trace each turn.
Brother animals, teach us too
To serve with patience as you do.
We walk with candle toward the Light
While Earth awaits with hope so bright:
In the Light which finds new birth
Love may spread o'er all the Earth.
Deep Mid-Winter drawing near - -
May Light arise in our Garden here.

***

Christmas Recipe by Amos Russell Witt

Take a cup of thoughtfulness,
Take a cup of love,
Take the herbs that cheer and bless,
Drawn from stores above.

Take a pinch or two of pains,
And an ounce of wit,
And of secrecy two grains,
Just to flavor it.
Cook it at the fire of zest,
Seeking not your own;
You will have the merriest
Christmas ever known.

****
Excerpt from “The Candy Country” by Louisa May Alcott

'Gingerbread,
Go to the head.
Your task is done;
A soul is won.
Take it and go
Where muffins grow,
Where sweet loaves rise
To the very skies,
And biscuits fair
Perfume the air.

***

winter chrysanthemum--
heating amazake
in front of the window

— Matsuo Basho

***

Picture-books in Winter by Robert Louis Stevenson from A Child’s Garden of Verses

Summer fading, winter comes—
Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs,
Window robins, winter rooks,
And the picture story-books.

Water now is turned to stone
Nurse and I can walk upon;
Still we find the flowing brooks
In the picture story-books.

All the pretty things put by,
Wait upon the children's eye,
Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks,
In the picture story-books.

We may see how all things are,
Seas and cities, near and far,
And the flying fairies' looks,
In the picture story-books.

How am I to sing your praise,
Happy chimney-corner days,
Sitting safe in nursery nooks,
Reading picture story-books?

***

Lyrics by Alf Prøysen

One should have been four years old in Romjula
when the Christmas lights were shining all day long
and the world was a house with four walls,
where the very bliss was a grandmother’s lap.

***

A winters night
O-soji complete
A break, at last

— Unknown

***

An argument
Over the one piece of paper
Which cannot be thrown away

— Babu

***

The Tyger
By William Blake

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

***

New Year’s Day
What I feel, has been too much for words
For the words

— Daio

***

New Years Day
What luck! What luck!
A pale blue sky

— Issa

***

The first dream of the year
I kept it a secret
And smiled to myself

— Sho-U

***

The New Year by Anon

I am the little New Year, ho, ho !
Here I come tripping it over the snow.
Shaking my bells with a merry din –
So open your doors and let me in!

Presents I bring for each and all –
Big folks, little folks, short and tall;
Each one from me a treasure may win –
So open your doors and let me in!

Some shall have silver and some shall have gold,
Some shall have new clothes and some shall have old;
Some shall have brass and some shall have tin –
So open your doors and let me in!

Some shall have water and some shall have milk,
Some shall have satin and some shall have silk!
But each from me a present may win –
So open your doors and let me in!

Musicians & Music Featured this Episode

American ensemble Calliope Brass collaborates with the world’s most prominent creatives to build evocative, story-driven concert experiences for a variety of audiences. Inspired by the eponymous storytelling muse in Greek mythology, Calliope Brass (pronounced “Kuh-LIE-uh-pea”) is most known for its innovative approach, successfully expanding upon the more traditional norm of recital-style performances. As a registered nonprofit, Calliope has obtained several grants for performance and educational initiatives since its inception in 2015.

PS: Calliope Brass is raising funds through December 31, 2021 to bring Calliope Brass’ story-driven programming to audiences of all ages in 2022. Donate to their year-end campaign!

Additional Music Featured in this Podcast