Relocated back to England, I experienced snow for the first time as a kid in the Fenlands, low-lying and exposed to any beast that sought to blizzard its way in from the East. The 'big freeze' of 1963 lives still in memory. But in truth, we are not a snowy country. Snowfalls are occasional events, snow paralysis usually ensues for 48 hours or so, snow days are rare and happy interludes for British school children (and their teachers).
My first experience of proper, regular, reliable snow was in the 1990s when I was working in America, the city of Rochester, upper New York State on the shore of Lake Ontario, home of the (then) mighty Eastman Kodak Co. Once the season arrived there would be snow for weeks, a way of life. The main thoroughfares were cleared by teams of plows (ploughs) before dawn every morning, tons of salt and grit were spread, it became a routine to dig one's car out of the daily snowfall on the car-park at the end of each winter afternoon.
The most dramatic fall I ever experienced was one Sunday in March. Having driven to a country club for lunch with colleagues, we found on leaving that nearly three feet of snow had fallen in just as many (or few) hours. It was known as a lake-effect fall, cold winds blowing down from Canada picking up moisture across Lake Ontario and dumping it on lucky Rochester.
I was there through several winters and so got used to the regime. Great coat, balaclava and gloves, thick socks and DMs were the dress-code for outdoors. The latter needed washing nightly to remove the salt. Cans of de-icer and a snow shovel were indispensable as was lip balm. On bright days sunglasses were protection against snow glare. Every night was cool.
The scariest drive I ever did was from Boston Massachusetts to Rochester, some 400 miles, one Sunday night through heavy snow. I'd been to a gig and needed to be in work the next morning for a big project meeting. It's a pretty straight route on Interstate 90 and should have taken six hours but the weather was atrocious, there were hardly any other vehicles out and driving into falling snow all the way it took me eight, with the side window part way open to keep me awake. I arrived just in time to shower, change and head for the office.
Rochester, New York |
Those of you who are regular visitors to the Saturday blog will understand that although I'm perfectly happy with snow and enjoy it when it knows its place, I don't much like being cold. I don't do ski-ing holidays and I cannot see the attraction of climbing any mountain with a ton of the white stuff on it. Give me a sunny beach to stroll on any day. However, I do have a grudging admiration for those who decide to rise to the challenge of climbing some of the most dangerous and inhospitable peaks the planet has to offer. As I stated at the outset, the conquest of Everest was one of the defining events of the year I was born.
Mount Everest 1953 |
Today's internal narrative poem, with obvious snowy connotations, comes from the deep freeze compartment of the imaginarium and casts a cold and calculating eye on the life and death of a mountaineer. Apologies in advance if you find it a bit bleak; it's just where the muse dragged me in snow week.
Scalene
Not so easy reading a book by torchlight
with mittens on because the words won't
keep still and then there's a challenge in
turning over each page hands trembling
eyes straining lungs burning battery low.
You might say it's a strange way to keep
the mind occupied but for one raised on
the rational five miles below and another
five thousand to the west as thought flies
it's the mathematics of it matters mostly.
I know I won't get out of here alive odds
stacked against survival my companion
expired already by my side and now the
weight of loneliness within oppresses as
those unremitting snows outside entomb.
Falling non-stop for a week, such a freak
phenomenon occurs once in eighty years
but we took the risk gambled all and lost
so can shed no tears that's left for wives
and children after we haven't come home.
I packed for intellectual exercise the new
treatise by Professor Kline had devoured
all but the last few pages of Mathematics
in Western Culture before disaster struck
and now I'm struggling to its conclusion.
Fading at the apex of the thinnest scalene
remote from all felicity still I treasure this
slimmest shard of a mental triangle tying
me to home as I'm becoming just another
mote the bulb dying before the final page.
You might consider my position strange
for someone who believes in no gods to
be nearer to heaven than most at my end
shuddering into a blizzard of dead souls
simply the mathematics of it my friends.
Just in case you need a pick-me-up after that, some sublime music to finish from one of my favourite American bands of the 1990s, the fabulous Trip Shakespeare. Just click on the song title: Snow Days
Thanks for reading. Stay cosy, S ;-)
48 comments:
Bold and scary, Steve, both the snow and the poem. Coincidentally, last week's "Infinite Monkey Cage" on the nature of reality, and the place of mathematics in it...
Great blog. I don't envy your winters in USA! 😃
Chilling dude. Thought provoking poetry. I loved that Trip Shakespeare track.
Loved the anecdotes Steve. Yes, sadly hot snow is not an option (LOL). I had to read your Scalene poem a couple of times to get it, a tour de force. You stay cosy too.
Apart from the really enjoyable memories of snow and '63 the thing that stood out for me was that Steve thought it was quite normal to drive 6 hours there and 6 hours back for a concert. The poem is superb.
Another absorbing blog, just great writing again. 👏
I know you're a man for coincidences, so how about this one? I was playing a Paul Brady album this morning and these lines jumped out: "Got a brother in Boston/ Says he'll send me on the fare/ Just wrote me a letter/ Making out that he's cleaning up out there... And I've been thinking about it/ But it seems so far to go/ People say in the winter/ You'd get lost underneath the snow..." Top blogging again. Your Scalene poem is tremendous.
Oh Steve. I preferred your lovely Yellow blog but this is bleakly brilliant.
I've seen pictures of the 1963 big freeze in Blackpool, pitch like a skating rink. So annoyed now that the Os didn't invest in undersoil heating back in the day. I'm missing football more than ever now!
Very interesting ... amazing how often penguins and polar bears appear together on Christmas cards often telling each other jokes. My grandson tells me that penguins often choose one of their number to push into the water to see if there is any danger before jumping in themselves. Those in Blackpool zoo probably don't do this.
I enjoyed your reminiscences of proper, regular, reliable snow. That lake-effect business sounds scary. I loved the atmospheric photo of the snowy strip with itinerant guitarist. As for the poem, its powerful in a quite shocking way but so cleverly put together... "this slimmest shard of a mental triangle tying me to home" - breath-taking imagery.
Beautifully written as always and your Scalene poem is brilliant (if bleak).
Wonderful, Steve 🤍
❤️
That is such a moving poem.
Lovely to read about living with 'proper' snow :) and what a brilliant poem. So well done! 👍
An interesting blog Steve and Scalene is a breath-taking poem. Never apologise...however, the musical outro was a nice touch. ❄❄❄❄❄
Even 'proper' snow on Athens today and -20 at night. What have we done??? Love your blog and a wonderful poem. 💙
That's an interesting idea for a snow poem and a powerful piece. 👍
Impressive Steve. I didn't know about your US sojourns. I thought the poem was a fine piece.
Ah snow! AS you might imagine we don't get a lot of it in Queensland. I think your poem is very powerful. It possesses an austere beauty. Well done.
Scalene is really impressive Steve.
NYS winters. You've captured them well. Never buy a used car with NYS plates. The frames are corroded from wet and salt. What fantastic imagery in your mountaineer poem. It's a gripping work to read.
That's awesome!
Enjoyed your snow tales, stunned by your poem. That's exceptional.
Thanks, Steve. Snow has no attraction for me either. For me it belongs on stage and in films where I am on the other side of the screen with my candy bag as cinema hotdogs ate pretty dodgy Your poem evokes memories of two films; one about Scot's trip to the Antarctic and the other the more recent film Everest. In the latter a tourist company sold climbing Everest as a HOLIDAY and people died.
You bring out how totally vulnerable people are in hostile environments when it is outside their natural.habitat.
Great poem!
So well written Steve. The poem is a fine thing.
I've never liked snow. It's place is on Christmas cards as you said. I found your poem very moving. What a terrible way to die.
I like the ideas you've brought together in your poem and the tension you create between stoicism and pathos. Bleak yes, but brilliantly executed. Thanks for sharing. That Trip Shakespeare bonus - great harmonies.
I love snow but would never choose to go up a mountain risking everything just to get to the top. Your skilful and evocative poem is close enough thank you.
You're so right, we're not a snow country. You need to be truly continental for that, away from the jetstream and not surrounded by sea. I'm so glad. Months of snow would be tedious, however used to it we might get. I loved the poem.
Oh Steve, what a beautifully measured poem.
Thanks for another interesting read. I liked your allusion to Yeats (cast a cold eye etc) and thought your icy maths poem was excellent. ❄❄❄
That's such a cool post. Snow is my favourite thing. Great poem too. 👍
good article
Interesting snow blog. Stunning poem.
Scalene - such an affecting poem, such a clever title.
That's one hell of a poem. Well done.
Brilliant poetry. 👏
I don't like cold. I'm happy to look at snow if I'm in the warm! Your account was interesting though and the poem is beautifully done.
Amazing poem, a terrible beauty (to quote Yeats back at you). Well done.
That's really very good.
There's a powerful logic running through your Scalene poem. It is superbly evoked. Very well done.
I enjoyed your snow reminiscences. Reading your poem made e feel so sad. I know it's only imagined but it is very persuasively done. Great writing and a good idea to include an upbeat audio finale. 👍
Do you remember winters in Moscow Steve? I love your poetry.
Adorable poem, love to read that
amazing poetry
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