The stormcock's many songs
Dec. 19th, 2018 12:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shewhomustThe best laid plans: home from London, a week before Christmas and no commitments until the New Year, other than pleasing ourselves. I had a fairly good idea what needed to be done in the next few days, to set us up for the holiday period. So did durham_rambler. They were not, as it happens, the same idea: but they weren't incompatible, and over breakfast this morning we agreed a working schedule. Then he set off on the first of his errands, and I discovered that my desktop wouldn't turn on.
Ouch.
durham_rambler has now persuaded it back to life, and is running a backup; meanwhile, I am at the kitchen table with my notebook, and no access to the work tasks I meant to do. Oh, well then, time for a footnote to the previous post.
One of the thingsboybear had told me about the Waterpoint sessions was that a singer called Chris had set a poem called The Stormcock's Song which he very much liked. It might or might not be by Hugh McDiamid, and the internet didn't seem to know anything about it.
This was a challenge, and I spent some time searching for poems about stormcocks - which are mistle thrushes - and finding a surprising number of them. The first thing you have to do is screen out Roy Harper (Wikipedia thinks Stormcock is his best album).
In that case, says the internet, you must mean Stormcock in Elder by Ruth Pitter, for which there are abundant study notes. No, I don't, and it doesn't do much for me as a poem (though it does offer a close-up description of the bird, which could be useful). Nor do I want Kipling's Minesweepers:
That's an obvious red herring. But the storm-cock sings in early spring to restart the wheel of the seasons, in A Shropshire Lad:
No? Well, Cicely Lane Fox always looks ready to be set as a song:
Fortunately, Chris Tymkow was at the Waterpoint on Monday evening, andboybear was able not only to put in a request but also to buy his CD. He's right, it's an excellent song:
And of courseboybear was right all along: it is by Hugh McDiarmid.
durham_rambler. They were not, as it happens, the same idea: but they weren't incompatible, and over breakfast this morning we agreed a working schedule. Then he set off on the first of his errands, and I discovered that my desktop wouldn't turn on.Ouch.
durham_rambler has now persuaded it back to life, and is running a backup; meanwhile, I am at the kitchen table with my notebook, and no access to the work tasks I meant to do. Oh, well then, time for a footnote to the previous post.One of the things
boybear had told me about the Waterpoint sessions was that a singer called Chris had set a poem called The Stormcock's Song which he very much liked. It might or might not be by Hugh McDiamid, and the internet didn't seem to know anything about it. This was a challenge, and I spent some time searching for poems about stormcocks - which are mistle thrushes - and finding a surprising number of them. The first thing you have to do is screen out Roy Harper (Wikipedia thinks Stormcock is his best album).
In that case, says the internet, you must mean Stormcock in Elder by Ruth Pitter, for which there are abundant study notes. No, I don't, and it doesn't do much for me as a poem (though it does offer a close-up description of the bird, which could be useful). Nor do I want Kipling's Minesweepers:
"Mines reported in the fairway,
"Warn all traffic and detain.
" 'Sent up Unity, Claribel, Assyrian, Stormcock, and Golden Gain."
That's an obvious red herring. But the storm-cock sings in early spring to restart the wheel of the seasons, in A Shropshire Lad:
So braver notes the storm-cock sings
To start the rusted wheel of things,
And brutes in field and brutes in pen
Leap that the world goes round again.
No? Well, Cicely Lane Fox always looks ready to be set as a song:
As I went down the Portsmouth Road, a careless, rambling fellow,
The stormcock whistled on the bough, a stave both loud and mellow;
To hear his song I paused awhile, then tossed it back with laughter,
But all along the seaward road, I heard it follow after:
"East - West - home is best - you'll wander far and lone, lad,
But of all the lands you'll find on Earth, there's none just like your own, lad."
Fortunately, Chris Tymkow was at the Waterpoint on Monday evening, and
boybear was able not only to put in a request but also to buy his CD. He's right, it's an excellent song:Blessed are those who have songs to sing
When others are silent; poor song though it be,
Just a message to the silence that someone is still
Alive and glad, though on a naked tree.
And of course
boybear was right all along: it is by Hugh McDiarmid.
