We’ve updated our Terms of Use to reflect our new entity name and address. You can review the changes here.
We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Moonlit Missive #30: Tendrils of the Vine

by In Gowan Ring

/

about

The Fable of the Nightingale:
In olden times the Nightingale never sang at night—from spring through summer he rather sang from morning ‘til night, awakening noisily in the grey-blue dawn along with his friends, and frightening the cockchafers sleeping cozy under the lilac leaves.

He fell to sleep in the flowering vines at seven or half past and slept the whole night through.

But one summer night, the nightingale slept on an especially youthful branch and during his sleep the horns of the vine, tenacious tendrils grew so thick and so fast that he awoke tied up with entangled legs and helpless wings. Afraid for his life, he struggled in the trap, narrowly escaping by a thin stretch of strength.

Since then all through the spring and summer he swears to sleep no more as long as the tendrils grow. At night he sings keeping himself awake, altering themes in jeweled threads of variation, at times panting desperate, intoxicated. We hear him and ache to see him singing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

These Brittle, stubborn vines have bound me. I have slept unaware, drowsed in thoughtless slumber. Then startled in fright, I broke all these twisted threads held to my flesh.

When the torpor of the night weighs upon my lids I fear the tendrils of the vine and revolt in loud defiance. Unbinding my voice, I awake in the night and look to the sad morning star. To keep from sleep I listen to the sound of my own voice. At times howl loud those things by custom kept inside; then whisper low, afraid of my own exclamations.

I want to cry out all the things I know; all that I suppose; everything I imagine; all that enchants, hurts and surprises me...

...But there is always—near the edge of the humming dawn—a cool hand that settles on my mouth, quelling my ecstatic tongue; and I return to the soft sounds of childlike incantations.

I no longer know a happy sleep,
yet I no longer fear the tendrils of the vine.

lyrics

I have seen the nightingale
Singing in the moonlight
Free, the nightingale
Did not know that upon him I spied

He interrupts himself at times,
His head inclined
as if he’s listening
Within himself to the length
Of a note that’s died down

Then swelling up his throat
He takes his song again
With all his might
His head thrown back
The picture of amorous despair

He sings just to sing
He sings such lovely things
That he does not know
Anymore what it was
That they were meant to say

But I can still hear through
The melancholy notes
The piping of a flute
The quivering, crystalline trills
In clear vigorous cries

I can still hear the first
Innocent and frightened
Song of the nightingale
Caught within
The tendrils of the vine

credits

released June 5, 2020

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

In Gowan Ring

The Symbolist Folk Music of In Gowan Ring channels stories of stones and angels through homemade instruments and human voice.

contact / help

Contact In Gowan Ring

Streaming and
Download help

Shipping and returns

Redeem code

Report this track or account

If you like In Gowan Ring, you may also like: