The Frog and the Nightingale.

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  • Опубліковано 13 жов 2024
  • This video is a copy of video posted by Miss Jemma J
    link for her account is : / theratfinkle
    Its a story version of a poem "The Frog and the Nightingale" written by an Indian poet Vikram Seth.
    The Frog and The Nightingale
    Once upon a time a frog
    Croaked away in Bingle Bog
    Every night from dusk to dawn
    He croaked awn and awn and awn
    Other creatures loathed his voice,
    But, alas, they had no choice,
    And the crass cacophony
    Blared out from the sumac tree
    At whose foot the frog each night
    Minstrelled on till morning night
    Neither stones nor prayers nor sticks.
    Insults or complaints or bricks
    Stilled the frogs determination
    To display his heart's elation.
    But one night a nightingale
    In the moonlight cold and pale
    Perched upon the sumac tree
    Casting forth her melody
    Dumbstruck sat the gaping frog
    And the whole admiring bog
    Stared towards the sumac, rapt,
    And, when she had ended, clapped,
    Ducks had swum and herons waded
    To her as she serenaded
    And a solitary loon
    Wept, beneath the summer moon.
    Toads and teals and tiddlers, captured
    By her voice, cheered on, enraptured:
    "Bravo! " "Too divine! " "Encore! "
    So the nightingale once more,
    Quite unused to such applause,
    Sang till dawn without a pause.
    Next night when the Nightingale
    Shook her head and twitched her tail,
    Closed an eye and fluffed a wing
    And had cleared her throat to sing
    She was startled by a croak.
    "Sorry - was that you who spoke? "
    She enquired when the frog
    Hopped towards her from the bog.
    "Yes," the frog replied. "You see,
    I'm the frog who owns this tree
    In this bog I've long been known
    For my splendid baritone
    And, of course, I wield my pen
    For Bog Trumpet now and then"
    "Did you... did you like my song? "
    "Not too bad - but far too long.
    The technique was fine of course,
    But it lacked a certain force".
    "Oh! " the nightingale confessed.
    Greatly flattered and impressed
    That a critic of such note
    Had discussed her art and throat:
    "I don't think the song's divine.
    But - oh, well - at least it's mine".
    "That's not much to boast about".
    Said the heartless frog. "Without
    Proper training such as I
    And few others can supply.
    You'll remain a mere beginner.
    But with me you'll be a winner"
    "Dearest frog", the nightingale
    Breathed: "This is a fairy tale -
    And you are Mozart in disguise
    Come to earth before my eyes".
    "Well I charge a modest fee."
    "Oh! " "But it won't hurt, you'll see"
    Now the nightingale inspired,
    Flushed with confidence, and fired
    With both art and adoration,
    Sang - and was a huge sensation.
    Animals for miles around
    Flocked towards the magic sound,
    And the frog with great precision
    Counted heads and charged admission.
    Though next morning it was raining,
    He began her vocal training.
    "But I can't sing in this weather"
    "Come my dear - we'll sing together.
    Just put on your scarf and sash,
    Koo-oh-ah! ko-ash! ko-ash! "
    So the frog and nightingale
    Journeyed up and down the scale
    For six hours, till she was shivering
    and her voice was hoarse and quivering.
    Though subdued and sleep deprived,
    In the night her throat revived,
    And the sumac tree was bowed,
    With a breathless, titled crowd:
    Owl of Sandwich, Duck of Kent,
    Mallard and Milady Trent,
    Martin Cardinal Mephisto,
    And the Coot of Monte Cristo,
    Ladies with tiaras glittering
    In the interval sat twittering -
    And the frog observed them glitter
    With a joy both sweet and bitter.
    Every day the frog who'd sold her
    Songs for silver tried to scold her:
    "You must practice even longer
    Till your voice, like mine grows stronger.
    In the second song last night
    You got nervous in mid-flight.
    And, my dear, lay on more trills:
    Audiences enjoy such frills.
    You must make your public happier:
    Give them something sharper snappier.
    We must aim for better billings.
    You still owe me sixty shillings."
    Day by day the nightingale
    Grew more sorrowful and pale.
    Night on night her tired song
    Zipped and trilled and bounced along,
    Till the birds and beasts grew tired
    At a voice so uninspired
    And the ticket office gross
    Crashed, and she grew more morose -
    For her ears were now addicted
    To applause quite unrestricted,
    And to sing into the night
    All alone gave no delight.
    Now the frog puffed up with rage.
    "Brainless bird - you're on the stage -
    Use your wits and follow fashion.
    Puff your lungs out with your passion."
    Trembling, terrified to fail,
    Blind with tears, the nightingale
    Heard him out in silence, tried,
    Puffed up, burst a vein, and died.
    Said the frog: "I tried to teach her,
    But she was a stupid creature -
    Far too nervous, far too tense.
    Far too prone to influence.
    Well, poor bird - she should have known
    That your song must be your own.
    That's why I sing with panache:
    "Koo-oh-ah! ko-ash! ko-ash! "
    And the foghorn of the frog
    Blared unrivalled through the bog.
    Vikram Seth

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