1. |
Bringing in the May
01:58
|
|||
|
Puckered,
Helpless,
Grizzled,
Clenched
Ugly as a newborn face;
Scared to let myself go:
And where do I go
Except towards death?
And what if I grow
In the wrong directions,
Abnormal or twisted,
And how do you do it anyway?
Thoughts crumpled,
Feelings crushed.
Perhaps I’m not even a leaf?
Just scared to stand out
From the crowded branches?
So what am I? – yellow?
Or just painfully shy
Soft virgin green
Closed against the urging sun?
Do I have to do anything?
Will I just become – me?
Or do I have to force myself out?
Safer to sit tight;
But then I get scared
The rest of the branch
Which had seemed
So wooden
Is unfolding faster;
Best to let go then;
But what if my flower
Hardly out of bud
Gets pollinated?
The May blossom light
Of the still warm evening;
The birdsong high
Above distant traffic:
God become mild
And expansive, beaming:
Death's breathless wind:
All give their answer:
He who saves her dances
Will never be a dancer.
|
||||
2. |
||||
|
(And faster around the chessboard Maypole three four...)
It was on a somer’s evening,
The merry month of May,
When buds are free and briddes sing
And leaves are brave and gay.
I met a surly bishop,
Cruel steward at his side
And now his guards lay slain or fled
But at me he did chide,
‘Pawn so soiled and churlish,
Living like a beast,
Your king crusades against the Turk,
Spare me and join the feast.”
“Norman,” I laughed, your danelaw’s
Ploughed every inch of this land,
You’ve snatched your danegeld twice and thrice
With chainmail on your hand,”
“Now stubborn as Danish sokeman
And true as Saxon thegn
With a ‘waes heal’ and a freeman’s shout,
We snatch it back again.
“In the name of good King Alfred
And the nation that he saved,
In the Lincoln green of an English knight,
We make our own crusade.”
“There’s knight blood on my longstaff
Fresh as the day I fled:
I hit him and hit him and hit him
And hit him until he was dead.
I’m much too far gone, Abbot,
For you to save my soul,
Besides in that great pile of flesh,
Where’s yours? The devil’s hole.
“For all your noble churches
With turrets and with towers,
For all your royal forest laws
The venison is ours.
“Call for beef and mutton,
It tastes like sheep and cow,
Stuff your pork till you’re blue in the face,
It’s villein’s boar and sow.
“You can keep your cuckoo’s feathers,
Your fancy foreign drawl,
All we want back is the silver and gold
You loot by cross and law.
“In the name of good King Alfred
And the nation that he saved,
In the Lincoln green of an English knight,
We make our own crusade.”
The swift as the sunlight’s flicker
Behind the still-leafed tree,
I caught the chink of a tinkling spur
And a mounted lady’s plea.
“Stout yeman, I beg your mercy
Upon yon abbot’s life,”
Golden hair flowed from her golden crown,
In my heart went a long cold knife.
“She’d never meant to parley
Though she used the English tongue,
You slew a knight whose daughter I am.
Now your bowstring music’s sung.”
I planted my last arrow
Deep in the forest green,
“Where it lands I live an outlaw forever.”
I fell at the feet of my queen.
Now the light is painfully fading
On the merry songs we sang
And the flight for our lives through the trees
And the future left to hang…
“In the name of God’s King Alfred
And the harvest that he saved,
Against these king of the castle knights,
We’ve made our last crusade.”
|
||||
3. |
||||
4. |
||||
|
A moon of May and a shining hour
Hunted hind harried in the gloom
And passing fair is the fading flower
Fa la la la la la la la la la.
You stalked me softly who later flew
Hunted hind harried in the gloom
And kissed me bold, wild and free and new.
Fa la la la la la la la la la.
With lips of young, sweet and dangerous rose
Hunted hind harried in the gloom
That like the blood-red of summer blows.
Fa la la la la la la la la la.
(Anne Boleyn)
So wild to hold though I seem so tame;
Hunted hind harried in the gloom
I lost my heart when I won the game.
Fa la la la la la la la la la.
A Tudor rose and a May queen’s throne.
Hunted hind harried in the gloom
I plucked them both and now both are gone.
Fa la la la la la la la la la.
I lost my soul for a golden band
Hunted hind harried in the gloom
That bows the neck as it forced the hand.
Fa la la la la la la la la la.
I lost my head for a peerless hour
Hunted hind harried in the gloom
And my True Thomas in the tower.
Fa la la la la la la la la la.
Six headless horses to lead me home;
Hunted hind harried in the gloom
A headless coachman; a hollow crown.
Fa la la la la la la la la la.
Lyric © Gareth Calway published in the Poppyland volume Doin Different http://garethcalway.blogspot.com/p/doin-different.html
|
||||
5. |
The Rose of the World
02:06
|
|||
|
I stole to the door of Blickling Hall
On the nineteenth night of a moonlit May
And met the ghost of Anne Boleyn
Shining bright as day.
Six headless horses drew her coach
A haunted headless coachman drove,
‘Give them their head!’ she laughed, then turned
On me her look of love.
‘I lost my hart in the darkest chase,
On the dying fall of a hunting horn.
I lost my head for the rose of the world
And the rose withered on the thorn.
‘A death-white moon with a raven head
And a smile like a blossom of lovely May
I sold my heart for a worldly crown
And I’ll take your breath away.’
‘I’m not your True Thomas!’ I cried in dread
And her witch head turned in its rotting shroud
‘Ah! You’ve named the angel who guards my grave,’
And she hid her moon face in a cloud.
‘I lost your hart in the darkest chase
On the dying fall of a hunting horn.
I lost my head for the rose of the world
And the rose withered on the thorn.
|
||||
6. |
||||
|
‘Come hither, Captain,’ the Grail Maiden sighs,
‘Thither away with me
To the rich wooded valley and holy well
My Waste Land dies to be.
‘Look! into the burning wilderness sun
Above the shadeless tree,
The high hawk of summer, hovering still,
The shadow of what will be:
‘The Shadowless One who waits above
To be born to you and me,
A Knight of Truth out of traitor arms
And infidelity.
‘Galahad the Pure, God-armed and winged
To bless our impurity
Unbearably born to steal your quest
And all of your shining glory.
‘Come hither, Captain,’ the Grail Maiden sighs,
And turns him a face so free:
His forbidden love, the queen of his dreams,
The end of all Chivalry.’
A faithless false knight in a failing light
Fallen under a spell to see/ be
A Knight of Truth out of traitor arms
And infidelity.
Says he, ‘My heart is set on the grail
And wholly raised above!’
Says she, ‘It’s broken, and half is set
On your true adulterous love.’
‘I am her champion, she is my king’s,
I am their faithful knight!’
‘The Grail can’t be had for half a heart,
You can have that queen tonight.
‘Whisper my name, any name you like,
Any lover you want me to be,
A night of Truth in my traitor arms
And in fidelity.’
‘Come hither, Captain,’ the Grail Maiden sighs,
‘Thither away with me
To the rich wooded valley and holy well
My Waste Land dies to be.
|
||||
7. |
||||
|
'Blow, trumpet, for the world is white with May;
Blow trumpet, the long night hath rolled away!
Blow through the living world—"Let the King reign."
'Shall Rome or Heathen rule in Arthur's realm?
Flash brand and lance, fall battleaxe upon helm,
Fall battleaxe, and flash brand! Let the King reign.
'Strike for the King and live! his knights have heard
That God hath told the King a secret word.
Fall battleaxe, and flash brand! Let the King reign.
'Blow trumpet! he will lift us from the dust.
Blow trumpet! live the strength and die the lust!
Clang battleaxe, and clash brand! Let the King reign.
'Strike for the King and die! and if thou diest,
The King is King, and ever wills the highest.
Clang battleaxe, and clash brand! Let the King reign.
'Blow, for our Sun is mighty in his May!
Blow, for our Sun is mightier day by day!
Clang battleaxe, and clash brand! Let the King reign.
'The King will follow Christ, and we the King
In whom high God hath breathed a secret thing.
Fall battleaxe, and flash brand! Let the King reign.'
Tennyson from 'The Coming of Arthur'
What is greener than the grass?
Lay the bent to the bonny broom
What is smoother than a glass?
And you'll beguile the lady soon.
What is louder than a horn?
Lay the bent to the bonny broom
What is sharper than a thorn?
And you'll beguile the lady soon.
What is deeper than the sea?
Lay the bent to the bonny broom
What is longer than a Way?
And you'll beguile the lady soon.
Child Ballad 1 (Riddles Wisely Expounded)
|
||||
Peacock's Tale Musical Storytelling Sedgeford, UK
It's all right, folks, we're married. A marriage of melody and rhythm ( flirting with harmony & timbre.) Old married woke
folk, indie, Norfolk noir, beat poems, ghazals & Americana for the world from NW Norfolk. Maz lead & harmony vocals, acoustic guitar. Gaz lead & harmony vocals, drum & bass. Traditional tunes with contemporary beats.
garethcalway.blogspot.com/p/doin-different.html
... more
If you like Peacock's Tale Musical Storytelling, you may also like:
No Trail and Other Unholy Paths
by Jaye Jayle
Evan Patterson writes dark songs that sear the heart.
go to album
Live EP from this shuffly, shambly, inventive folk-jazz outfit features two originals and two covers.
go to album
The Convincer (20th Anniversary Edition)
by Nick Lowe
Released in 2001, “The Convincer” is a gentle gem in the Nick Lowe catalog; an anniversary edition provides opportunity for rediscovery.
go to album
The new EP from denitia specializes in big, hooky pop songs that put her smoky voice front and center.
go to album
featured on Bandcamp Radio Aug 2, 2016
go to album
New Emperors
by My Little Empire Records
New boutique label makes its intentions known via 19 gems - from ethereal, folksy songs to guitar-driven pop.
go to album
With their blend of playfulness and graduate-level instrumentation, Dorcha deftly prove that improvisational zeal and conservatory-level precision aren't mutually exclusive.
go to album
