Drinking Song

’Tis Autumn and the leaves are turned,
   and fallin’ red and yellow,
the wheat is picked, the fields all burned,
   let’s drink and feel well mellow!

[Chorus]
Wassail, we sang to the grand King Tree,
   and all his court and county,
and hark, the boughs swingin’ low with glee,
   full blessed with apple bounty!

The Winter orchard were asleep,
   we woke it with our stickin’,
our weavin’ round, a skip, a leap,
   set Nature’s clock to tickin’!

[Chorus]

Time came to rouse all orchard souls
   from Snowshill far as Stroud, see,
with howlin’ pans o’er fields and knolls,
   and rifle firin’ loudly!

[Chorus]

We hung a ball of fat, a treat,
   for orchard’s guard, red Robin,
then cidered toast, ’twas sour and sweet,
   set fruit-tree sap to throbbin’!

[Chorus]

Some cider next, we took and poured
   ’round King Tree’s roots and trunkwoods,
to tempt him to provide a hoard
   for brews to make us drunkards!

[Chorus]

And last, we raised a glass to say,
   our hopes for this year’s Autumn,
fruit hangs from every branch today,
   ’tis red and green and all firm!

[Chorus]

* * *

Welcome to my Poem of the Month for November! (POTM is a new feature on the Happenstance official website and all back issues will appear here.)

I haven’t seen Happenstance in action for a while, as pain has prevented travel. However, last Autumn I was able to attend Snowshill for the Apple Festival. At that time, I wasn’t aware of the part played by Happenstance in the success of the orchards, as I hadn’t witnessed the wassailing of orchards in January. But at the beginning of this year, I was able to watch the wassail activities at Postlip – so I appreciate the context in retrospect!

I wrote a song describing the wassail activities at Postlip in late January and I draw on this to compose the verses and chorus above. ‘Drinking Song’ describes all the rituals that were involved in waking King Tree and the other fruit trees and orchards across the shire. I use the same rhythm and the same rhyme scheme – perfect rhymes for the first and third lines, near rhymes for the second and fourth lines. Some of the near rhymes are quite tricky and the critic might wince at ‘Autumn’ and ‘all firm’ particularly! However, this poem/song is intended to be performed by keen drinkers, so Received Pronunciation is not necessary.

Cheers!
<(:-)

Grebe barcarolle

When the row-boats are moored on the café-side deck

   and the shutters are closed for the day

and a coot tiptoes under the tables to peck

   at some crumbs tumbled off a tea tray,

then the lake stills and settles around the low quay

   and the elegant grebes paddle by,

calling, ‘Ca-ca-ca-ca-ca!’ and whistling, ‘Wuh-ree!’

   upon shimmering mirrors of sky.

When the children abandon the small wooden swing

   hanging down from a brittle-bark plane

by a length of grey rope fraying gently to string

   swaying slowly through droplets of rain,

then the lake stills and settles around the old tree

   and the elegant grebes paddle by,

calling, ‘Ca-ca-ca-ca-ca!’ and whistling, ‘Wuh-ree!’

   upon shimmering mirrors of sky.

When the joggers stop pounding the waterside path

   and turn homeward towards the far town

while the dogs cease their splashing in willow-lined bath

   once their owners have called with a frown,

then the lake stills and settles around the calm lee

   and the elegant grebes paddle by,

calling, ‘Ca-ca-ca-ca-ca!’ and whistling, ‘Wuh-ree!’

   upon shimmering mirrors of sky.


* * *

Once again, the P-i-R apologises for a few months of non-attendance, due to a rickety hip <(:-0 (sigh)

The above is intended as an interval piece, while I wait to receive instructions on how to use WordPress, enabling me to relocate to the new site. (There is no rush with this, as my work schedule is full at present!)

Recently I received great praise for my 'Opus pigeon', together with a request for something similar, so I'm delighted to post this piece inspired by the sights and sounds of dear grebes in Lower Lake, Pittville Park. They were especially active when I visited the park with Mr T. and an uncle and aunt earlier this summer. Later that evening, as I listened to Chopin's Barcarolle in F sharp major, they made a reappearance in my mind, swimming in time to the music.

The rhythm of the poem, per two lines, is  ~ ~ – ~ ~ – ~ ~ – ~ ~ – / ~ ~ – ~ ~ – ~ ~ – and here is a link to Chopin's superb piano piece: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f99mfQOldx0


<(:-)

Maypole Dance

On the Terrace of Sudeley, come Bank Holiday,

after May Queen is crowned and a song for Green Jack,

Happenstance raise the Maypole, to welcome the May

in their blue and green tatters, hats feathered and black.

After May Queen is crowned and a song for Green Jack,

Hap’s musicians launch into a jubilant tune

in their blue and green tatters, hats feathered and black,

to rejoice in the Spring on this fine afternoon.

Hap’s musicians launch into a jubilant tune,

as around the green pole all the ribbons parade,

to rejoice in the Spring on this fine afternoon

reds and yellows combine and the patterns are made.

As around the green pole all the ribbons parade

chestnut candles ascend, bluebells chime, tulips bloom,

reds and yellows combine and the patterns are made,

courting pigeons in silver gowns murmur and plume.

Chestnut candles ascend, bluebells chime, tulips bloom,

Happenstance raise the Maypole, to welcome the May,

courting pigeons in silver gowns murmur and plume

on the Terrace of Sudeley, come Bank Holiday.

* * *

Alas, the unrelenting master Work continues to wrench the P-i-R from the embrace of Poesie, but by last Monday a goodly portion of another splendid scholarly tome had been completed and thus I felt able to travel to Sudeley for the May Day celebrations featuring Happenstance. And Brother Adrian was kind enough to convey me thither, in the trusty WAV.

I attended this event last year and found it very enjoyable. Happenstance’s dance to recall the tradition of chimney-sweeps was particularly interesting and it inspired this song: http://happenstancepoetry.blogspot.co.uk/2014/06/chimney-sweepers-dancing-day.html

I was pleased to watch the chimney-sweeps’ dance this year too, especially as Mrs T was involved, wearing red pyjamas. Happenstance also performed a new dance, [name], the subject of my next poem once Mrs T has performed it for me at Poet’s Nest, to refresh my memory. For now, I’ve composed a pantoum to describe the Maypole dance. The structure is the same as in my ‘Quebec’ and ‘Isbourne’, but whereas each line of those two poems is performed as iambic tetrameter, here I use the waltzer rhythm, ~ ~ / – ~ ~ / – ~ ~ / – ~ ~ / –, just for a change!

The Maypole dancers were excellent and I liked the pattern of the red and yellow ribbons at the top of the green pole. I was reminded of the superb sight after the dance, in a corner of Sudeley grounds planted with beautiful tulips; see Bro A’s picture below.

<(:-)

Opus pigeon

... or, (^.> oo

Sing pigeons sing as the sun starts to rise . .

perching in Father Lime, close to the skies . .

watching the world wake with golden-rimmed eyes . .

sing pigeons sing thy sweet tune . . . . .

oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . oo

oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . oo

oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . .

oo

Sing pigeons sing as the sun courses high . .

rounding Far Oak and her limbs swept awry . .

sailing on silver wings shimmering by . .

sing pigeons sing thy sweet tune . . . . .

oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . oo

oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . oo

oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . .

oo

Sing pigeons sing as the sun sets to night . .

roosting in Horse Chestnut, bathed in rose light . .

settling by candle bronze, soon to bloom white . .

sing pigeons sing thy sweet tune . . . . .

oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . oo

oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . oo

oo . . oo . . oo-oo . . . .

oo

* * *

Ah, Spring <(:-)

During the next fortnight, I hope to compose a tune for my ‘Spring Song’, a poem written last year (http://happenstancepoetry.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/spring-song.html). By way of interlude, I’ve composed this rather foolish sort of ditty, inspired by the beautiful tones of the wood pigeons in residence around Poet’s Nest, as I like to term my abode.

Since my youth, the call of wood pigeons has been my favourite of all birdsongs – though the soft coo of doves comes a very close second. So imagine my joy, as I sat checking references in a splendid scholarly tome one afternoon, in hearing a solitary wood pigeon calling from the garden and realising that – huzzah! – the rhythm of the call fits neatly into a waltzer piece.

Thus the ditty, ~ - - ~ - - ~ - - ~ - -, with each ‘.’ after a word or ‘oo’ indicating that the same should be sustained to the end of the line. I have a tune in mind for the verses, to be played sotto voce throughout the chorus. As the chorus is faithful to Opus pigeon, the last ‘oo’ is abrupt, though the verse tune continues until the final beat.

<(:-)

Postlip-scape

Black rook

sweep rolling clouds

and clear wide fields of blues;

caw raucous chants from beechen thrones

to Farm…

White sheep

stir rippling grass

and shift wide clouds of greens;

baa mellow tunes from grassy realms

to Hall…

* * *

Here’s a short poem that I prepared earlier and forgot to post. Foolish P-i-R! <(:-)

On arrival at Postlip, I spent some time surveying the view of the Farm from the Hall while recovering from the journey. (Mr T. is a delightful driver, but my knee injury has worsened this year.) The harsh calls of rooks led my gaze to their location, high amid the branches of beeches. Then I heard sheep bleating from the far fields, so I watched the dear woolly ones awhile.

It seemed there was a dialogue between rooks and sheep, which I try to re-create in my poem by merging their scenery a little. Each verse is a cinquain, a poem of five lines in which the first has one stress, the second two, the third three, the fourth four – and the fifth, one. My lines are intended to be performed iambically, so the rhythm is ~ – / ~ – ~ – / ~ – ~ – ~ – / ~ – ~ – ~ – ~ – / ~ – (for further information, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cinquain)

The cinquain works well for building tension, then abruptly easing off. I’ve used it elsewhere in this way; here, each last line with its trailing ellipsis hopes to lead the reader into the next verse – not only 1 to 2, but also 2 to 1 on repeat. I write ‘wide’ twice to create an echo… echo… echo…

<(:-)

Cotswold Wassail

Now hear ye all our fruity song

   to rouse these trees in winter,

come join our dance in joyful throng,

   try not to get a splinter.

Wassail, wassail to thee, King Tree,

   and all thy court and county,

that come the autumn these boughs shall be

   full blessed with apple bounty!

We clash our sticks to make a din,

   then weave around the branches,

make up a ring, then all skip in

   and out in goodly dances.

Wassail, wassail to thee, King Tree,

   and all thy court and county,

that come the autumn these boughs shall be

   full blessed with apple bounty!

Now time’s arrived to wake the king

   and all across the shires,

we set our pots and pans howling

   ’til BANG! the rifle fires.

Wassail, wassail to thee, King Tree,

   and all thy court and county,

that come the autumn these boughs shall be

   full blessed with apple bounty!

Then let’s hang up a ball of fat

   for Robin guards the orchard,

and toast fresh dipped in cider vat,

   ’twill bring the fruiting forward.

Wassail, wassail to thee, King Tree,

   and all thy court and county,

that come the autumn these boughs shall be

   full blessed with apple bounty!

And next, we pours some cider round

   King Tree’s grand trunk and old roots,

so when ’tis springtime he’ll abound

   in fresh and green and gold shoots.

Wassail, wassail to thee, King Tree,

   and all thy court and county,

that come the autumn these boughs shall be

   full blessed with apple bounty!

Last act, we toast to thy good health,

   dear tree, and may thee flourish,

and blossom e’er with apple wealth

   that serves ourselves to nourish.

Wassail, wassail to thee, King Tree,

   and all thy court and county,

that come the autumn these boughs shall be

   full blessed with apple bounty!

* * *

Wassail!

… and, belatedly, a Happy New Year!

The year 2015 marks the return, rather than retreat, of the P-i-R – and with a new emphasis on songwriting. Thus I present a song inspired by Happenstance’s orchard-visiting wassail at Postlip, last Saturday 24 January. Mrs T.’s fieldnotes from the event at Snowshill, earlier this month, were also consulted. And I’ve even composed a tune, on my Casio SA-1 mini-keyboard!

Wikipedia provides information concerning the orchard-visiting wassail tradition at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wassailing – ‘The ceremonies of each wassail vary from village to village but they generally all have the same core elements’ (*P-i-R pauses to chuckle*). And there’s a lovely account of last year’s Snowshill visit at https://secretsofsnowshillnt.wordpress.com/2014/01/22/wassail-drinkhail/ and brilliant video at https://grizzlyalanc.wordpress.com

The photo below shows my tune, on MuseScore – one verse plus chorus. The second ‘wassail’ of the chorus is three syllables, ‘wa-sai-il’. There may be scope to add instrumental harmonies – and I imagine the performance might involve percussion and illustrative movements too. Singers might like to howl on ‘howling’ and shout on ‘BANG!’ My helper (just visible) is, of course, mascot Hap :>)

Drinkhail!
<(:-)