We have a canary bird. Classic yellow, like in the cartoon – even a black cat belongs to it, another refugee, but that’s a different story. The bird was brought last fall by Gabriel from an unheated warehouse in the industrial plant where he was working at that time.

It was in pretty bad shape, just perched on its rod, it also begun to shed its feathers. We did all what we could, and the bird slowly pulled itself together. The feathers grew back shiny, and when we released it from the cage, it not only frisked silly on the floor, but flew normally from the chandelier to the window-handle, vigorously and many times, as an athlete, who in the winter desperately trains indoors. But it did not sing for a long time.

It started in the spring, singing before dawn with the garden birds seeking mate. As we sleep with the window open, we did not know for sure whether we hear it, or the ones outside. Somewhat later it also sung in the daytime, when the other birds started it outside, and it thought to be alone – if he saw us, he obstinately kept silent. It relaxed slowly, just like this spring arrived slowly here in England, we thought summer would never come, we almost froze in the late May bitter cold wind that did not want to subside. But the bird knew something, as it became merrier from day to day.

The great breakthrough was brought by the radio – it started to sing with the music. Nineteenth-century classical music was definitely its favorite, anything conveying exuberant emotions – Strauss waltzes, arias, marches, but it was not really picky in styles, it also loved French chansons, lounge and jazz. But not drum’n bass. It joined Sara’s morning trumpet exercises, which is not surprising, as she already plays well.

Even later we noticed that it extended the conceptual boundaries of music. It began singing when the kids laughed loudly at the film they were watching. Sang, when in the neighboring school it was lunch break, and the romp of the children could be heard through the open window, or if the sun came out a little bit. Then it turned out that the splashing of the tap water, and even the rattling of dishwashing is music, because it accompanied it, too.

Now we are on the alert. As it is obligatory, we already had a smoke detector and a carbon monoxide indicator in the kitchen, and now there’s this bird which detects and indicates if there is anything music. Perhaps this could be made general as well.

3 comentarios:

Araz dijo...

Ah, the photo reminded me "sarı bülbül" the "yellow nightingale". Along with "red rose" it is a popular character in Oriental poetry and Azerbaijani music. Here is the Yellow Nightingale mugham... and here it is performed by a younger amateur singer. Not surprisingly this 1977 film starts with the same song. It must be hard to listen for an unprepared ear, I guess - too many "nightingale trill"s :-)

Kinga dijo...
Este comentario ha sido eliminado por el autor.
Kinga dijo...

Dear Araz,
thank you so much for this beautiful song. I`ve been in Turkey a few times and I always loved this music. For me - without understanding the lyrics at all - it sounds like admiring the beauty and endlessness of life and at the same time feeling the pain, that we can have just such a small part of it.