Beauty and Birdsong
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What is the significance of hearing nature's sounds?
Welcome to the podcast version of Sunday Masalini, which differs from the radio version for rights reasons. We hope you enjoy the programme.
I stood, my head at an angle, craning to hear what the others were listening to. No matter how hard I tried, I could not hear it. They were nodding their heads, smiling at the recognition of this feathered visitor's voice. Yes, that's it. But the satisfaction and delight on hearing the first cuckoo was denied to me that year as spring unfolded like the ferns along our walk. I just couldn't hear it. Sound, noise, echo, resonance, rustle, roar, scrunch, scrape, squeak, call, cry, bleat. Each of those words are connected by something most of us take for granted, the sense of hearing. So much of nature is absorbed, not always consciously, through our ears. With my eyes closed, I could detect the buzz of summer insects, a picture painted by the sound of bumblebees rattling up and down the fingers of a foxglove.
By the sea, I could hear the lapping of the tide curling on the fudge-like sand at the water's edge. I could hear the croaking of a frog, the plop as it dives into water, ripples widening to a wake of infinity. I recall the sound of a baby seal crying for its mother, a melancholy wail cutting through the air, and the blood-curdling howl of a vixen screeching for her mate in the deep of the night. When I'm in woodland, I'm reminded of the poet John Clare, who used a beautifully onomatopoeic word, southering, to describe the sighing of the wind through the trees. In autumn, the desiccating leaves do a discreet tango to the Latin beat of the wind. Sometimes it's the sound of those dry leaves crunching underfoot, or the first few splashes of rain hitting them, a prelude to an unexpected cloudburst.
Often it is the grating rasp of a pair of branches rubbing together like two old friends, supported by a continuo of woodland birds. The cuckoo, the chiff-chaff, the peewit all have names coined to echo their calls. Other avian sounds I could never bear to lose are the haunting call of the curlew or the robin's scratchy cry. All of these are notes of music to my ears. Chopin's Raindrop Prelude, Rimsky-Korsakov's Flight of the Bumblebee, wonderful though they are, could never replace listening to the actual sounds that inspired them. The early morning symphony, that is the dawn chorus, must be the one outstanding sound that connects all who are mindful of the natural world, reminding us to respect and protect something that once gone can never be replaced.
I have immense sympathy for one composer who lost his hearing at quite an early age. This was Beethoven. He continued to create his magnificent music, echoing the remembered sounds of nature, even though from the age of 30 he could no longer hear all that inspired him. His sixth symphony, the Pastoral, or Recollections of Country Life, was composed over a period of six years at a time when his sense of hearing was diminishing. This outstanding work reflected his deep love of nature, depicting birdsong and the sound of flowing streams, and it echoed his passion for walking in the deep woodland of his adopted home, Vienna. Tragically, at the age of 41, his splendid Emperor Piano Concerto had its premiere, but without Beethoven.
He could no longer play the piano in public and ceased to make public appearances. By the time he was 44, he was completely deaf. Beethoven was not the only composer to suffer such devastation. Czech composer Smetana is probably best known for his work Mavelast, a musical tapestry depicting the river Vltava as it meanders through the countryside on its way to Prague. At the age of 50, while he was writing this composition, he worked under the ever-increasing plague of whistling and buzzing caused by severe tinnitus. Gabriel Fauré was slightly more fortunate in that he didn't begin to lose his hearing until he was in his late fifties, but at that stage his suffering caused his compositions to change considerably, becoming tempestuous and unsettling, rather than displaying the gentle charm of his earlier work.
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Chapters
6 chapters
1
What is the significance of hearing nature's sounds?
0:02–7:53
2
How did a runaway dog spark a community effort?
7:53–12:52
3
What challenges did the family face during the dog search?
12:52–20:58
4
How did Beethoven's hearing loss influence his music?
20:58–28:02
5
What role does music play in human evolution?
28:02–34:02
6
How does learning an instrument transform a child's life?
34:02–36:24