WRITINGS FROM THE SCHOOL OF ENGLISH
Of Nightingales BETH ROBBINS | OXFORD Sappho writes that the nightingale is sweet-voiced. The boy hears the song and when he is close to the end of his life and is no longer a boy he allows the song of the bird to fill him and take him out of his sorrow and on a journey that transcends his pain and despair. Shelley says the poet sings in solitude. Like a nightingale. A small bird singing into the night. Its song restless. Compelling. Surprisingly loud for such a small creature. Joyful and mournful. Both. And encrusted with mythology, to quote Borges. The boy read. At school after his mother’s return he worked his way through all of the books in the library. Pausing at Ovid, he discovered Philomela. The horror. Rape. Betrayal. And then silenced. For a time. Her tongue cut out. Not able to tell her tale. Mute. But the gods offered comfort. Of a sort. She was transformed into the nightingale. A plain bird something like the hedge sparrow in shape. Red brown in color. She was given flight and song that communicated deeper than words. That allowed her to sing her betrayal and pain. But also of beauty she could experience and that had always been there. The boy heard the bird. Unseen. It took him out of his own despair. The fear and knowing that his mother had returned but was sick and could die. The song fractured the silence into a space in which he could find comfort. SUMMER 2022 | 33
