Never Have I Ever: Conversations with a Wilde Nightingale

Have you ever heard a story?
A story that struck and stayed with you for
All your life? A story which, you could safely say,
Was the best story of any other?

Never have I ever.

I have heard a student wail,
Bemoaning the fact he could not have his love
“But for a beautiful, simple red rose-
I could leave my dusty books behind for the whisper
Of a maiden’s kiss.”
And my heart soared to him,
For love should be experienced by all
Including students lost in dark and musty words.

Have you ever flown to the ends
Of a rainbow?
Have you collected your weight in
Gold and stolen a little man’s wishes and dreams?

Never have I ever.

I have flown to a tree that I know,
A tree with beautiful roses, and begged of him,
“Surely, Tree, you would have one simple
Red rose for me?”
“Alas,” the tree cried, “Of roses, I have plenty,
But mine are of innocence and lasting calm love.
My roses are the roses of virginal women, who
Step into life as dutiful new wives, pale as sea foam and
Fresh as snow.
Go see my brother, for surely, he’d have the rose
For your heart.”
And I thanked him and left.

Have you ever sailed across the
Ocean? Tasted the salt of the sea? Have you spoken
To a mermaid? Heard her spin silver and gold and
Copper with only her voice?

Never have I ever.

I have sailed through the air to the
Brother of my tree and begged of him,
“Surely, Tree, you would have one simple
Red rose for me?”
“Alas,” the tree cried, “Of roses, I have plenty,
But mine are of sunshine and death, sorrow and eternality.
My roses are the roses of dutiful wives, lost from this life,
Who stepped out quietly among their grandchildren’s
Tears. Golden crowns upon dead women’s heads.
Go see my brother, for surely, he’d have the rose
For your heart.”
And I thanked him and left.

Have you ever danced in the rain? Splashed
In puddles like you were once a child?
Lifted your face to feel
The light kisses on your lips?

Never have I ever.

I have danced across the wind to the
Brother of my tree and begged of him,
“Surely, Tree, you would have one simple
Red rose for me?”
“Alas,” the tree cried, “Of roses, I used to have plenty
But the winds have been cruel and biting.
I have not one single flower of blood and passion
To give!” and the tree wept.
“Oh, poor Tree,” cried I, “Surely there’s a way you can give me
One simple red rose! It’s all I ask!”
“There’s a way,” the tree sniffed, “But it’s too awful.”
“Tell me!”
“I must have your song by moonlight, while you press my
Thorn to your breast. Your heart’s blood will give my
Poor roots the strength for a single
Red rose.”
And while I pondered for a moment, and looked at
The wonderful sun, I thought, ‘Of what worth
Is my life in the face of a young man’s love?’
“Please, Tree, I’ll be back tonight,” I whispered,
“And you shall give me a rose as red and sweet
As blood.”
And I thanked him and left.

Have you ever sang to a lover?
Opened your mouth with a hesitant note?
Waited intently for his reaction to you,
To say if he loved you?

Never have I ever.

I have sang to my wonderful student,
“Oh never fear, for you will kiss your maiden
On the morrow. For I shall feed my blood
For your simple red rose!”
And my student, my dear wonderful silly man,
Replied, “Oh, she has such a wonderful voice.
It’s too bad, really, that she means nothing.”
And I cried to him, “I wish, oh, I wish you could promise me
That your life will be spent in love, with both white roses
And eventually yellow. Don’t waste your time in a dusty dark book,
When you can love your maiden!” And I flew from him, to my last friend.

Have you ever told a secret? Even if
It was the secret of another? Come, be honest now.
I promise, if it’s someone close
I’ll never tell.

Never have I ever.

I have told my friend my most daring plans,
And he cried, “Oh sing for me, one last song
If you truly must leave me forever,
I wish to remember you long, long after your nest,
Has blown away into ashes!” and he wept.
And I sang him one last song, as
The Sun slowly set.
I traveled to spend my last night for the love of another
For my sweet and silly student,
Whose love was worth a thousand times my own life.

Have you ever traveled to a distant land? To see
Foreign queens and kings playing at
Politics? To see if their games were really
Quite so different than ours?

Never have I ever

I have traveled across wide expanses,
In a short space. (Time takes ever so much longer
When you’re about to die.)
“Quickly,” said the tree, “If we must do this, then we must
Start now. The moon has barely begun
Her rise. Sing to me and hold my thorn to your breast.”
So I began to sing. And first I sang of the bright fresh
Young love, of a boy and girl, upon meeting.
I sang on the freshness of a first kiss.
And as I sang pale petals began to bloom, and the
Tree cried, “Hurry, sing, you beautiful bird!
The moon is at her highest, and I must finish this flower!”
So I sang of the passion of a fiery embrace,
Of hot tempers and the cooling embrace that comes
After. More petals unfurled, becoming the barest blush
Of pink.
And I gasped, for both the beauty, and losing my breath.
“Quick, finish it!” urged the tree, “It’s too late to stop now, and
If I can’t finish, it will be for nothing! Pierce your breast so that
Your life’s blood can turn this to the reddest rose.”
And I gathered my breath and…

Have you ever pierced?
Nightingale, what did you pierce?

I have pierced my breast straight through my heart,
With the thorn of a rose tree, to make a wonderful,
Red rose. I sang a strident song, too wonderful and wild,
To even be described. (I’m sorry, but to do so, would only cheapen
What was wonderful. Let some things be mine.)
And as the moon stood still,
The last thing of my failing sight, was a wonderful,
Beautiful red rose.
Redder than the freshest blood.

Have you ever dreamed, Nightingale?
Of a life long and fruitful? Of nestlings
And your own sweet bird to tweet and
Sing songs of love and passion to you?

Never have I ever.

I have dreamed of my student,
My wonderful silly man, giving the rose to his lady.
I dreamed they would dance and live
In silent harmony.
I wish I could end my story here, but for what
I have seen.

What have you seen, Nightingale?

I have seen my student take his love my heart’s blood,
And she laughed at him and said “Oh, a rose?
Of what worth to me is a rose? The chamberlain’s son
Bought me jewels and everyone knows that
Jewels are worth more than silly posies.”
And she tossed the rose back. My student
Looked at the flower and cried, “Of what use to me is
This stupid rose? There’s much more worth in physics and mathematics
Than in love.” (And oh, if my heart wasn’t already broken, I swear
It would break again.)
And he tossed the red rose onto my broken body, to become
My dusty red grave.

Have you ever clapped your hands, in order
That a fairy may live? Nightingale, if I could, then
I would clap so that you may live.
Nightingale? Nightingale, where are you?