Today we are goiung to tell you about poetry The Frog and the Nightingale so friends read and share it
12.The Frog and the Nightingale
– Vikram Seth
Part-2 – Poetry
Now the nightingale, inspired,
Flushed with confidence, and fired
With both art and adoration,
Sang –and was a huge sensation.
Animals for miles around
Flocked towards the magic sound,
And the frog with great precision
Counted heads and charged admission.
Though next morning it was raining,
He began her vocal training.
‘But I can’t sing in this weather.’
‘Come, my dear –we‘ll sing together.
Just put on your scarf and sash.
Koo –oh –ah! Ko-ash! ko-ash!’
So the frog and nightingale
Journeyed up and down the scale
For six hours, till she was shivering
And her voice was hoarse and quivering.
Though subdued and sleep-deprived,
In the night her throat revived.
And the sumac tree was bowed
With a breathless, titled crowd:
Owl of Sandwich, duck of kent,
Mallard and Milady Trent,
Martin Cardinal Mephisto,
And the Coot of Monte Cristo.
Ladies with tiaras glittering
In the interval sat twittering
-And the frog observed them glitter
With a joy both sweet and bitter.
Every day the frog who’d sold her
Songs for silver tried to scold her
‘You must practice even longer
Till your voice, like mine, grows stronger.
In the second song last night
You got nervous in mid-flight.
And, my dear, lay on-more trills;
Audiences enjoy such frills.
You must make your public happier.
Give them something sharper, snappier.
We must aim for better billings.
You still owe me sixty shilling,
Day by day the nightingale
Grew more sorrowful and pale.
Night on night her tired song
Zipped and trilled and bounced along,
Till the birds and beasts grew tired
At a voice so uninspired
And the ticket office gross
Crashed, and she grew more morose
For her ears were now addicted
To applause quite unrestricted,
And to sing into the night
All alone gave no delight.
Now the frog puffed up with rang
Brainless bird –you’re on the stage
Use your wits, and follow fashion.
Puff your lungs out with your passion.
Trembling, terrified to fail.
Blind with tears, the nightingale
Heard him out in silence, tried,
Puffed up, burst a vein, and died.
Said the frog; ‘I tried’ to teach her,
But she was a stupid creature –
Far too nervous, far too tense,
Far too prone to influence.
Well, poor bird-she should have known
That your song must be your own.
That’s why I sing with panache:
‘Koo-oh-ah! Ko-ash! Ko-as
And the foghorn of the frog
Blared unrivalled through the bog.