Song of a neighborhood nightingale transcribed in 1868 by German naturalist Johann Matthäus Bechstein:
Tioû, tioû, tioû, tioû.
Spe, tiou, squa.
Tiô, tiô, tiô, tiô, tio, tio, tio, tix.
Coutio, coutio, coutio, coutio.
Squô, squô, squô, squô.
Tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, tzu, tzi.
Corror, tiou, squa pipiqui.
Zozozozozozozozozozozozo, zirrhading!
Tsissisi, tsissisisisisisisis.
Dzorre, dzorre, dzorre, dzorre, hi.
Tzatu, tzatu, tzatu, tzatu, tzatu, tzatu, tzatu, dzi.
Dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo, dlo.
Quio, tr rrrrrrrr itz.
Lu, lu, lu, lu, ly, ly, ly, liê, liê, liê, liê.
Quio, didl, li lulylie.
Hagurr, gurr quipio!
Coui, coui, coui, coui, qui, qui, qui, qui, gai, gui, gui, gui.
Goll goll goll goll guia hadadoi.
Couigui, horr, he diadia dill si!
Hezezezezezezezezezezezezezezezeze couar ho dze hoi.
Quia, quia, quia, quia, quia, quia, quia, quia, ti.
Ki, ki, ki, ïo, ïo, ïo, ioioioio ki.
Lu ly li le lai la leu lo, didl ïo quia.
Kigaigaigaigaigaigaigai guiagaigaigai couior dzio dzio pi.
In his 1795 Natural History of Cage Birds, he notes that some captive birds “never sing unless confined within narrow limits, being obliged, as it would appear, to solace themselves, for the want of liberty, with their song,” and so should never be given freedom within a room.
See Bird Talk, Bird Songs, and Who’s Who.
A documentary of pianist Glenn Gould's 1957 tour of Soviet Russia. Several sections are muted, apparently because of copyright issues. Just perservere - the sound will resume.
I found myself responding to this with a lot of emotion. Gould seems to resonate with the Russian spirit. Something comes across that can't be expressed with words.
This performance was March 28 1983, exactly 40 years ago! English lyrics:
If you have some time for me
Then I'll sing a song for you
Of 99 balloons
On their way to the horizon
If you're thinking of me
Then I'll sing a song for you
Of 99 balloons
And that something comes from something
99 balloons
On their way to the horizon
Thought to be ufos from outer space
So a general sent
Sent an air squadron after them
To sound the alarm, if it were so
But there on the horizon
Only 99 balloons
99 jet planes
Each one was a great warrior
Thought they were Captain Kirk
There was a big fireworks show
The neighbors didn't get it
And felt like they were being picked on
And on the horizon they shot
At 99 balloons
99 ministers of war
Matches and gas cans
Thought they were smart people
They smelled a fat prey
Shouted war and wanted power
Man, who would have thought
That it would come to this
Because of 99 balloons
99 years of war
Left no room for victors
There's no more ministers of war
And no more jet planes
Today I make my rounds
I see the world in ruins
I found a balloon
Think of you and let it fly
From the CD Music for a While - Improvisations on Purcell (Erato/Warner Classics)
Here the deities approve z339/3
from Welcome to all the pleasures (Ode for St Cecilia's Day, 1683)
Words by Christopher Fishburn
Arr. Christina Pluhar
Philippe Jaroussky, Wolfgang Muthspiel,
Doron Sherwin, Veronika Skuplik, Eero Palviainen,
Sarah Ridy, Haru Kitamika, Francesco Turrisi,
David Mayoral, Sergey Saprichev, Boris Schmidt,
Christina Pluhar
Here the deities approve,
the God of Music and of Love;
all the talents they have lent you,
all the blessings they have sent you,
pleased to see what they bestow
live and thrive so well below.
Ici les divinités approuvent
le dieu de la musique et de l'amour ;
elles vous ont prêté tous les talents,
elles vous ont envoyé tous les bienfaits,
heureuses de voir que ce qu'elles dispensent
vit et prospère si bien ici-bas.
Hier bestätigen die Götter,
der Gott der Musik und der Gott der Liebe:
Alle Talente, die sie euch gaben,
alle Segnungen, die sie euch schickten,
gedeihen so prächtig dort unten.
Sie sehen mit Freude, was sie gewähren!
Are mou Rindinedha
L'Arpeggiata - Christina Pluhar
Vincenzo Capezzuto - alt (Italy)
Katerina Papadopoulou - voice (Greece)
According to a friend of mine who should know, this song is sung in Griko, a Greek language evolved from ancient Greek and still spoken in parts of Calabria and Salento (in Puglia), Italy. She found a translation into Italian and then managed to translate that into English:
"Who knows little Swallow"
Who knows little Swallow,
Which seas you have crossed
And from where you are coming
During this beautiful season.
Your breast is white,
Black your wings,
Your back the color of the sea
And your tail split in two.
Seated by the sea
I watch you;
Sometimes you soar, sometimes you fall
Sometimes you brush against the water.
Who knows by which country,
By which places you have flown,
Who knows where you have built
Your nest.
If I knew that you flew
By my country,
I would ask so many questions
So that you could answer them.
But you are silent
No matter how much I ask;
Sometimes you soar, sometimes you fall
Sometimes you brush against the water.

Ivana Guidone (edited)
ITALIANO
Chissà rondinella,
quale mare hai attraversato
e donde tu arrivi
con questa bella stagione.
Hai bianco il petto,
nere le ali,
il dorso color del mare
e la coda aperta in due.
Seduto di fronte al mare
io ti contemplo;
un po' ti levi, un po' cali,
un po' sfiori l'acqua.
Chissà per quali paesi,
per quali luoghi sei passata;
chissà dove ti sei fatta
il nido tu.
Se sapessi che sei passata
dalle parti del mio paese,
quante cose ti chiederei
perchè me le dicessi.
Ma tu nulla mi dici
per quanto io ti domandi;
un po' ti levi, un po' cali,
un po' sfiori l'acqua.
GRIKO (original version)
Àremu rindinèddha,
plea tàlassa se guaddhi
ce apùtte ste' ce ftazzi
m'utto kalò cerò.
Vastà to petton àspro,
mavre vastà tes ale,
stavrì kulor de mare
ce i kuta en diu niftì
Kaimmeno mbrò sti tàlassa,
evò se kanonò;
lio nghèrni, lio kkalèi,
lio nghìzzi to nerò.
Àremu plea paìssia,
pleus topu ise diammèna,
pu in echi ghianomèna
ti foddhèan esù.
An ìfsera ti diàike
apù cirtèa s'emèna,
ka possa guàita 'sena
su 'ròto' na mu pì.
Ma sù tipo mu lei
ja possa se rotò;
lio nghèrni, lio kkalèi,
lio nghìzzi to nerò.
ΕΛΛΗΝΙΚΉ
αραγε χελιδονι μου
ποια θαλασσσα σε φερνει
και ποιος σε περιμενει
μ'αυτον τον καλο καιρο
ασπρο το στηθος σου
και τα φτερα σου μαυρα
τη θαλασσα στη ραχη
στα δυο την ουρα
στεκομαι μπρος στη θαλασσα
και σε κοιτω ξανα
λιγο που γερνεις λιγο ανεβαινεις
κι ισα αγγιζεις το νερο
αραγε ποσους τοπους μας
θα περασες εσυ
αραγε τη φωλιτσα σου
που να χτισες εσυ
αχ και να ξερα αν διαβηκες
απο κει που εγω βαστω
ποσα αληθεια θα ρωτουσα
να μου πεις και να σου πω
μα ουτε λεξη δε μου λες
για ολα αυτα που σου ρωτω
λιγο που γερνεις λιγο ανεβαινεις
κι ισα που αγγιζεις το νερο.