I went to bed late last night, it was easily midnight or beyond, and as I lay there on the edge of sleep, I heard an unaccustomed sound. It sounded like…birdsong. I listened closely. It was, indeed, birdsong. And not just little chirps or the otherworldly radar sounds of an owl.
There were two birds, calling to one another, long, complicated tunes that sounded like they were being played on a glass harmonica.
My first thought was: Nightingale.
I thought of those lines from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet:
Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east…
Imagine knowing, eyes closed and in a darkened room, what time of day it is just by the type of birdsong on the air.
I thought to myself that I had no real idea what a lark sounded like, nor for that matter, a nightingale.
Rather, it was night time, the birdsong didn’t sound owl-like. It wasn’t the sharp chirps of the ever-present flock of sparrows that live in the vines on our house, and I know nightingales sing at night. Deductive reasoning, not actual familiarity.
The above video shows 3-D digital sound sculptures of nightingale and canary song, created by Australian artist Andy Thomas, who begins his work “by listening to the sound carefully, going for a walk, and concentrating on the sound.”
But do they sing in autumn?
Yes, apparently, because they are on a migratory route to the south for the winter.
Research has shown that songbirds share similar ‘gene products’ for vocalizations that humans use for speech. So what we hear as song might be, for the birds, a rich conversation, good as a book, engaging as a movie. Better, probably, because it’s theirs.
Early sketches of nightingale song for animation.
Artist: Andy Thomas
After all, other research has shown that dolphins call each other by name, using a ‘signature whistle’ to identify themselves, and using others’ signatures to call individuals. And let’s not forget the mice who ‘sing’ to each other in ultrasonic melodies, and have vocalization brain patterns that resemble humans – and songbirds.
Think of all the conversations we are missing because we either can’t hear them, or don’t speak the language, or have forgotten how to listen.