The Soap Opera

MAY 24, 2020

The Soap Opera was created by <a href="https://twitter.com/swheatpodcasts" rel="nofollow">Dallas Wheatley</a>. If you liked what you heard, please rate and review the show in <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/id1459899202" rel="nofollow">Apple Podcasts</a>, or tell your friends and family about it! Spreading the word makes all the difference. Many thanks to Kevin MacLeod at <a href="https://incompetech.com" rel="nofollow">incompetech.com</a> for the music. Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License. <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/" rel="nofollow">http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/</a>. The tracks used in this episode are "Ripples", "Folk Round", and "Finding Movement". <hr> Performers <ul> <li><a href="https://twitter.com/LMOcreates" rel="nofollow">Shade Oyemakinwa</a></li> </ul> <hr> The Street Musicians By Andrew Lang Performed by Shade Oyemakinwa Hello! This is Shade Oyemakinwa and I’m so excited to be sharing “The Street Musicians” with you. You might know this story by another name, “The Musicians of Bremen” or “Town Musicians of Bremen”. I adore this story. One of my most beloved tellings of it, is “The Muppet Musicians of Bremen”. It was a tv special hosted by Kermit the Frog and it is delightful. As is the original tale. It’s a simple story with main characters who just want to live their lives, maybe start a band, and they outsmart some robbers with a bit of cunning and hilarious luck. And now, “The Street Musicians”. <hr> A man once possessed a donkey which had served him faithfully for many years, but at last the poor beast grew old and feeble, and every day his work became more of a burden. As he was no longer of any use, his master made up his mind to shoot him; but when the donkey learnt the fate that was in store for him, he determined not to die, but to run away to the nearest town and there to become a street musician. When he had trotted along for some distance he came upon a greyhound lying on the road, and panting for dear life. ‘Well, brother,’ said the donkey, ‘what’s the matter with you? You look rather tired.’ ‘So I am,’ replied the dog, ‘but because I am getting old and am growing weaker every day, and cannot go out hunting any longer, my master wanted to poison me; and, as life is still sweet, I have taken leave of him. But how I am to earn my own livelihood I haven’t a notion.’ ‘Well,’ said the donkey, ‘I am on my way to the nearest big town, where I mean to become a street musician. Why don’t you take up music as a profession and come along with me? I’ll play the flute and you can play the kettle-drum.’ The greyhound was quite pleased at the idea, and the two set off together. When they had gone a short distance they met a cat with a face as long as three rainy days. ‘Now, what has happened to upset your happiness, friend puss?’ inquired the donkey. ‘It’s impossible to look cheerful when one feels depressed,’ answered the cat. ‘I am well up in years now, and have lost most of my teeth; consequently I prefer sitting in front of the fire to catching mice, and so my old mistress wanted to drown me. I have no wish to die yet, so I ran away from her; but good advice is expensive, and I don’t know where I am to go to, or what I am to do.’ ‘Come to the nearest big town with us,’ said the donkey, ‘and try your fortune as a street musician. I know what sweet music you make at night, so you are sure to be a success.’ The cat was delighted with the donkey’s proposal, and they all continued their journey together. In a short time they came to the courtyard of an inn, where they found a rooster crowing lustily. ‘What in the world is the matter with you?’ asked the donkey. ‘The noise you are making is enough to break the drums of our ears.’ ‘I am only prophesying good weather,’ said the rooster; ‘for to-morrow is a feast day, and just because it is a holiday and a number of people are expected at the inn, the landlady has given orders for my neck to be wrung to-night, so that I may be made into soup for to-morrow’s dinner.’ ‘I’ll tell you what, redcap,’ said the donkey; ‘you had much better come with us to the nearest town. You have got a good voice, and you could join a street band we are getting up.’ The rooster was much pleased with the idea, and the party proceeded on their way. But the nearest big town was a long way off, and it took them more than a day to reach it. In the evening they came to a wood, and they made up their minds to go no further, but to spend the night there. The donkey and the greyhound lay down under a big tree, and the cat and the rooster got up into the branches, the rooster flying right up to the topmost twig, where he thought he would be safe from all danger. Before he went to sleep he looked round the four points of the compass, and saw a little spark burning in the distance. He called out to his companions that he was sure there must be a house not far off, for he could see a light shining. When he heard this, the donkey said at, once: ‘Then we must get up, and go and look for the house, for this is very poor shelter.’ And the greyhound added: ‘Yes; I feel I’d be all the better for a few bones and a scrap or two of meat.’ So they set out for the spot where the light was to be seen shining faintly in the distance, but the nearer they approached it the brighter it grew, till at last they came to a brilliantly lighted house. The donkey being the biggest of the party, went to the window and looked in. ‘Well, greyhead, what do you see?’ asked the rooster. ‘I see a well-covered table,’ replied the donkey, ‘with excellent food and drink, and several robbers are sitting round it, enjoying themselves highly.’ ‘I wish we were doing the same,’ said the rooster. ‘So do I,’ answered the donkey. ‘Can’t we think of some plan for turning out the robbers, and taking possession of the house ourselves?’ So they consulted together what they were to do, and at last they arranged that the donkey should stand at the window with his fore-feet on the sill, that the greyhound should get on his back, the cat on the dog’s shoulder, and the rooster on the cat’s head. When they had grouped themselves in this way, at a given signal, they all began their different forms of music. The donkey brayed, the greyhound barked, the cat miawed, and the rooster crowed. Then they all scrambled through the window into the room, breaking the glass into a thousand pieces as they did so. The robbers were all startled by the dreadful noise, and thinking that some evil spirits at the least were entering the house, they rushed out into the wood, their hair standing on end with terror. The four companions, delighted with the success of their trick, sat down at the table, and ate and drank all the food and wine that the robbers had left behind them. When they had finished their meal they put out the lights, and each animal chose a suitable sleeping-place. The donkey lay down in the courtyard outside the house, the dog behind the door, the cat in front of the fire, and the rooster flew up on to a high shelf, and, as they were all tired after their long day, they soon went to sleep. Shortly after midnight, when the robbers saw that no light was burning in the house and that all seemed quiet, the captain of the band said: ‘We were fools to let ourselves be so easily frightened away;’ and, turning to one of his men, he ordered him to go and see if all was safe. The man found everything in silence and darkness, and going into the kitchen he thought he had better strike a light. He took a match, and mistaking the fiery eyes of the cat for two glowing coals, he tried to light his match with them. But the cat didn’t see the joke, and sprang at his face, spitting and scratching him in the most vigorous manner. The man was terrified out of his life, and tried to run out by the back door; but he stumbled over the greyhound, which bit him in the leg. Yelling with pain he ran across the courtyard only to receive a kick from the donkey’s hind leg as he passed him. In the meantime the rooster had been roused from his slumbers, and feeling very cheerful he called out, from the shelf where he was perched, ‘Kikeriki!’ Then the robber hastened back to his captain and said: ‘Sir, there is a dreadful witch in the house, who spat at me and scratched my face with her long fingers; and before the door there stands a man with a long knife, who cut my leg severely. In the courtyard outside lies a monster, who fell upon me with a huge wooden club; and that is not all, for, sitting on the roof, is a judge, who called out: “Bring the rascal to me.” So I fled for dear life.’ After this the robbers dared not venture into the house again, and they abandoned it for ever. But the four street musicians were so delighted with their lodgings that they determined to take up their abode in the robbers’ house, and, for all I know to the contrary, they may be living there to this day.

14 MIN

MAY 16, 2020

Tales From the Public Domain: 3

The Soap Opera was created by <a href="https://twitter.com/swheatpodcasts" rel="nofollow">Dallas Wheatley</a>. If you liked what you heard, please rate and review the show in <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/id1459899202" rel="nofollow">Apple Podcasts</a>, or tell your friends and family about it! Spreading the word makes all the difference. Many thanks to Kevin MacLeod at <a href="https://incompetech.com" rel="nofollow">incompetech.com</a> for the music. Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License. <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/" rel="nofollow">http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/</a>. The tracks used in this episode are "Ripples", "Snowdrop", "Silver Flame", and "Finding Movement". <hr> Performers <ul> <li> <a href="https://twitter.com/spinningdust" rel="nofollow">Eleanor Grey</a> </li> <li> <a href="https://twitter.com/SeriouslyVin" rel="nofollow">Vin Ernst</a> </li> </ul> <hr> Dica By Sappho Performed by Eleanor Grey With flowers fair adorn thy lustrous hair, Dica, amidst thy locks sweet blossoms twine, With thy soft hands, for so a maiden stands Accepted of the gods, whose eyes divine Are turned away from her—though fair as May She waits, but round whose locks no flowers shine. <hr> Prophesy By Sappho Performed by Eleanor Grey Methinks hereafter in some later spring Echo will bear to men the songs we sing. <hr> Dead Shalt Thou Lie By Sappho Performed by Eleanor Grey When thou fallest in death, dead shalt thou lie, nor shall thy memory Henceforth ever again be heard then or in days to be, Since no flowers upon earth ever were thine, plucked from Pieria's spring, Unknown also 'mid hell's shadowy throng thou shalt go wandering. <hr> Invocation By Sappho Performed by Eleanor Grey Come, Venus, come Hither with thy golden cup, Where nectar-floated flowerets swim. Fill, fill the goblet up; These laughing lips shall kiss the brim,— Come, Venus, come! <hr> Hymn to Aphrodite By Sappho Performed by Eleanor Grey Daughter of Zeus and Immortal, Aphrodite, serene Weaver of spells, at thy portal Hear me and slay not, O Queen! As in the past, hither to me From thy far palace of gold, Drawn by the doves that o'erflew me, Come, as thou earnest of old. Swiftly thy flock bore thee hither, Smiling, as turned I to thee, Spoke thou across the blue weather, "Sappho, why callest thou me?" "Sappho, what Beauty disdains thee, Sappho, who wrongest thine heart, Sappho, what evil now pains thee, Whence sped the dart? "Flies from thee, soon she shall follow, Turns from thee, soon she shall love, Seeking thee swift as the swallow, Ingrate though now she may prove." Come, once again to release me, Join with my fire thy fire, Freed from the torments that seize me, Give me, O Queen! my desire! <hr> A Haunted House By Virginia Woolfe Performed by Vin Ernst Whatever hour you woke there was a door shutting. From room to room they went, hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure--a ghostly couple. "Here we left it," she said. And he added, "Oh, but here tool" "It's upstairs," she murmured. "And in the garden," he whispered. "Quietly," they said, "or we shall wake them." But it wasn't that you woke us. Oh, no. "They're looking for it; they're drawing the curtain," one might say, and so read on a page or two. "Now they've found it,' one would be certain, stopping the pencil on the margin. And then, tired of reading, one might rise and see for oneself, the house all empty, the doors standing open, only the wood pigeons bubbling with content and the hum of the threshing machine sounding from the farm. "What did I come in here for? What did I want to find?" My hands were empty. "Perhaps its upstairs then?" The apples were in the loft. And so down again, the garden still as ever, only the book had slipped into the grass. But they had found it in the drawing room. Not that one could ever see them. The windowpanes reflected apples, reflected roses; all the leaves were green in the glass. If they moved in the drawing room, the apple only turned its yellow side. Yet, the moment after, if the door was opened, spread about the floor, hung upon the walls, pendant from the ceiling--what? My hands were empty. The shadow of a thrush crossed the carpet; from the deepest wells of silence the wood pigeon drew its bubble of sound. "Safe, safe, safe" the pulse of the house beat softly. "The treasure buried; the room . . ." the pulse stopped short. Oh, was that the buried treasure? A moment later the light had faded. Out in the garden then? But the trees spun darkness for a wandering beam of sun. So fine, so rare, coolly sunk beneath the surface the beam I sought always burned behind the glass. Death was the glass; death was between us, coming to the woman first, hundreds of years ago, leaving the house, sealing all the windows; the rooms were darkened. He left it, left her, went North, went East, saw the stars turned in the Southern sky; sought the house, found it dropped beneath the Downs. "Safe, safe, safe," the pulse of the house beat gladly. 'The Treasure yours." The wind roars up the avenue. Trees stoop and bend this way and that. Moonbeams splash and spill wildly in the rain. But the beam of the lamp falls straight from the window. The candle burns stiff and still. Wandering through the house, opening the windows, whispering not to wake us, the ghostly couple seek their joy. "Here we slept," she says. And he adds, "Kisses without number." "Waking in the morning--" "Silver between the trees--" "Upstairs--" 'In the garden--" "When summer came--" 'In winter snowtime--" "The doors go shutting far in the distance, gently knocking like the pulse of a heart. Nearer they come, cease at the doorway. The wind falls, the rain slides silver down the glass. Our eyes darken, we hear no steps beside us; we see no lady spread her ghostly cloak. His hands shield the lantern. "Look," he breathes. "Sound asleep. Love upon their lips." Stooping, holding their silver lamp above us, long they look and deeply. Long they pause. The wind drives straightly; the flame stoops slightly. Wild beams of moonlight cross both floor and wall, and, meeting, stain the faces bent; the faces pondering; the faces that search the sleepers and seek their hidden joy. "Safe, safe, safe," the heart of the house beats proudly. "Long years--" he sighs. "Again you found me." "Here," she murmurs, "sleeping; in the garden reading; laughing, rolling apples in the loft. Here we left our treasure--" Stooping, their light lifts the lids upon my eyes. "Safe! safe! safe!" the pulse of the house beats wildly. Waking, I cry "Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart."

13 MIN

APR 26, 2020

Tales From the Public Domain: 2

The Soap Opera was created by <a href="https://twitter.com/swheatpodcasts" rel="nofollow">Dallas Wheatley</a>. If you liked what you heard, please rate and review the show in <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/id1459899202" rel="nofollow">Apple Podcasts</a>, or tell your friends and family about it! Spreading the word makes all the difference. Many thanks to Kevin MacLeod at <a href="https://incompetech.com" rel="nofollow">incompetech.com</a> for the music. Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License. <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/" rel="nofollow">http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/</a>. The tracks used in this episode are "Ripples", "Kalimba Relaxation Music", "Brandenburg No4-1 BWV1049", and "Finding Movement". <hr> Performers <ul> <li> <a href="https://twitter.com/spinningdust" rel="nofollow">Eleanor Grey</a> </li> <li> <a href="https://twitter.com/LMOcreates" rel="nofollow">Shade Oyemakinwa</a> </li> </ul> <hr> April By Sara Teasdale Performed by Eleanor Grey The roofs are shining from the rain, The sparrows twitter as they fly, And with a windy April grace The little clouds go by. Yet the back-yards are bare and brown With only one unchanging tree I could not be so sure of spring Save that it sings in me. <hr> I Have Loved Hours At Sea By Sara Teasdale Performed by Eleanor Grey I have loved hours at sea, gray cities, The fragile secret of a flower, Music, the making of a poem That gave me heaven for an hour; First stars above a snowy hill, Voices of people kindly and wise, And the great look of love, long hidden, Found at last in meeting eyes. I have loved much and been loved deeply, Oh when my spirit's fire burns low, Leave me the darkness and the stillness, I shall be tired and glad to go. <hr> Hello! This is Shade Oyemakinwa with a couple of poems from Christina Rossetti. To start is “No, Thank You, John”. “No, Thank You, John” is a poem about a person who is unequivocally and unambiguously uninterested. They are uninterested in John romantically, this is a known fact, and they are quite comfortable saying so. It is so funny and the voice is so modern and familiar, that learning that Rosetti influenced some very influential writers is not really a surprise to me. No, Thank You, John By Christina Rosetti Performed by Shade Oyemakinwa I never said I loved you, John: Why will you tease me, day by day, And wax a weariness to think upon With always "do" and "pray"? You know I never loved you, John; No fault of mine made me your toast: Why will you haunt me with a face as wan As shows an hour-old ghost? I dare say Meg or Moll would take Pity upon you, if you'd ask: And pray don't remain single for my sake Who can't perform that task. I have no heart?—Perhaps I have not; But then you're mad to take offence That I don't give you what I have not got: Use your common sense. Let bygones be bygones: Don't call me false, who owed not to be true: I'd rather answer "No" to fifty Johns Than answer "Yes" to you. Let's mar our pleasant days no more, Song-birds of passage, days of youth: Catch at to-day, forget the days before: I'll wink at your untruth. Let us strike hands as hearty friends; No more, no less: and friendship's good: Only don't keep in view ulterior ends, And points not understood In open treaty. Rise above Quibbles and shuffling off and on: Here's friendship for you if you like; but love,— No, thank you, John. <hr> Now, “The Queen of Hearts” is about someone who is exasperated with their card mate’s ability to always gain the queen of hearts when they play. In the name of academic transparency, I’ll tell you that there are those who suppose that the the queen of hearts is an allegory for winning a person’s love and the poem itself is a metaphor for a person who is frustrated with their inability to find love compared to their friend’s ability to fall into it. Well I’m here to tell you that those people are boring. And that those people are cowards. We’re playing cards and either Flora’s cheating or the cards are magical! All right. Let’s step down from this little soap box and read some more poetry by Christina Rossetti! The Queen of Hearts By Christina Rosetti Performed by Shade Oyemakinwa How comes it, Flora, that, whenever we Play cards together, you invariably, However the pack parts, Still hold the Queen of Hearts? I've scanned you with a scrutinizing gaze, Resolved to fathom these your secret ways: But, sift them as I will, Your ways are secret still. I cut and shuffle; shuffle, cut, again; But all my cutting, shuffling, proves in vain: Vain hope, vain forethought, too; That Queen still falls to you. I dropped her once, prepense; but, ere the deal Was dealt, your instinct seemed her loss to feel: "There should be one card more," You said, and searched the floor. I cheated once: I made a private notch In Heart-Queen's back, and kept a lynx-eyed watch; Yet such another back Deceived me in the pack: The Queen of Clubs assumed by arts unknown An imitative dint that seemed my own; This notch, not of my doing, Misled me to my ruin. It baffles me to puzzle out the clew, Which must be skill, or craft, or luck in you: Unless, indeed, it be Natural affinity.

10 MIN

APR 12, 2020

Tales From the Public Domain: 1

Voice actors perform various poems from the public domain.

9 MIN

MAR 31, 2020

Episode 7: Self Care

Guided meditation in a time of crisis.

21 MIN

Details

Recent Episodes