To Be a Bard

[Gurns]

I have been oft asked (well, at least thrice) what 'tis like to be a bard. 'Tis glorious, 'tis dreadful, 'tis happy, 'tis sad. Like all lives, it has good times and times that are far less than that.

But I think that if you must ask, then the life of the bard is not for you. Music and tales must be a calling, don't you see? To be a bard, you must have this calling to music, this need for stories, as much as a paladin is called to good or an ogre is called to food.

To have the opportunity to play and sing, to tell stories and jokes, to perform for the high and the low, this alone must be your reward. Certs, as a bard you will ne'er be rich. Nor will your abilities and skills be those most greatly admired in this world. If you wish glory and fame, riches and property, then be a mighty warrior, a holy cleric, or a dread mage. If you must have songs, be a bard.

Still, your need for song may be hidden from you. See, the little children sing oft, freely and happily. Yet older ones and adults sing rarely, sometimes only under great duress. 'Tis odd, is it not? Something in our world acts to silence our own songs at an early age. Even true bards may have hidden their songs where they cannot find them. How, then, may you know if ye are a bard?

Well, to be a bard is also to be an observer. Others may perform great deeds, acting to change the world. Bards support and report these deeds, but 'tis a rare bard indeed who is called upon to do them. If you must act, or if you must be in the thick of things, then likely you are not a bard.

And a true bard not only observes, but appreciates what is observed. The lives of others are not yours, yet can you understand their lives as they do? Can you feel what it is like to be a fierce barbarian, a rich prince, a heartless assassin, a lowly peasant? Can you feel their likes and dislikes? Can you praise what they praise and mock what they mock? Can you guess how they would act? And can you be as one of them, when needs be?

In part this is but pleasing your audience. A day you don't please your audience is a day you don't eat. Some would call this hypocrisy, or pandering, or worse. No doubt, there is some of that. Yet truly, 'tis more than that. See you, all lives may have meaning and worth to those that live them. As a bard, you must seek to understand those lives and that meaning, and embrace them, for that is where your stories and songs are to be found.

What's that? Nay, not all lives all at the same time, no, that would be impossible. But to embrace each life in the moment, to see that world, to sing that song and believe it with all your heart, that is what you must do.

If can not do this, or if you see this as mere pandering, then 'tis unlikely you are a bard. Let me tell you a story. I call it "One Day in a Bard's Life", or "Three True Tales". If you can see as how _all_ the comments are heartfelt, and meant with the utmost sincerity at the time, then mayhap you should look to your heart, to see what songs are hidden there.


Tale the First
A Bard's Afternoon in a Castle

Thank you, nobles, gentles, all. It is indeed a pleasure to play for such a discriminating audience, in such a splendid setting. Speaking of discriminating, is there any more of that excellent wine? Such delicacy, such lightness and grace do not often bless my palate.

What a joy it is to play all these different songs for you! Most times, I am out on the road, wandering as a bard must. Of course I enjoy the challenges of the road, the thrills. It can be very exciting!

But, alas, there are drawbacks. There is cold and hunger, of course, and even deadly threats. But for a bard, the worst thing about being on the road, the most dreadful part of all, is that the musical taste of most adventurers is so, hmm, limited.

In the low pubs and taverns which I must sometimes frequent, one expects requests for bawdy songs. But the requests are always for the same ones! You would think that people would be tired of "Wold King Cole was a-Wakken' Doon t'Street" and "The Waterdeep Ram" by now, but....But of course such gentle folk as yourselves have not had your ears sullied with such material. I assure you, though, the common folk listen avidly, over and over, to these songs of the most questionable taste, only interrupting to bellow out a chorus of "Bring Us in Good Ale" when their mugs are drained.

But, oh! On the road itself, it is worse, far worse! Rarely, oh so rarely, you get a request for a marching song, to make the miles fly. But otherwise, it is always the same da...pardon, the same song that is
requested. The thousandth time it was requested of me, I threatened to write a very bad song about this lack of variety. The two-thousandth time, I started writing. Alas, I have had little time to work on it, so I long ago lost count of the number of requests I have had for That Song.

But! My composition is now finished, and it is, truly, most dreadfully bad. And every once in a while, when I get That Request, I satisfy myself by playing this song first. I will give you a small sampling....

Healings, nothing more than healings,
All they ever want to hear, the healing song.
People, every time they see me,
All they ever want to hear, the healing song.
Healings, wo-o-o healings,
wo-o-o, healings, again and again.

Yes, yes, I see you covering your ears. I hope those are grins and not grimaces that I also see. Perchance both? I shall spare you from the rest of it. It does go on rather longer, and the rest is not only bad, but tedious, too.

Now, what would be a song pleasing to your ear? Perhaps a song of "Spring, the sweet Spring"?


Tale the Second
A Bard's Evening in a Tavern

Ah, that's proper brew. 'Tis good to taste an honest ale. I've been up the hill, entertaining the nobles. Oh, they treat me right well, but those wines they serve are a thin lot, none wit' any body.

Aye, and the songs they want me to sing are a thin lot, too. Songs of little birds and daffodils and beautiful gardens what weed themselves. Haw! Or wild tales of romantic love. On the one hand, ye have the fine and gentle lady, wit' no idea how to pluck a fowl, before or after she's married. On the other hand, ye have the bold knight, a doer of great deeds and a slayer of monsters, but like to cringe from stepping in a cowpat.

But the worst is when I first arrive. Oh, here's a lady, who's pricked her finger wit' a needle, and wails as i' she's like to bleed to death. Oh, here's the warrior who was a wee bit slow, and got his noggin bopped by the jousting dummy. Here's the favored horse, what's strained a tendon in the last canter. Or m'lady's pet doggie, what's been overfed. All of them want me to sing the same damn song, ye can guess which one. No sooner am I done wit' one, then another arrives. And another and another and another.

Aye, well, ye know I don't complain. In part because it does give me a pleasure to heal, even such minor scrapes. More so because if I did complain, belike I'd be tossed out on me ear!

But I have me secret satisfaction. I have written a bad, oh such a horrible, bad song about just this. When they ask me to sing the one, I do a'course, but sometimes I sing the other to meself. It gives me a grin, don't ye see? Perhaps ye'd like to learn it? No doubt ye'd have yer own tales of grinning and bearing it for the nobles, and mayhap ye'll think on this when it happen to ye, and it'll help yer own grin. Here's a bit....

Healings, nothing more than healings,
All they ever want to hear, the healing song.
People, every time they see me,
All they ever want to hear, the healing song.
Healings, wo-o-o healings,
wo-o-o, healings, again and again.

Ach, dreadful, is it not? The song 'tis longer than that, but that be more than enough suffering for such good friends. Here you are, sharing yer beer with me...ye are sharing, aren't ye? Let's sing something jolly. Say, I come across a bard who had another verse to "Wold King Cole was a-Wakken' Doon t'Street", let me sing it for ye.


Tale the Third

You're going adventuring tomorrow, and you're looking for a bard to sing the song of healing? Yes, I'd love to! Thanks!


[This message has been edited by Gurns (edited 08-30-2001).]

[This message has been edited by Gurns (edited 08-30-2001).]

[This message has been edited by Gurns (edited 08-30-2001).]

[This message has been edited by Gurns (edited 08-30-2001).]

[This message has been edited by Gurns (edited 08-30-2001).]

[Gurns]

Credit where credit is due:

(1) "Wold King Cole" is sung at the Christmas feast in White's "Once and Future King". So far as I know, he made it up, and there is but one verse (alas). (2) "The Waterdeep Ram" is really "The Darby Ram" (sometimes spelled "Derby"), an old folk song. You may have sung the cleaner verses in grade school or at camp. (3) I came across "Bring Us in Good Ale" and "Spring, the sweet Spring" on recordings by the King's Singers, the well-known British six man choral group. (4) I did work up the complete text for the parody of "Feelings", but it really is as bad as implied. Not so bad that it's good, mind you, just bad.

[Gort]

And a bard you are, I was entertained...


*throws a few p to the bard for the entertainment*

[Ashiwi]

Gort,
I loved it!!!
Of course now I'm going to get that fool song stuck in head...