Three Swans and Then One
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When do you know that you’re seeing someone for the last time? Not because they’ve died or you’ve died, but because your friendship simply dissolves. Nothing explains it. You simply don’t hear from them for a long while and then the long while becomes so long that you find you’ve probably lost the chance to ask any questions. You’ve simply lost touch. Is it for good? You don’t know. What did you do wrong? Anything? It’s too late to discover.
This is a song about parting and not knowing it was a last parting. Not knowing if it was a last parting.
The old me would have gotten to the bottom of this before now – this un-friendship mystery. But the me of today looks back on other friendships that seemed so sturdy and then one day fell apart. It wasn’t dramatic, necessarily. No big fight or misunderstanding. Just a realization on my part or theirs that it was all over. Why? I truly never knew.
In one case, I dreamed about my friend for years. She turned up all over the scene in dreamland. I don’t see her there so much anymore and I’ve never seen her again in real life, not for twenty years.
I know I’m flawed. I’m over-expressive. I’m not guarded. Or I wasn’t. I suppose a little bit of me is now. A little bit of me has become more British, more reserved, slower to believe in a friendship. But as soon as I feel that friendship joy, I become a little girl again, always thinking of my beautiful wonderful one-of-a-kind tried and true friend. I’m too eager, too all-in.
I once wrote another song about this. It’s called “Friendship” and I go through all of the abandoned technology and communication devices from tin can and string to seances. They’re a metaphor for what I lost. The thread was broken. The fax machine, obsolete.
Was it a kind of foretelling that as a child I loved “Puff the Magic Dragon” so much and I cried every time that Johnny Paper came no more?
“Three Swans” takes place in the Yorkshire town of Selby where the earliest representation of the “stars and stripes” form part of a window in the abbey. It’s the crest of the Washington family. Yes, those Washingtons who played such a big part in the thirteen colonies that became the United States of America.
Selby Abbey’s symbol is the three swans which were given to the Abbey’s founder, Benedict of Auxerre. That’s how John Washington and swans found their way into my song.
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This song is probably one of my most abstract songs. It’s tricky to be concrete about something as it’s disappearing. I began writing it on the train home from Selby.
The imagery floats in and out. The words are sometimes difficult to hear amongst the instruments and perhaps the listener only gets glimpses of words. There’s an idea: “to glimpse a word.” There are windows, there’s water, things are reflected back in an imprecise way. The movement of the swans in the water creates ripples which further obscure any reflection of the friendship.
There’s the noise of the train. The urgency of the train’s arrival. There’s the echo of voices in a singing space where a concert was vaguely discussed, but which never materialized. The echo distorts the sound of singing and carries the sound away.
And there’s me babbling at the train station like a person trying to float upon words, to hold them like a life vest that I didn’t know I needed at the time. Finally I’m absorbed into the submarine of the train car or was it my friend who departed first? It’s hard to remember now.
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This is a song of the fading impressions of what seemed like an indelible friendship.
I’m really susceptible to a purple cartoon blob on the internet named “itslennnie.” One day lennnie talked about how people come into our lives and we never know for how long. I think this was meant to be about someone we love dying. But at the time I saw this particular film of lennnie’s, I was grieving for friendship because I’d lost two friends in one go not long after another friend had actually died. As lennnie said, I thought they’d be with me through the whole film, but they weren’t. I was angry, sad, in disbelief, in denial. I went through a lot of the stages of grief even though my friends were still alive.
Seeing this cartoon made me realize that it was ok that they didn’t stay until the end of the film. I guess sometimes I still wonder if they just went out for popcorn and they’ll be back. But, even then, I might have left the audience myself. So, what I’ve chosen to do is be glad that we made a lot of good memories together. I hope they think of me that way, too, but I’ll never know.
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I’m glad that I know you right now this minute and that we are friends or best friends or the slightest of acquaintances and I’m prepared for us to know each other for a time. If it’s a short while or a long while, only time will tell. But if you ever think I’m not calling or writing or sending paper airplanes like I used to and I’ve made you sad, could you let me know? Maybe, I just went out for popcorn. Maybe, I was just feeding the swans and I’ll be right back. It’s ok if you to ask. I’d rather be in your life than in your dreams.
Love from your friend right HERE,
Jeni
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Three Swans I was so sorry to be parting I filled up all the time with useless information from the cupboard of my mind – insurance claims, fallen leaves, dust and broken glass, Virginia Woolf and refugees from the clutter of my past. Three swans a-swimming, (so) serene and full of grace. Could it be they’re telling us, this must be the place? When our good John Washington was wrecked upon the sea, little did he know he’d found a new country. And what of us, dear brother, our manifest destiny? Our country lives in perfect fifths and endless cups of tea. I’m sure we saw the burning bush in a brightly lit cafe, turned into a ballroom, stepped out to a stage where we built a fine cathedral made of sound on sound – a story of a miner and sunlight heaven bound. Three swans carved in sandstone, in truth or just a myth, like Helena’s great conversion which launched a thousand ships. Again, I find I’m talking with one minute ’til the train. Safe journey, my dear brother, until we meet again. © 2021, Jeni Hankins, BMI, and Alfred Hickling. Jeni Hankins, Vocals, Alfred Hickling, Guitar, and Sam Inglis further bells and whistles.
Hey! I’m going to Nashville to work on my house. I haven’t seen my house for nearly two years and there are porch railings to paint and gutters to clean. But what’s best of all is that I’m playing a concert at NashYarnFest on April 18th! And even if you can’t come to Nashville, the festival and my concert can come to you. My show and talks from four other speakers, plus a spin around the festival, are all part of the virtual ticket. It’s $35 and the broadcast will be available for a week afterward for folks in other time zones to catch up on anything you missed. Read more about it here: NashYarnFest.
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Thank you. And thank your for staying in touch.
Last month, I sang about Elvis and Marilyn Monroe!
Goodbye, Elvis Presley | ||||||
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Thank you for reading, always.
If you’d like to receive a download each month of a new or previously unreleased song, you can become a paid subscriber. Paid subscriptions give me time to write and create. Subscriptions also support my determined efforts to rescue dolls, bears, and even looms from the trash and to repair, use, and share these things.
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Kindly, Jeni
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