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Echo of Love

from Eve by Áine Minogue

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about

THE SONG OF THE LARK
A poem by David Whyte

The song begins and the eyes are lifted 
but the sickle points toward the ground,
its downward curve forgotten in the song she hears, 
while over the dark wood, rising or falling,
the sun lifts on cool air, the small body of a singing lark.

The song falls, the eyes raise, the mouth opens
and her bare feet on the earth have stopped.

Whoever listens in this silence, as she listens,
will also stand opened, thoughtless, frightened
by the joy she feels, the pathway in the field
branching to a hundred more, no one has explored.
What is called in her rises from the ground
and is found in her body,
what she is given is secret even from her.

This silence is the seed in her
of everything she is
and falling through her body
to the ground from which she comes,
it finds a hidden place to grow
and rises, and flowers, in old wild places,
where the dark-edged sickle cannot go.

from RIVER FLOW: New and Selected Poems
© David Whyte and Many Rivers Press

PILGRIM
A poem by David Whyte

I bow to the lark
and its tiny
lifted silhouette
fluttering
before infinity.
I promise myself
to the mountain
and to the foundation
from which
my future comes.
I make my vow
to the stream
flowing beneath,
and to the water
falling
towards all thirst,
and
I pledge myself
to the sea
to which it goes
and to the mercy
of my disappearance,
and though I may be
left alone
or abandoned by
the unyielding present
or orphaned in some far
unspoken place,
I will speak
with a voice
of loyalty
and faith
to the far shore
where everything
turns to arrival,
if only in the sound
of falling waves
and I will listen
with sincere
and attentive eyes and ears
for a final invitation,
so that I can
be that note half-heard
in the flying lark song,
or that tint
on a far mountain
brushed with the subtle
grey of dawn,
even a river gone by
still looking
as if it hasn’t,
or an ocean heard only
as the sound of waves
falling and falling,
and falling,
my eyes closing
with them
into some
undeserved nothing
even as they
give up their
strength
on the sand.

© David Whyte and Many Rivers Press

lyrics

The sea cliff married the lark
And we waited
For the song that sings the bird
in the echo, of love

credits

from Eve, released May 25, 2018
Jon Evans: Soundscape, pedal steel
Áine Minogue: Vocals

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Áine Minogue image

Áine Minogue Boston, Massachusetts

Born and raised in Borrisokane, County Tipperary, Ireland, Áine Minogue is an award-winning harpist, singer, arranger and composer

She has fourteen solo albums and extensive soundtrack work to her credit.

Áine’s music, in varying styles - Celtic, World, Folk and Spiritual - has appeared on compilations for major and indie labels.

She has an MA in Performance from the University of Limerick. ... more

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