Also, Man Gave Names to all the Animals

For about the umpteenth time I was watching Passione, the John Turturro documentary on Neapolitan music that inspired last week’s Mother’s Day post, and as happens each time I watch it, one of the songs catches me in a new way. This time it was Era de Maggio. And what struck me about it was how much the two lovely singers, Misia & Peppe Servillo, resembled birds. It’s spring of course, and we are surrounded by birds so I’m more aware of their infinite and beautiful variety of song than usual. So while I’m more than happy to have another opportunity to plug Turturro’s film in this blog, I must confess that the wonder of all those Neapolitan singers rendering all those gorgeous melodies really seems a bit derivative of what I’m hearing from the birds around me these days. As they say, birds do it. And if mere feathered creatures could fill the air with exquisite music, what’s really the big deal about humans doing it, too. (Hey, Turturro, you wanna see melodies really take wing, bring your camera crew to our place.)
Anyway, watching those birdlike Neapolitans sing about springtime love made me start thinking about what is it that our human species can do that other species cannot do. The answer was not build cities and land on the moon because I believe a sound argument can be made that those advanced achievements are more than matched by what goes on in ant colonies and the winged migration of geese—our industrial prowess equaled by the industry of beehives; our science and technology trumped by the caterpillar that comes into being equipped with all the science and technology it needs to metamorphose into a butterfly; and even our darkest genius for dealing death in all manner of hideous and violent fashion really can’t compare to what a humble virus or bacteria can do to the healthiest, wealthiest, most beautiful human body.
So, to find anything they can do, we can do better is not as easy as the song implies. Then, presto! I was no more than an hour into this inquiry when a friend posted a cake his granddaughter had decorated, modeled after Van Gogh’s Starry Night, and I exclaimed, “Eureka!” That was something we humans could do that our cousins in the animal kingdom cannot. A mad, dead Dutchman can inspire a young woman half a world away and a hundred years in the future. That brought me back to those Neapolitan singers. The wonder wasn’t that they could sing like birds, but that the songs they were singing did not come natural to them. They were not literally born with these songs in their hearts as birds are--no matter how much we try to romanticize otherwise. Humans learn songs, often written by other humans…sometimes written by humans who cannot sing a decent note themselves. They are often humans the singers never know, who may live in a time and place the singers will never know. Human singers, unlike birds, get to choose which songs they’ll sing. The oriole cannot choose to sing the cardinal’s song, but the Neapolitan can sing the African’s song or the cowboy’s song.
And that led me to another unique thing we as humans can do…we can and do go outside our boxes. As depressingly herd-like as we often can be, there are still many among us who actually do what those animals are always trying to do in countless children’s tales and Pixar movies…connect with people and lifestyles that are not native to us. Lions lying down with lambs may be nothing more than a metaphor in the animal world, but in the human world Chinese girls lie down with Bolivian boys; Catholics lie down with atheists; James Carville lies down with Mary Matalin. We go on Facebook and establish connection with folks whose faces we may never see in the flesh. The most fully evolved amongst us are always open to foreign affairs and entanglements.
And for all the bloody wars these encounters with aliens have brought upon us over the centuries, there are still those among us who struggle nobly and tirelessly to create a world where might does not make right.  As frustrating as it is watching the fucking Middle East year after year turn the survival instinct on its head, it’s still worth noting that there will never ever be a lion-wildebeest peace process. There will never be a cobra-mongoose peace accord. As hopeless as the NRA seems, regulating, restraining, or reasoning with the tsetse fly is far more difficult. 
Which brings me to this endearing human trait…our ability to weave stories about ourselves that promise us--or our children or our far distant posterity--a better world. Whether it’s the Greek myths that abound in the work of Homer or the Christian myths that abound in the Bible, the sayings of Confucius or the tales of Aesop, our persistence in passing on life lessons and morals to future generations no matter how much daily experience suggests that it’s all in vain is truly a sweet and charming behavior that is beyond the ken of the cutest little kitten that ever lived.
And because the overriding mission of The Nobby Works is to extoll the virtues of Love’s Body--both as philosophy and living, breathing thing--how about a word or two about what a very wonderful thing it is?  The jaguar can run faster, the dolphin can swim further, the monkey can climb better, but how many of the lower creatures can master a medley of physical skills not just for survival, but for well-being, pride, and sheer entertainment?
As we receive constant reminders of how we’ve bollixed up our planet, it gets increasingly tempting to get down on worthiness as a species. Could…would…a planet of the apes do it better? Only if a human imagination made it so in a book, a movie, or a Broadway musical.