D.H. Lawrence (1885 – 1930)

Piano

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;                avondschemer
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see             terugblik
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.

In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song               bedrieglijke
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong       verraadt
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cozy parlor, the tinkling piano our guide.  genoeglijke

So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamor               zinloos
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamor
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

(1918)

Gwen Harwood (1920 -)

A visiting conductor                               dirigent
When I was seventeen,
Took me back to his hotel room
To cover the music scene.                     Het hebben over

I’d written a composition.
Would wonders never cease –                wonderen zijn de wereld nog niet uit
Here was a real musician
Prepared to hold my peace. 

He spread my score on the counterpane   vensterbank
With classic casualness,                           nonchalance
And put one hand on the manuscript
And the other down my dress.

It was hot as hell in The Windsor.
I said I’d like a drink.
We talked across gin and grapefruit,
And I heard the ice go clink

As I gazed at the lofty forehead                 imposante
Of one who led the band,
And guessed at the hoarded sorrows          opgepotte
no wife could understand.

I dreamed of a soaring passion                  torenhoge
As an egg might dream of flight,
While he read my crude sonata.                 onvolwassen
If he’d said : “That bar’s not right”,             maat

Or: “Have you thought of a coda?”              slotfrase
Or: “Watch that first repeat”                       herhaling
Or : “Modulate to the dominant”                  verander van toonsoort 
He’d have had me at his feet.

But he shuffled it all together,                     griste
And said: “That’s lovely, dear”                    heel aardig
As he put it down on the washstand             wasbak
In a way that made it clear

That I was no composer.                            componist
And I being young and vain,                       ijdel
Removed my lovely body
From one who had scorned my brain.           de spot had gedreven

I swept off like Miss Virtue                           Deugdzaamheid
Down dusty Roma Street,
And heard the goods trains whistle                 
WHO? WHOOOOOO? in aching heat.               pijnlijke