A little boy’s dream… takes him so far – Miles away from home. He follows the heart, He follows his art.
He spends hours… in solitude.. Practicing the piano. So that we could Listen to the divine sounds Of Mozart and Chopin.
Beautiful in appearance, Sensitive emotionally, He strikes us with originality Of his artistic performance.
His fingers play While his face talks to Invisible friends of Beethoven, The dancing fairies of Sibelius, And the characters of the suite of Prokofiev.
He smiles and laughs with them, He cries and prays for them, He dreams their dreams And shares visions of them with his audience.
May God bless you, oh, pianist! With the gifts you deserve And with those you don’t. May your soul fulfill The mission it came To accomplish In this beautiful world.
Lightly skimming over keys Sprightly, everso brightly Bringing the world of Gershwin home Of all who’ve tried you, you alone Have done so, oh, so masterfully.
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Swinging me to and through another world, A world alive with grace and taste, Of blues you elegantly gifted me Placing me where I want to go, So so full of days of old Of soul, of wistful whimsy, yes so sweet Where love and reverie gently meet.
She looks at us from the screen And gives us the sweetest smile. She says, “Life is a present. Music is my religion, And piano saved my life.”
“How?” we ask her in awe. She pauses to tell us more.
“Growing up in Czechoslovakia In a family of musicians,
With Kafka, Mahler, and Freud as friends How much more prestigious Could our status be In that secular circuit of Intellectual….. Jews….
My older sister Irma, my first piano teacher, Awakend in me that unstoppable itching To be a musician, the best one I could With Arthur Schnabel affirming, “You should!”
Fastforward, my pianist career took off, With concerts in Prague and Dusseldorf, My family life was a dream come true: A loving husband and son – both Jews…
But paradise, only everlasting in heaven, Was interrupted, disrupted, destroyed. Where is my Gan Eden?
Instead, alone with a child in a cattle train For Teresienstadt to become my terrain.
But something inside me Whispered, “Don’t let go.” Or, maybe, the look on my son’s face Told me there was hope.
As long as I had him Next to me – in my arms, I was happy, and so was he, And we had a few laughs.
Then a miracle happened – I was asked to perform. Heavenly waters emerged from a perfect storm.
They asked, “ Do you play music? Can you perform for the Furher? Myself and many other musicians Said, with reluctance, “Sure…”
Reluctance, mixed with excitement – We shall survive! That’s how piano saved my life.”
She pauses…. With a dreamy look on her face. At a hundred and eight She is still making her case.
“Life is a present. God is with us. Live every day as if it’s your last.”
The people of London, Her neighbors and passersby, Come to hear her play – every day Piano is her life.
Her old fingers, wrinkled and freckled Still dance pirouettes – she never settled.
And once she is gone, Her neighbors and friends Will continue hearing The heavenly sounds Once carved out with her hands.
I walk along a festive street Amidst the city noise and flare, And for the crowds that I meet I celebrate, I do not care. And nothing bothers me as I Walk by and listen to the glee. The clown shows catch my eye, But they don’t mean too much to me.
And through the babble, dapple and fun And urban smells and loud hurray I feel the breathing of the sun That sheds itself onto my way.
Piano Performer Magazine 
