To have lived in grander rooms,
I sometimes think,
would have been —
well, grander.
Until I walk into my other room,
quickly come to the piano
and see
the window I looked out of,
as I learned Brahms’s Concertos.
Bruce Brubaker on all things piano
I didn’t know you wrote poetry… this is kind of cute.
who wants to live in “other rooms”- who needs grandeur?!
and strangely just this morning, a friend sent me this by Henry Scott Holland:
“…I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I, and you are you; whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone: wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effort, without the ghost of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same that it ever was: there is absolutely unbroken continuity. I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near just around the corner. All is well.”