Ewa Demarczyk - Skrzypek Hercowicz

There was a violinist Hercowitz,
Who played from memory like from notes.
He could turn Schubert's music—
Into a diamond, a true marvel.

Day in, day out, from dawn till dusk,
With a harmony like a deck of cards,
The same eternal sonata
He caressed like some treasure.

And oh Mr. Hercowitz,
Outside, darkness and snow...
Would you give it a rest, Serkowitz!
That's life, isn't it?...

Let the harmonica—Gypsy music,
As long as the frost holds,
Right after Schubert on sleighs
Wrapping the trail with strokes.

With music so close to us,
Sudden death holds no fear.
And then— hanging from the hanger
Like a coat from plucked crows.

A long time ago, Mr. Serkowitz,
Everything was buried by snow...
Would you give it a rest, Scherzowicz.
That's life, isn't it?

There was this violinist...
He could turn Schubert's music—
Into a diamond, a true marvel.
With a harmony like a deck of cards...
He caressed it like some treasure.