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Cyprian
Norwid
And they talked about Chopin again,
- Our foremost artist, you know
"I like his Polish dash, that racy glow;
He's no sad mumbler in the romantic vein.
And though I can't say what I mean by art
I do know music: it unlocks my heart
And captures me and makes itself at home
I doubt if most musicians know as much
About the sounds they make or the strings they touch."
Bogumil said: "That's quite a mouthful; but, accepting the lot
I would still rather examine an artist's thought.
I'd prefer to ask whether he spoke the whole truth of his nation,
Whether he was able to make a complete confession within his form of
creation,
Or whether he was ashamed of the truth's vulgarity
So that he had to stifle it to get quick popularity,
Whether he buried truth or the truth buried him
That's the test, and it doesn't depend on my personal whim."
"Now, now. Why moralise? - and at such length too,"
Konstanty broke in from among the young men.
"Since they're all make-believe, what has truth got to do
With the imitations of nature that artists conceive?
Music would mean nothing if I had to parse it like a hieroglyph.
Bogumil's notions would force us all to receive
Absolution from a mazurka.
What's beautiful is for us all
And doesn't need a confessional.
Rain, rain, go to Spain:
Old Bogumil's at his tricks again."
Then many people applauded with laughter
To show that good sense had been charmingly said.
They had no conversation about art thereafter
Since the truth had been demonstrated and they were well-bred.
But the musicians around the rostrum
Discussed composition in terms of the part
It plays in transforming life into the life of art.
Translated by Jerzy Peterkiewicz and Burns Singer
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