To Dvorak Poem by Liza Sud

In music there are features of each nation:
The Germans are a little rough and harsh,
Rachmaninov, Tchaikovsky slightly sad,
And only Dvorzhak is a pure angel!

Italian temperament is too hot,
impetuous in breathlessness of speed,
from bedroom scabbard sticks the Spanish sword,
And inquisition frightens us with it.

The Eastern sound is cunning and quirky,
it curls and bleats so sharply in the heights,
The golden middle is Antonin Dvorak,
And in his soul is so much peace and rest!

The Chinese sound sexless, meditative,
Like Tao empty, fragant sakura,
Beethoven is so very harsh, aggressive,
though jubilant and flying very high.

But Dvorak shows no selfish anguish,
And no caustic pride of grievances -
So Dvorak suits for the prayer exactly,
and therefore ideally sounds Bliss

In Saint Ludmila or in Stabat Mater
And so the enlightened souls rejoice,
I'm captiveted now by the Czech master
And to my soul his music is so close!