Xaviera Hollander
The Happy Hooker
emotionals
This is a pretty descriptive scene of owens brother who died. Owen has been one of my dearest and sweetest Jewish American friends I have ever come across. A more gentle person I don't remember ever meeting. He is an American and designs my theatre cards. Recently he has moved back to the USA and this is the story of how his brother died, with whom he had NOTHING in common, except that they both used to be funeral directors in New York . Owen's brother had been crippled with all sorts of illnesses for years and there was nothing but hatred between them and yet.. dear Owen with the heart of gold tried to love this man .. you can read the feelings through the lines, I guess.
Hello Xie,
My brother Kevin died last night. The nursing home called, it was that simple. I rushed over to where he was and checked for myself. It seemed like time stood stillwhile I made the five mile trip.
When I arrived he was in his bed, his mouth was wide open and one look at his open eyes grey and empty of life, I could see for myself! Kevin Nobel. Liebreich, age 61 was dead! Kevin was mean to me many times when I was small, kind of a bully. In his bed he no longer looked human, his face was twisted with his jaw sticking up, he looked more like a horse saddle than my older brother.
I closed his mouth and eyes and noticed how warm his body was, postmortem caloric ity had started, the fist sign of rigor mortis. I could detect a faint smile and assume death came as a friend to ease his great torment in life. Death was a lady for Kevin last night! For him death was the ultimate civil right.
He did not want a funeral, direct cremation, no memorial service. No children to say the Jewish prayers. After his cremation I am going to spread his creaminess on my new estate. Life goes on!!!!
love
owen
I think this is a lovely poem, I just found it somewhere scribbled on a brown piece of crumbled old paper, typed it out and it almost brought tears to my eyes.
The touch of the Master’s hand
‘T was Battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile:
“What am I bidden, good folks,” he cried,
“Who’ll start the bidding for me?”
“A dollar, a dollar; then “two!” “Only two?”
Two dollars and who ‘ll make it three?
Three dollars, once: three dollars, twice:
Going for three – “ But no,
From the room, far back, a gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then, wiping the dust from the old violin,
He played a melody pure and sweet
As a caroling angel sings.
The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: ”What am I bid for the old violin?”
And he held it up with the bow.
“A thousand dollars, and who’ll make it two?
Two thousand. And who’ll make it three?
Three thousand, once, three thousand, twice
And going, and gone,”said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
“We do not quite understand
What changed its worth.” Swift came the reply:
“The touch of the master’s hand.”
And many a man with life out of tune
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd,
Much like the old violin.
A “mess of pottage, “a lass of wine:
A game – and he travels on,
He is “going” once, and “going“ twice,
He’s going and almost “gone”.
But the master comes, and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of a soul and the change that’s wrought
By the touch of the masters hand.
This poem was written by an old musician who for some mysterious reason was put in jail and was facing life sentence…
Sub menu
Shop Xaviera Collection
€15,00
|