My Dear Friend,
I recall the late hour of an August night at the pub U Šupů when you read to me from your notebook about two verses from Jan houslista (Jan the Violinist). At the time I was slightly caught up in the spirit of alcohol, but I remember well the magical hum of the rhythmic music through which the poem seeped into me. I am now reading your book – for the third time – with a clear head and am completely enchanted. It is like something from Bedřich Smetana, if he had seen the First World War, lived through the period of the First Republic and had to bear the humble burden of today’s world. Your poem brings me a feeling of personal happiness – as if I were listening to the music of our great composer.
Since I fell so much in love with Jan houslista, you’ll have to forgive me for pointing out two small details that bother me when reading it. The second stanza contains “New York and Moscow, Paris, Rome…”. It seems to me that it is difficult to pronounce, especially for those reciting
Once more, please forgive my pedantry; it just goes hand in hand with beautiful enchantment.
Sending you my best wish and season’s greetings.