This is one of the songs I most liked to sing because it was about me.

That, and because it wasn’t too hard to learn, not a lot of sharps and flats, no fancy footwork, no complicated accompaniment where you have to come in on time, not too high or too low to strain your voice.

And actually two people I could identify with. The organ grinder grinding away, playing repeated clichés, nobody paying him any attention, just walking by, his little plate always empty, and it’s cold and he’s cold, and the dogs snarl at him saying, “Get away. You don’t belong here.”

And then I’m the person watching, writing my poems like songs, begging him, “Will you let me go with you and will you play my songs?”

That’s so sad that I can hardly sing it through the tears I hold back, and then my voice fades away.

Like me.

Kirstina says, “Dad, are you crying?”

I say,
“Here, let me sing it for you.”

Drüben hinterm Dorfe
steht ein Leiermann
und mit starren Fingern
dreht er, was er kann.

Barfuß auf dem Eise
wankt er hin und her
und sein kleiner Teller
bleibt ihm immer leer.

Keiner mag ihn hören,
keiner sieht ihn an,
und die Hunde knurren
um den alten Mann.

Und er läßt es gehen
alles, wie es will,
dreht und seine Leier
steht ihm nimmer still.

Wunderlicher Alter,
soll ich mit dir geh’n?
Willst zu meinen Liedern
deine Leier dreh’n?