A conversation with Klavier:
Moishi: Morning,
Klavier, or should I say, “Morning, piano?”
Klavier: Good
morning, Moishi. I’m delighted to note that you’ve broadened your garden of
knowledge by adding the fact that in Germany, a klavier is a piano.
Moishi:
Thanks. I do like to know stuff.
Klavier: Knowledge
can be very handy residing in the hands of … well … let’s let that be … for now.
Moishi: So
why did your parents name you, well, piano?
Klavier: Because
they would have considered it foolish to call me Dulcimer or Harpsichord.
Anyway, it’s the two-syllable sound with the one-syllable last name, Onk,
as much as the meaning that decided them, I think …. Given names and surnames
should never have an equal number of syllables; it makes the name too prosaic,
too … too, well, not musical.
Moishi: I
don’t get …
Klavier: … and
then there’s the repetition—or its avoidance—of vowels and consonants. Had they
named me an alliterative, say … well, say Gronk Onk, some Country and Western artist
would have written a song about Gronky Honky Onk, and … and there’d
emerge a new dance called the Honky Gronk, and me and my name
would submerge in a sea of pop culture, taking me with it.
Moishi: I
still don’t …
Klavier: Then
maybe try this on. My father was a concert pianist; we had two baby grand
pianos in the house and lived a stone’s throw from the Elbphilharmonie in
Hamburg. To say he worshipped the piano would not be exaggerating. He told me
once that the invention of the keyboard literally made the composing of great concertos,
symphonies, even opera what they are—I mean, were.
Moishi: I’m
… I’m almost sorry I asked, Klav.
Klavier: By
the way. Most people mispronounce my name. They say Clah-vee-eh. That’s
French. It should be Klah-veerrr’. That’s German. And, by the by, it’s—the
instrument, not I—it’s come to be called a piano in English, Spanish and
Dutch from the Latin, piano, meaning soft. Luckily the Italians
recognize the problem and call it pianoforte which translates, soft/strong.
Moishi: How
come you know all this?
Klavier: If your parents had named you Guitar,
wouldn’t you be curious about the why? Especially when in your schooldays,
everyone joked about “playing on you,” then proceeded to do so? Wouldn’t you seek
to know the why, the meaning of the naming of you? Anyway, if my father were
alive today, I can hear him saying something like: “The piano and Mozart,
Beethoven and Liszt made good music possible; the electric guitar and Clapton
and Young did their best to destroy the very concept.”
(Beat)
Moishi: My
name is Yiddish. My Mom said it means Moses.
Klavier: And
why would your parents call you Moses?
Moishi:
Don’t know. I hate it.
Klavier: I
think Moses is way more significant than Piano. You should search
it out. Perhaps your name will make of you a modern-day Moses.
Moishi: Ah,
but what’s in a name anyway? Everyday, I mean. If you rename a rose a Dogturd
Flower, won’t it still smell … well, rosy?
Klavier: True
… sort of. You’re wiser than you think you are, Moishi. But that’s too big a
subject for today, and I yearn for a coffee. Shall I pay today?
Moishi: (As
they leave) If your parents named you now, you’d probably be Coffee,
or Synthesizer, wouldn’ that ….
Afterword: Ich hab ein Klavier, einen Hund und
gut und gern 500 noch nicht gelesene Bücher daheim. (German writer apparently
listing the ingredients of his good fortune: “I have a piano, a dog, and fully
500 as-yet-unread books at home.” -Huby, Felix, Bienzle und der Biedermann.