Not every song I write is inspired by mythology.
Some are inspired by the people who made me who I am.
This is for my grandmother, Bette. Her Hungarian nickname was Bözsi.
She was the daughter of immigrants, and grew up in East Chicago surrounded by the music of turn-of-the-century Budapest and Vienna, and filled my childhood with old waltzes, salon music, lullabies, and stories from the old country.
When dementia came, it was swift. The woman who had always been my closest friend disappeared within a few years, in stages. It was devastating.
As dementia slowly stole pieces of her away, and as she slowly began to forget my face and all our time together, I found myself holding onto the songs she had given me. Songs like Böszi ne sirjon and Vienna My City of Dreams.
Long after many memories had faded, she could still speak and sing in Hungarian.
Drága Kincsem, Hungarian for “My Precious Treasure,” is my tribute to her memory, and to the feeling of losing her piece by piece. It is written as a composite of a Viennese waltz and the melancholic Hungarian operetta salon music she was such a fan of.
I lost her eight years ago and I still wept as I wrote this song.
I hope that if you've ever loved a grandparent, lost someone to dementia, or felt connection in an old family song, you find some comfort here.
Press play below to hear my tribute. Arrangement created using Suno.
Nagymama, I see you've grown older;
I've tried to make you proud as years go by.
Gone are the days I sat upon your knee,
Seeking your sweet comfort when I'd cry.
I remember all the things you taught me:
You'd sit at the piano as I read,
You'd stroke my hair and sweetly sing so many songs
From the old country as I lay in bed.
Drága kincsem, don't forget me.
Don't forget the songs we knew.
Bözsi kincsem, please don't leave me.
Though you're fading, I love you.
Drága kincsem, don't forget me,
Though the years have dimmed your eyes.
Bözsi kincsem, keep my memory,
Till the last waltz softly dies.
Nagymama, you truly hated chicken—
Your mama made cut off all their heads.
In Chicago she ran her boarding house,
To safely keep a roof over your head.
Your father came here from old Vienna,
Your mother always dreamed of Budapest.
They filled your heart with their old-world music;
You shared the songs you loved the very best.
Drága kincsem, don't forget me.
Don't forget the songs we knew.
Bözsi kincsem, please don't leave me.
Though you're fading, I love you.
Drága kincsem, don't forget me,
Though the years have dimmed your eyes.
Bözsi kincsem, keep my memory,
Till the last waltz softly dies.
Now all of the records turn in silence,
And your empty chair sits by the wall.
Yet when violins start playing softly,
I still hear you singing beyond it all.
Nagymama, now I truly know it—
Our love outlives what time and fate can do.
Every waltz brings your spirit back to me,
Like those old songs still carry me to you.
Drága kincsem, don't forget me.
Don't forget the songs we knew.
Bözsi kincsem, please don't leave me.
Though you're fading, I love you.
Drága kincsem, don't forget me,
Though the years have dimmed your eyes.
Bözsi kincsem, keep my memory,
Till the last waltz softly dies.
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Oh, the death that steals before the body is gone. I’m so sorry.💛 (The journey of both my grandmothers.) You have honored her well! What a touching and beautiful legacy. The eyes. Your grandmother’s granddaughter. Thank you for introducing her and allowing us the privilege of honoring her as well. 🫶 Bitter sweetness.
What a beautiful way to honor your love and memories of her! I was also very close to my grandmother, but we were long disconnected from songs and practices of our ancestral homeland. Capturing the beautiful ancestral connections you had and have with your grandmother is such a precious gift!