Nathalia Crane

I've had this song stuck in my head all day. I love the Clarinet in this piece, but Natalie is a little hard to hear. You can check out the lyrics, here.

The song is actually a poem by Nathalia Crane. It was fairly controversial when it was published, in 1926, The New York Times published her poetry, not realizing that it was written by a young girl. She was called the Brooklyn Bard when she was 13, but many were sceptical of her ability to write such "adult" poetry. Some thought she was a sort of medium, channeling a muse, while others thought her published works were a hoax. At one point, she was even asked to produce a poem with a journalist in the room. It was a time when children's poetry was being published, but the poetry wasn't as precocious as hers, didn't have as many obscure words, and was submitted along with the child's age.

Nathalia was born in Brooklyn in 1913, and died in 1998. She won $500 for a poem entered into a contest for poems about Lindbergh's flight to Paris. It was called "Wings of Lead." She eventually became an English professor.

She wrote this about an African American schoolmate:

Love Lane

In old Love Lane on Brooklyn Heights
There’s an ebony bob from Arabian Nights;
She sings each eve of the Tom Moore rose—
And the neighbors shut off their radios.
The people who pass through Henry Street.
They presently go with lagging feet,
For in old Love Lane a cantatrice shade
Is taking the thrills of Adelaide.
Shaking the sistrum—a blackberry bob,
Dulcing the treble and daring the sob;
Never a wonder that listeners perch
On the mansion steps near Plymouth Church.
They hear the birds by a waterfall,
They see the rose that was last of all;
The dim garages grow less profane,
For something with pinions is down in the lane.