Comments on: Purple and green

By: Paul H. Muller

Paul H. Muller — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 20:05:00 +0000

The photo is another great one – you really do have a good eye.

My youngest daughter just moved to San Fransico after finishing at SD State. The place seems so exotic to her, even after growing up in SoCal. My son lives in Chicago – downtown center city – and another daughter in Ohio. I often wonder what it must be like for them to be living in such a different place.

Heard “Current Events” on Counterstream Radio the other day. The middle movement with the cello parts is beautiful – inspired, I am guessing, by the lists you often see on TV of servicemen (and women) killed in Iraq.

By: Glenn Buttkus

Glenn Buttkus — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 14:50:07 +0000

Your musical clip, EvensongPostlude@1:40 filled the room with scent of lavender. I will be so serene today I may have to be reprimanding for lethargy. It is always a joy to cut up a slice of the Suite for Flute, Clarinet, Bassoon, and Piano, originally in 1999 @ 17 minutes. I know that it was originally performed at an evening church service, but it also works in the daylight in the luxurious fields of lavender that linger in the neighboring valleys. The pianist was sublime. Like all your music, it fits your comments and takes us for a sensual slide into the musical soul of Shapiro.

Glenn

By: Glenn Buttkus

Glenn Buttkus — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 14:27:52 +0000

Ah, those fragerant fields of lavender are at it again. I hope you still recall the impetus it gave me to write PURPLE HONEY months back, when you brought the kelphisto’s focus to the lavender farms on San Juan. This sense memory of yours is rich in lush imagery, transporting us again decades into your past, into your emotions. Here is the epic poem that emerged:

Freedom.

Certain color combinations
carry with them
specific associations emblazoned
from an event
or a moment
from the past.
For me,
the most powerful
and happy duet
are purple and green. .

It started
sometime around 1980.
I lived in Manhattan,
and back in the days
when you could get across the country
and back for $99,
I visited a friend in San Francisco.
She was a few years older than I,
and lived in what was,
upon reflection,
an unremarkable apartment
in the Sunset area.

At the time however,
coated from the grittiness
of New York City,
I was convinced that
I had landed in some sort
of urban nirvana,
enveloped by a strange new hipness
shrouded in fog
and incense and carrot cake
and a rolling ocean
slamming against one side of the town
and a million other things
that were utterly different
from the mundane familiarity
of the east coast.

Most striking to me
was that my friend
would set her table
with forks, knives and spoons
sporting alternately
purple and green plastic handles.
Why I thought this daring
at the time
I’ll never know,
but there you have it.

It was different
and it was beautiful
and it was beautiful because
it seemed exotic
and it seemed exotic because
so much of the west coast
seemed that way to this NYC kid.

My friend,
and her foggy apartment
with the colored flatware,
represented freedom to me,
and offered a tantalizing view
to what my budding life
might become.

Adding to the color theme mystique,
she even had a set of Taylor and Ng coffee mugs
that matched,
painted with a pastoral scene
of rolling purple and green hilltops.

Soon after I returned
to Manhattan
after that trip,
I found the same mug
and bought it.
This morning,
28 years later,
I drank my coffee from it,
as I have so many times before.
My life,
from east to west,
from purple to green,
and with an ever growing
sense of freedom,
had come full circle.

Alex Shapiro September 2008