April 29, 2008
For anyone seeking clarity
…listen
…about the musicClearly.
Well, here it is.
Clarity.
At least, one of many definitions and examples.
We all seek it, don’t we?
You never hear someone say, “I want you to be unclear with me” or,
“Unclearly, Alex loves her environment.”
Never.
I am constantly amazed at just how nakedly clear the water is between the shore by my house and little Turn Island. It’s even clear in the harbor, where all the man-made floating objects, otherwise referred to as boats, might suggest a murkier outcome, what with bilges and engines and pump-outs and who-knows-what.
On an afternoon like this, where rain and sunshine compete with each other for meteorological control over my life, their battle is my reward.
Clarity. Stunningly beautiful clarity.
Glenn Buttkus said,
April 29, 2008 @ 5:06 am
Good Morning Alex:
A great shot of your inlet and the island and the sea gull, reminding us all of your paradise and your good fortune. Yet there probably are a few folks on San Juan Island that just live there, and do not see it as an Eden, does not look so longingly and lovingly at every blade of grass, every piece of driftwood. But then, maybe they are bakers or book store owners, mechanics, farmers, or hotel staff. We, the stalwart Kelphistos, are just pleased as punch that you are not one of the sad ones who do not stop and count the mushrooms–you are the island sprite who does not miss a single detail, a flower out of place, a deer, a fox, a bird, a moment that you can enjoy and share. I read your posting this morning, as you slumber after your night’s work and fun, and initially I just saw the words as magnificent and sterling prose. But re-reading it, hey, the poem within found its way to the surface. It goes something like this:
Clarity
Well,
here it is;
clarity.
At least,
one of many definitions
and examples.
We all seek it,
don’t we?
You never hear
someone say,
“I want you
to be unclear
with me”, or
“Unclearly,
Alex loves
her environment.”
Never.
I am constantly amazed
at just how nakedly
clear
the water is
between the shore
by my house
and little Turn Island.
It is even clear
in the harbor,
where all the man-made
floating objects,
otherwise referred to
as boats,
might suggest
a murkier outcome;
what with bilges
and engines
and pump outs
and who-knows-what.
On an afternoon
like this,
where rain and sunshine
compete
with each other
for meteorological control
over my life,
their battle is my reward—
clarity,
stunningly beautiful
clarity.
Alex Shapiro April 2008
You see beauty all around you, reflecting your own, and I see poetry, I guess, in your reflections.
Glenn
Glenn Buttkus said,
April 29, 2008 @ 6:02 am
Your musical clip ShinyKiss1 @1:18, brightened my day, snapped me out of my moment of stress here at the office, and transported me elsewhere. Jenni Scott certainly plays the piece well. I love when you said about it:
Shiny Kiss was composed with the intent to showcase a player’s tone and to contrast the more gymnastic nature of other contemporary pieces in the repertoire, and the music is based on a short poem I wrote of the same title. With so many wonderful solo flute pieces being written that explore every possible extended technique available to both the instrument and the accomplished player, Shiny Kiss is a modern yet highly lyrical piece that explores linear musical emotion. The title refers to the way stage lights bounce and reflect off of a metal flute and how a flutist’s mouth graces the embouchure. This simple hollow tube is the vehicle for such passionate expression, and just watching expert lips coaxing music from it can be a nearly voyeuristic experience.
I recognized the title from before, but I had not realized it was connected to your poem. What synchronicity it all is. I, too, felt inclined to share what I envisioned, the place where I went, and who I met there:
Maiden’s Morn
Indian princess
with her long wet hair,
there
by the quiet pool
beneath a small waterfall;
playing her wooden flute,
in chorus
with the heady bird chatter
in the glen;
greeting the morning white
shafts of sunlight stabbing
through the thick
canopy of conifers.
She is in love,
and her mouth
on the reed
reflects her joy,
like her visage
in the deep clear water
beside her.
The music beckons,
and she is joined
by a young doe
with her spring fawn,
still tiny and spotted;
watching her,
listening
unafraid
as they stoop to drink
the cold beauty.
Robins and jays
flit about in tempestuous birdtag,
bouncing on low branches,
while high above
a black pair of crow
caw their throaty salutations
to the new day.
Glenn Buttkus April 2008
Alex Shapiro said,
April 29, 2008 @ 2:03 pm
I don’t think there are many people living in the San Juans who aren’t dearly, potently aware of the constant beauty. That’s why they live here. It’s too difficult existing here, otherwise. Such remoteness selects for a type of person who is dialed in to these treasures and who views any mundane inconvenience as a fine trade off for the joys of natural proximity.
Thank you again, Glenn, for the poetry- mine and yours. You have become my partner in crime on this blog.
And to further appease, I will post the sole poem in my catalog, which I wrote to accompany this piece for solo flute. I can’t recall whether I posted it before, so here it is:
Shiny Kiss
Passion searches
hungry
for its partner
through air that moves
and breathes
into your ear
warm
slowly first
then quicker gasps
it finds you
reflecting light
and sound
with lips pressed
firm
against cool metal
It sings to you
it moans
caressing
eager to seduce
all that lives between the air
and you
barely touching
grazing
neck hair
shiver
accept
this shiny kiss.
Glenn Buttkus said,
April 30, 2008 @ 11:18 am
Your forays back east do fascinate me. More than half your life you have lived away from NYC, yet that city is imprinted on your soul; as is the beaches and hills of California. Back in January 2006, right after your birthday, that first month you set up this blog site, you made your sojourn to the Big Town to conference. I love what you said about it:
Heart Traveler
I am always struck by the
grey, grey, grey,
dark grey
of this city
in winter.
At this time of year,
most any slice of color
that slaps the eyes
is manmade,
and usually advertising something
I am told to purchase
or experience.
Sitting
only by default
at the Starbucks
below the hotel
to take refuge
in a cup of coffee,
I stare out
the pane glass window onto
42nd Street and 8th Avenue.
It is a sleety,
hard, cold, grim
kind of morning
and everyone who walks by
is clad in a dark coat
and an empty unhappy
grimace.
But just beyond
their frozen faces
is a huge light-up TV billboard
pinned to the corner
of the Port Authority building’s
steel girders,
looping an advertisement
for something that appears
to offer an internet search service.
The product
that is being sold
is not entirely clear
to me, however,
because the images
have nothing to do with
the internet;
and in fact,
nothing to do
with where I am
right now.
They look just like
home;
beautiful images
of the bright blue ocean,
and a surfer riding
a huge wave
on a short board.
This serene offering,
in the middle
of such an uninspired
and inhospitable
New York City block,
is at once
bizarre
and appreciated—
but mostly
bizarre.
This view from
my Times Square hotel room
is a striking contrast
to the open space
my eyes have grown
so happy with
in adopted California.
Yes,
Manhattan was my home
for my first 21 years,
so I am fascinated by
the mix of complicated emotions
each time
I navigate the city
as a wide-eyed tourist.
I mean
the streets are the same, but
the occupants have been
replaced—
and when I return
in a few months
this will again
be so.
Maybe one needs to be
present
to watch change
occur
in order
to take possession
of it.
Yet there is much here
that makes me smile;
for I am at home
and away
at once.
Alex Shapiro January 2006
Glenn Buttkus said,
April 30, 2008 @ 12:12 pm
After one of your returns to California from an eastern foray, you wandered the beach and you waxed existential; simple, straight-forward, very Gnostic, totally pantheistic, deep yet focused, living in that moment, but aware of the intangible elements all about you.
Intangible Icon
Inhale.
Exhale.
It is foggy
and drizzling.
It is wonderful
to be back
where there is space
to think
and to just
be.
Even though
everything here is
in motion;
there is a constant change
and shift.
Rocks on which
I walked
yesterday
are dust
today.
No big earthquake,
just entropy.
I have learned
to not get
too attached
to physical things.
Alex Shapiro 2006.
Glenn Buttkus said,
May 1, 2008 @ 6:36 am
Once again I crept into your attic of comments and discovered a fine reflection of full moon madness, done in Feburary 2006. You were still entranced with the juxtaposition of your soul in nature versus your soul in concrete.
Moonfull
Look up
wherever you happen to be
this evening;
our local rocky satellite
in the sky
will be reflecting
lots of sunlight
back to us
at night.
How cool is that?
Paradise Cove
is a south-facing beach,
and we get some wonderful
sun and moon rises.
Charles and I stood
on the damp sand
at twilight,
and we watched
all that green cheese
rapidly
come into view
over the Santa Monica mountains,
and we allowed
ourselves
to really feel the earth
spinning forward.
Living here,
I am profoundly aware
of existing
on a constantly moving object.
Growing up in NYC,
I never saw moonrises,
or stars,
or too much sky
at one time.
I did not have a sense
of living
on a planet;
for my dominant perception
of the world
was geared toward all things
Man-made—
and it gave me
great comfort.
My world
and values
were reflected in
the mica mixed into
the sidewalk concrete,
as I looked downward
and walked fast
through the city streets
on my way to somewhere
that must have been
important to me
at the time.
Now,
the most important place
for me to be
is right here.
My values
are presently reflected
in a very shiny place
inside my heart
that is connected
to everything
I see around me.
Alex Shapiro February 2006