January 30, 2008
Transit
…listen
…about the musicChanging chakras.
Above is one in a series of spectacular views as I floated back to Friday Harbor on the ferry on Sunday afternoon. The snow had only just stopped and the sunlight pushed against blue skies. If you don’t like the weather, just wait ten minutes. That’s our motto.
My beloved snow has melted.
White has been replaced by the vibrant green it temporarily shrouded. Very pretty. And almost warm. The winds have picked up this evening and a moment ago it was just invigorating, not cold, being outside wrestling with a too-large pile of recycling that awaits a trip to the “transfer station” north of town. Others call such destinations “the dump,” but on an island, everything gets shipped over to the mainland. What those mainlanders do with our rinsed, flattened and squished items is anyone’s guess, but I keep high, imaginary hopes for the endless re-uses of all those cardboard boxes and happily emptied wine bottles.
Transferring one existence, to another: moving boxes morph from tree to container, and travel from there to here; grapes morph from fruit to beverage, and travel from bottle to belly. Snow melts, and I ferry back and forth at will. Life, in all its forms, is in constant transit.
Glenn Buttkus said,
January 31, 2008 @ 7:18 am
i just hate it when your comments button has a (0) around it. I can’t wait to place something mundane, something pearl, something poetic in response to your musings and icons. Yes, transitions are inevitable, and so is a state of transit in order for you to come and go to America–odd, but when you use that phrase I always starting thinking of that Neil Diamond song; very stirring.
As to “changing chakras”, as I get to know you better I would submit that you were in transition from head/mind chakra to heart chakra, with a tingle in the chakra right above your belly button. Your musical selection was stirring, interesting, per usual. As I listened several times to your ChakraSuite1 @ 3:10 minutes, God help me I felt compelled to respond to it. Your music is like that for me. So what follows, in all its instant crudeness and its un-bluepenciledness is the poem of the morning:
CHAKRA TREK
Sitar daydreams and
wet kisses
from Mother India,
bleached, blended, and blinded
white
for a tiny moment,
reflecting high
on the Taj facade,
becoming
Ganges wine;
muddied, bloodied, and littered
with fat yellow flower petals;
soon morphing
golden, yet still
trimmed pink to red
as you cajole us
to place them, it
between our lips,
sliding it, gulping
into our awaiting
mouths,
so that we can
get to know its
essence,
its vibrance,
its value;
bitter at first
on the very front
of our tongue,
but soon becoming
soft breath
and a gentle humming
and a tantalizing tinkle
as it drops
down our bare throat;
sweet at last,
devouring the last of the
notes
with our eager
swallow.
Glenn Buttkus 2008
And what follows is the Shapiro hidden poetry, always cleverly disguised as prose, but not from me, never from me.
Transit
My beloved snow
has melted.
White has been
replaced
by the vibrant green
it temporarily
shrouded;
very pretty,
and almost
warm.
Transferring
one’s existence
to another:
moving boxes
morph
from tree
to container,
and travel from there
to here;
grapes morph
from fruit
to beverage,
and travel
from bottle
to belly.
Snow melts,
and I ferry
back and forth
at will.
Life
in all its forms
is a constant
transit.
Alex Shapiro 2008
And what a nice way to start my day–thanks Alex.
Glenn
r
Glenn Buttkus said,
February 1, 2008 @ 11:54 am
Are your groceries and pharmacuticals more expensive up there on the island? That is usually the case when the consumer is captive. I remember the shock of going into a McDonald’s in Anchorage and seeing prices jacked double. “Well, hey, we have to fly everything in, and then pass the cost on to the consumers.” With Netflix in existance, and satellite dishes available, I guess you can stay entertained when you want.
Initially island living sounds scrumptious, but the ferry conundrum would make me irritable double quick. You could get the same topography living in La Conner or on Whidbey Island, and have more instant egress with your car. But then maybe there is some intangible about knowing inside yourself that you are not only cut off from the mainland, from America, but a lot of the bad stuff of the cities, crime, pests, boorish friends, etc–are kept from your door and from your life with miles of salt water. Maybe the isolation is good for the artistic soul. Whatever, it seems to work well for you.
Glenn
Alex Shapiro said,
February 3, 2008 @ 5:41 pm
The only places against which I can do a price comparison would be NYC or LA, and when it comes to groceries, Friday Harbor is the same or cheaper. We have two very large markets and they stay very competitive on a lot of items. The islands are expensive for gasoline, but that’s not as much of a problem for those like me who do very little driving here, and can wait to fill up every 4-6 weeks when on the mainlaind. Restaurants, though, are definitely Los Angeles prices. No more expensive, but not cheaper, either. Thankfully there are absolutely no fast food joints in the San Juans, and that also means no cheap (and horrible) food products.
I think that loving the ferries and not being in any immediate rush to get off the island are essential to living here. I have no problem with boat and plane dependency at all, but it doesn’t suit everyone. And that’s why there are very different people on Whibey or other bridge-enabled islands than you’ll find here in the San Juans. Those of us who live here prefer it that way! Whidbey has a large commercial district with “box stores” and franchises, as well as a military base. The island is very beautiful north and south of that central area, but it does change to overall vibe significantly. It’s lovely, but it feels very much like the mainland.
I reached a point in my life where I do not want any “instant egress”! I get my fix every month being flown somewhere to speak or present or whatever, and that’s more than enough. I’m an island hermit :-). I’ve been so happy with the music that’s been pouring out since I moved here, that I think for whatever reason, this slightly off-the-beaten-path life suits me really well. But again, most people wouldn’t be as happy here full time as I am. I’m an odd duck. Quack quack.
Mike Wills said,
February 7, 2008 @ 11:41 pm
One secret of the winter is the fabulous, unpredicatable and rare bursts of light. Your location of the Pacific Ocean is prime. Your precise exposure captured a dynamic range that includes the brilliance of clouds and watery deepness.
Thanks, Alex!!
Glenn Buttkus said,
February 8, 2008 @ 7:57 am
Cruising through the kelp of your archived postings, I came across one for October 17, 2007. You were excited about the release of your new CD, possibly “NOTES FROM THE KELP, and getting ready to do a whirlwind week on both coasts. You were delighted that your album was called rock, jazz, and classical.
Imagine my surprise and delight to see that one of your commenters was another “poet” drawn to your blog like a moth to a candle. She wrote a lovely poem and gave it as a gift to you, entitled, “Felician Fingers Strum”. She commented, “Although your specialty is music and mine is in words, I’d like to provide to link to your blog for my readers.” It was signed “Janet Leigh”. Was that “the” Janet Leigh? Perhaps a former Malibu neighbor?
I took the liberty of morphing your delight over the release of your new CD into another “hidden” Shapiro poem:
Rockbird, Cool Cello
I noticed
that Billboard
had listed my new album
under the catagory
of rock.
And a radio show
in the Midwest
aired a track
from it
on their jazz program.
And tomorrow
I will be live in L.A.
on a classical show.
Frankly,
I am delighted
with the lack of clarity
here.
Although a few people
might be scratching
their heads
when they take
the new pup
out for a spin,
if they expect
the disc to adhere
to one of these genres
for very long.
Categorization
is the antithesis
of listening
openly–
and I am so pleased
that I have stumped
the judges
with a collection of pieces
for small ensembles;
which pretty much describes
most rock bands,
jazz combos,
and chamber ensembles
I know.
Rock on.
Alex Shapiro October 2007
Rock on indeed, Ms. Shapiro, rock on indeed.
Glenn
Glenn Buttkus said,
February 8, 2008 @ 9:42 am
You see what happens, lady, when you are so busy working on one of your compositions that you neglect your blogging duties? I had not realized that you only moved to your island paradise like Spring 2007. No wonder you are still in the honeymoon phase with the splendor of it. I bumped into that marvelous day of yours, Tuesday, August 28, 2007, when you went Orca watching from a boat with a friend of yours from California, and then later you sat at your desk at two in the morning and waxed eloquent about a lunar ecclipse that occurred just for you. Imagine my delight when I found yet another Shapiro poem in all that explication and narrative:
Lunista Occludus
As I type this
At 2:15 am
early Tuesday,
a black and white
phenomenon
is occurring
directly in front of my eyes:
a total lunar eclipse.
How is it
That this event—
not that uncommon,
is always
so fascinating?
To my delight,
the moon has risen
right in front
of my desk window.
With one eye
on the keyboard
and the other
to the sky,
I am marveling
as a larger and larger
bite
gets taken out
of this formerly electric
full moon,
causing
the surrounding woods
to dim
dramatically.
Opening my door
and stepping into
the forest
that shrouds my studio,
I realize
that it is the first time
I’ve been in such
a relatively isolated natural environment
while experiencing
this sight.
It deeply struck me
just how frightening
these inexplicable
skyward events were
to our ancestors,
whose lives were tethered
to the rise and fall
of the sun and moon.
Watching
an unidentifiable mass
of dark gray
begin to swallow
up the rock
above your head,
that which you have always
depended upon,
must have been
very scary.
Watching it
consume that orb
and then turn it
copper red
must have been nearly
terrifying.
Oh, the relief
they must have felt
in an hour
or so,
as the world
they knew
was returned to them.
Alex Shapiro August 2007
Glenn Buttkus said,
February 8, 2008 @ 10:04 am
Wow, tripping the literary fantastic on my own blog, FEEL FREE TO READ, I now begin to realize that the Shapiro Poems are becoming numerous; like 8 of them at least, as well my “poetic” responses to your musical clips. I suppose it is silly of me, but I see some other kind of way for you to market your views, to promulgate your philosophies, and merchandise your music–beginning to put together a slender tome of your “poems”, and/or some of my responses, and possibly others, who have waxed free in direct and indirect response to your music and your mind. As your friend Janet suggested, those of us that use words like you use musical notes could “collaborate” with you, or contribute to you, and for you, so that something new could emerge; something literary, something verbose and profound. What do you think?
I can see this “book” clearly as a natural extension of your many talents, to be added to the way you put yourself out there. I know. I am a silly sentimental old fart who has pipedreams, but I feel that there is something valid, something beautiful in your prose that has been modified, codified, and morphed into leaves of poetry.
Glenn