Back from Albany (Capital City of New York State!)

Back from Albany (Capital City of New York State!)

Mike Bisio and I whipped cream at Justin’s on Thursday night. We had a big, wonderful and most of all very attentive crowd. The best audience I ever had at Justin’s so far. We mostly performed originals, contemporary poems with only a dash of French songs and jazz standards. Mike played two incredibly moving solos, one was John Coltrane’s Alabama & the second was a piece he created on September 11th, 2001 – as he was in the studio that day. By the way Mike Bisio will be playing next Saturday, 9/20 at The Clean Feed Fest at the Living Theatre with Basso Continuo : Stephen Gauci, Nate Wooley, Ken Filiano and Mike Bisio. Starts at 9pm. I will be there!

I also wanted to note that on Wednesday my younger son Miles Joris-Peyrafitte had his first solo public appearance as a singer/songwriter at the famous Tess’ Lark Tavern open mike hosted by the rock goddess of Upstate New York: Mother Judge. Miles did very well: he also accompanied me on guitar on my song the Brooklyn Bridge & on a poem by his father, Pierre Joris. After that he played drums for his long time friend, the very talented Lindsey Rogowski.

One of the poems Mike Bisio and I performed on Thursday was by Mustafa Benfodil. I met Mustafa at the Festival “Voix de la Méditéranée” in Lodève and really liked his work. With his permission I would like to post the poem I translated and performed with Mike Bisio on Thursday. Voilà for now, enjoy this short, but intense poem and THANK YOU so much if you were in the audience on Thursday & always THANK YOU to the wonderful crew at Justin’s for their graciousness –and I know this week was very hard for them as their were dealing with the sudden loss of one of their very dear co-worker. Merci à tous!

Lune de miel à Baghdad
Nous nous sommes connus à Gaza
Nous nous sommes aimés à Ramallah
Nous nous sommes embrassés à Beyrouth
Nous nous sommes mariés à Alger
Nous nous sommes envolés à Baghdad
Nous sommes morts sous les bombes
Et nos coeurs ont fondé une ONG
Pour la protection des amours à haut risque
Et la continuation de la passion sous les tombes!

Honey moon in Baghdad
We met in Gaza
We loved in Ramallah
We kissed in Beirut
We wed in Algiers
We flew to Baghdad
We died under the bombs
& our hearts founded a NGO
for the protection of high risk love
& the continuation of passion under the tombs!

Poem by Mustafa Benfodil translated by Nicole Peyrafitte

Back in Brooklyn & processing French voyage

Back in Brooklyn & processing French voyage

Back in Brooklyn and processing summer material.
I plan to post more videos and pictures from the summer. Today, a clip of the closing performance at the “Voix de la Méditerranée” festival in Lodève. The clip is provided by Pierre Joris who recorded it with his tiny camera from the first row Sunday July 27th, thank you Pierre!
That evening I got to improvise several pieces by other poets and performers with wonderful musicians.
On percussion: Shadi. who is a marvelous Iranian musicians living in Marseilles right now . She plays many traditional instruments, do check out her myspace to find out more about her.

On guitar: Benoist Bouvot. Benoist’s work ranges from free jazz to theater & performance. When we started playing it was like we had always known each other: instant recognition of vocabulary AND his girlfriend turned out to be a close family acquaintance from Luchon (town where I was born and center of the world -if your didn’t know yet-). Click on the link to check out some of Benoist’s work.
The poem we are performing is by NaTYot from her book published by l’Harmattan: Erotik Mental Food. a collection of truly wonderful erotic poems.
Voilà for now and enjoy the clip!

Brooklyn Bridge

Brooklyn Bridge

Today I rode my bike into Manhattan from Bay Ridge and as I was riding over the Brooklyn Bridge I remembered that it was a day like today, late May 2005, that I wrote a song about the Brooklyn Bridge. I was still leaving in Albany and it was my first time walking over the bridge. According to the article below crossing from Brooklyn to Manhattan could be quite en ordeal before the construction of the bridge:

“PEOPLE who seventeen years ago divided an amphibious existence between New York and Brooklyn will long remember their arctic voyages in the East River during the severe winter of 1866-7. There were days in that season when passengers from New York to Albany arrived earlier than those who set out the same morning from their breakfast tables in Brooklyn for their desks in New York. The newspapers were filled for weeks with reports of the ice gorges, and with vehement demand for and discussion of the bridge, which all agreed must be built at once from New York to Brooklyn.” Harper’s Monthly 1883 .

The construction of the suspended Gothic style bridge took 13 years -from 1870 to 1883, the life of 27 workers and two architects. The German immigrant architect/engineer John A. Roebling died of tetanus before the first stone was laid. While surveying the project his foot was crushed by a ferry boat. He was succeeded by his son Washington Roebling who died of caisson disease -a.k.a “the bends”- a disease that can also affects divers if then come up to the surface too fast. If you want to know all the politics & construction details of the bridge you must read the Harper’s Monthly 1883 article.

The song was inspired by the research I had done at that time. The text is reprinted below and click on the video to listen to a never released recorded version. There is another version that made it on my cd “La Garbure Transcontinentale / The Bi-Continental Chowder”. The musicians are the same: George Muscatello on guitar and Danny Welchel on percussion. It was recorded at Bender Lane Studio in Delmar NY, But I can’t remember when. Hope you enjoy!

Brooklyn Bridge

Walking across the Brooklyn Bridge on a sunny spring day
Hanging over the East River on a sunny spring day

Suspended lives tramping their lines
Wired above a tidal straight
Gothic towers to bridge cultures

Walking across the Brooklyn Bridge on a sunny spring day
Hanging over the East River on a sunny spring day

Deep in bedrock below water
Cables of steel lifting spirits
Granite towers make concrete links

Walking across the Brooklyn Bridge on a sunny spring day
Hanging over the East River on a sunny spring day

Trussing device pins down the land
Hell gate in sight I arch my span
Bearing the height holding the light

Walking across the Brooklyn Bridge on a sunny spring day
Hanging over the East River on a sunny spring day

Nicole Peyrafitte 05/12/05

Coney Island

Coney Island

I couldn’t resist the bright, but cool, sun on this late March Sunday. Forget about working on taxes, a much better idea is to pack a snack, water and jump on my bike. I have been very antsy to get to Coney Island from Bay Ridge. The 16 miles felt really easy. It is a much flatter ride than going up to Park Slope, but riding there twice a week sure keeps me in shape!
As you can see on the map below, the ride is mostly on Shore Promenade along the Belt Parkway and after that a good stretch on a deserted side walk.
Below the map do not miss the short slide show of pictures taken along the way. The sound track is my interpretation of a Robert Kelly poem translated into French by Charlotte Mandell. I hadn’t heard it in a long time & thought it was an interesting juxtaposition. It was recorded live by Kush in November 10th, 2001 @ Bard College on the occasion of: “A Day of Poetry to Celebrate Robert Kelly’s 40 Years at Bard College.”

Chips (1)

Chips (1)

When I walked from 25th Street in Manhattan to Park Slope a few weeks ago, I came across this store on Greenwich Street. I have seen chips displays before at grocery stores, but never as a display window facing the street. It looked like some art installation:
chips
chipschips

Chips, chips & chips & more chips. Two big windows full of chips! I don’t
eat chips. One: I don’t snack, two: I rarely eat sandwiches or hamburgers, so
not many occasion to find them on my plate. But I actually decline them when
they are offered, unless I know they are homemade. Commercial ones are always
too salty and I don’t like their taste.
But this display brought back some nostalgic memories of my grandfather Joseph Peyrafitte (1891-1973):

Photobucket

Bon Papa Joseph, as we always called him, presided over the family hotel-restaurant kitchen in Luchon, French Pyrenees, all his life — except when he went to England as a French apprenti cuisinier (I am trying to find out more about this part of his life, because it was the time when Escoffier was there too! Though my grandfather is younger, I always wondered if he ever met him) and when he went for his 4 years of military service, followed by 4 years of war. So, the potato chip display brought me back in time; below is a scan of a page taken from one of his many menu notebooks (merci Pierre!). This one is dated May 31, 1965, and the P. Chip or Potato Chips are served as an accompaniment to Cailles
sur Canapé:

Photobucket

The Wikipedia‘s entry for potato chip informs us they were invented by George Crumb in 1853 in Saratoga. Well, I don’t want to take any credit away from Chef Crumb because I really like the story. But anyone with potatoes and enough oil could cook some! Anyhow, there is no entry in my first edition of the Dictionnaire Universel de la Cuisine (1890’s), but the Wikipedia site tells us that Alexis Soyer published a recipe in “Shilling Cookery for the People” in 1845. I did find an entry in my grandfather’s Escoffier (2nd edition, 1907):

Photobucket

Photobucket

So this is it for today. The next post will feature the making of potato chips at home. I made some tonight, but it is too late to keep doing this blogging thing! I rode my bike 14miles/22kms — see the map below — plus a pretty intense yoga class… I need to sleep!

Happy St Patrick’s day and looking forward to Saint Joseph’s day on March 19th!