WAUKESHA SEWER RACCOON NEWS: 'Deep Purple' ~ the song ~ 1933; Rescued; Skin

1930, Ruth Elies, prom queen at Sun Prairie WI high school
beneath arrow, center.

From age 13 Ruth had her own dance band
a music woman more to be.

http://raccoonnews.blogspot.com/2008/02/ruth-elies-dance-band.html

Three years later the song DEEP PURPLE was written.

It became Ruth's favorite.
She played it through life
and for her children time after time
on her grand piano.

I remember it well
` ~ indelibly ~
and am moved when I hear it,
deeply.

Even when jazzed up as in
this brother and sister act that won
a much later Grammy Award for their version.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XY0DBrTPHFM

Or even when mentioned in a poem
as it was this week on Keillor's `WRITERS ALMANAC:

The Guest
by Patricia Fargnoli

In the long July evenings,
the French woman
who came to stay every summer
for two weeks at my aunt’s inn
would row my brother and me
out to the middle of the mile-wide lake
so that the three of us
would be surrounded by the wild
extravagance of reds that had transformed
both lake and sky into fire.
It was the summer after our mother died.
I remember the dipping sound of the oars
and the sweet music of our voices as she led us
in the songs she had taught us to love.
“Blue Moon.” “Deep Purple,"
We sang as she rowed, not ever wondering
where she came from or why she was alone,
happy that she was willing to row us
out into all that beauty.

"The Guest" by Patricia Fargnoli, from Winter. © Hobblebush Books, 2013

and

Music
by Anne Porter

When I was a child
I once sat sobbing on the floor
Beside my mother’s piano
As she played and sang
For there was in her singing
A shy yet solemn glory
My smallness could not hold
And when I was asked
Why I was crying
I had no words for it
I only shook my head
And went on crying
Why is it that music
At its most beautiful
Opens a wound in us
An ache a desolation
Deep as a homesickness
For some far-off
And half-forgotten country
I’ve never understood
Why this is so
But there’s an ancient legend
From the other side of the world
That gives away the secret
Of this mysterious sorrow
For centuries on centuries
We have been wandering
But we were made for Paradise
As deer for the forest
And when music comes to us
With its heavenly beauty
It brings us desolation
For when we hear it
We half remember
That lost native country
We dimly remember the fields
Their fragrant windswept clover
The birdsongs in the orchards
The wild white violets in the moss
By the transparent streams
And shining at the heart of it
Is the longed-for beauty
Of the One who waits for us
Who will always wait for us
In those radiant meadows
Yet also came to live with us
And wanders where we wander.

"Music" by Anne Porter, from Living Things. © Zoland Books, 2006