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Marc Hufnagl/ Words and Music
Marc Hufnagl, a native Chicagoan, currently lives in Switzerland in the Grison Alps where he lives with his loving partner and their dog Nico. Previously, he lived in Northern California, where he taught literature and wrote music. From his time living near the Pacific and now living in the mountains, Marc’s music has always embraced both the beauty and the power of Nature. Nature provides the clear lens to his life’s journey, and his songs are always these clear reflections of this journey. Listeners experience an immediate intimacy and honesty in his music, and in so doing, they feel closer to him and to their own shared experiences. Many have surmised that Hufnagl’s music is more poetry set to music: imagery, metaphors, symbols, word-colors, cadences, yet his poetry narrates everyone’s story in a most profoundly beautiful way. Heavily influenced by the Laurel Canyon sound of the Seventies, his music explores a sensuous sonic landscape with guitar, piano, partner instrumentalists and voices. The Words. The Music. Marc Hufnagl/ Words and Music
The Language of Snow
Written after my first intense alpine snowfall.
Diamond-faceted spider web
Fragile fated flakes
Soundless blankets of eider down
The wind howls cadent symphonies
Alabaster chimney smoke trails
Sky-ascending deft calligraphies
Sad snowy sonnets prevail
Teach me the silent language of snow.
The icy vernacular that carpets below.
Each tiny crystal shard mirrors the soul.
Release me. Teach me
The language of snow.
Iambic pure powder and icicles
Crystalline prisms in frost
Bridal lacy canyons take the veil
Snow-blind lovers and the lost
But I still felt more found
Christened by those sanctifying drifts
Reborn to an alpine truth and mystery
Bound to a voiceless revery.
Last Day In Berlin
for Maja Maranow
Gradient grey Berliner day.
A river of rain runs down Prenzlauer Allee.
I’m taking a slow train home, home on the M-2 tram
With thoughts like these, this train runs on
Tracks of my tears, trembling with fear
Speaking in strange tongues of frailty.
Taking each step as a child.
No warm words from the States
They’ve written you off as wild
But words are cheap and fat with guile.
Maybe it’s better to let them forget
Mortar and bricks that speak and play tricks with your head.
Post war, cold war, who’s keeping score with the rest?
People you know play border control with your heart.
Nothing inside can keep you from falling apart.
You try Fassbinder films, red wine and pills to numb the wound.
But I’m going back home to the mountains
Six strings and rosewood: my witnesses.
Shadows of ink smeared with the truth.
Birthing this song in this place…hard labor pains closes all.
Tomorrow I leave, depart Berlin.
Its map on my face proves hard to erase.
Praise for "Snow"
"The poetry coils up and outwards with marvellous warmth of chords and Marc's voice as soul shines through. A love letter to Joni and yet so uniquely him." - Nell Smyth
Marc's first album "Lunden," named after the alpine hamlet where he lives in Switzerland, can be purchased or downloaded at Amazon Music, Apple Music, Spotify, CD Baby and other music downloading and streaming venues.
Ten coral roses stood—like somber sentries in a circle.
Four alpine roses rested there
An elfin tin lantern’s flame flickered near.
An apple tree, just an infant really,
Rooted deep in the misty Lunden dirt
On this verdurous slope.
An elegant wonder bearing fruit…of memory.
A mother and daughter sang a song in Swiss.
And Franca recited reflective verse
On life, on death, in English.
There was white ash
There were nieces and uncles under the clouds
And Stini and Peter walked up from down the road.
A child’s laughter echoed in the valley
Your final words a tearful lullaby
Just before the sleep.
Rest here under the mountain peaks…dear Vreni.
But all these sensory remembrances pale
When I recall your clay-encrusted boots
Wedged into the muddy hill
As you lowered her urn with careful shovelfuls.
Today, I watched you bury your mother
Today, I fell in love with you all over again.
Today. Today. Today…tomorrow.
The Crows in Bern
The crows in Bern, black-dot the trees.
Oily black feathers, flutter in the breeze.
They roost on high, silent pirates in tow,
Hovering in the sky to snatch up
The treasure down below.
Dark caws, sharp claws.
Dark flaws, dropped jaws.
We, too, are like these crows.
Waiting, watching, wanting
What we know we can not have.
They cling like soot on snow-laced bark,
Waiting calmly for one false move before they make their mark.
Raven or frost, cold shakes of fear.
I knew their very thought as I flicked away my tear.
Either hunt or prey, adrenaline runs free.
The crows in Bern that day
Took the fight right out of me.
(Bern, Switzerland, along the Aare.)
Amazon Review of "Lunden"
"Evocative poetry set to simple melodies with elegantly dissonant and complex harmonies! The poetic rhythm and internal rhythms give a sophistication to the music, when often such sophisticated poetry defies musical setting. The songs feel deeply personal in a universal way. "The Crows in Bern" is an intense setting with the crackling consonants creating its own rhythm within the song. "Cruel Wind" reminds me of Paul Simon yet with biting chords that go beyond Simon's harmonic language. My favorite, because it evokes tears with its direct simplicity, is the tender "In the Garden." I love this album and have purchased it for many of my friends."- Sirona Branson
12 November 2019 Casual in-store performances Offenes Atelier/ Dorfstrasse 41/ Schiers, Switzerland 18:00 -20:00
2-23 October 2021 The Uncool Festival Poschiavo, Switzerland. Artist Residency
More future performances to be announced.
Images Past and Present
Contact/ Booking/ Inquires
The Lupinomusic Project
Address: Obergasse 6
7222 Lunden/ Switzerland