Word: daylights
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...disillusioned. He describes working conditions in the prosecutor's offices: "In the summer we labor in jungle humidity, with the old window units rattling over the constant clamor of the telephones. In the winter the radiators spit and clank while the hint of darkness never seems to leave the daylight. Justice in the Middle West...
...lives in a 12-ft.-square concrete cubicle, entombed beyond the reach of daylight in a special solitary-confinement corridor of the fortress-like maximum-security U.S. Penitentiary at Marion, Ill. There, behind a steel door slotted for the passage of meal trays, Prisoner No. 08237054 spends his days peering at a tiny black-and-white television set, watching with fascination the proceedings of the Iran-contra hearings in Washington...
...piece, commissioned by the San Francisco Symphony for its 75th anniversary, is a 20-minute essay divided into four movements, each with a quotidian title: "Dawn," "Daylight," "Dusk" and "Darkness." Such tone painting is not surprising, for Harbison's music generally contains a strong theatrical element, reflected in his predilection for opera and song cycle. The symphony, however, is not some Americanized La Mer (whose first movement is titled "From Dawn to Noon on the Sea"); the sun may come up and the sun may go down, but it never sets on his cool rational spirit...
...there is much that is evocative in the new work. In the preludic "Dawn" the themes gradually emerge and coalesce, blaze luminously and then recede. "Daylight" is a scurrying scherzo marked by buzzing strings, hiccuping brass and chattering woodwinds. The slow movement, "Dusk," is the work's emotional center, a lambent watercolor of uncommon beauty. After this, the finale comes as something of a letdown. The symphony's clear textures give way to a muddiness that cannot be entirely justified by the "Darkness" sobriquet. Harbison rejected his first draft as too light in mood, but the symphony now ends diffidently...
...solidarity is everywhere. In a seemingly pacified valley in the shadow of a Soviet base, where the crops grow tall and farmers toil in unbombed fields, the walls of the local teahouses are plastered with guerrilla posters and photographs of mujahedin heroes. Bands of guerrillas move about openly by daylight, carrying AK-47s and RPG-7s, on their way to attack Communist positions. In almost every valley a guerrilla base camp is hidden away in some ravine...