Jazz Poems

OL’ BUNK’S BAND These are men! the gaunt, unfore- sold, the vocal, blatant, Stand up, stand up! the slap of a bass-string Pick, ping! The horn, the hollow horn long drawn out, a hound deep tone— Choking, choking! while the treble reed races–alone, ripples, screams slow to fast— to second to first! These are men! Drum, drum, drum, drum, drum drum, drum! the ancient cry, escaping crapulence eats through transcendent—torn, tears, term town, tense, turns and back off whole, leaps up, stomps down, rips through! These are men beneath whose force the melody limps— to proclaim—Run and lie down, in slow measures, to rest and not never need no more! These are men! Men!

WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS

from Jazz Poems | Selected and edited by Kevin Young

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