Jazz Poems
JAZZ
It starts with an alto horn, and a young
boy who’d grown faster than he should have, and
who’d become great before he should have, and
who sought for the source of the feeling deep in-
side before he should have. He stood in his room
and started with a short burst of notes, and then
sought the tone he’d felt inside him, but which
he couldn’t match he couldn’t match by blowing.
He blew, fast, and beautifully; seeking the right
burst of notes, notes blown so fast that only God’s
perfection would be a match for it. He tried for
a tone that he’d never heard, but which he knew
as a sensation of mystery, of greatness, a feeling
that he was bigger than he seemed to be, could
blow faster than his fingers were letting him,
could cry out the tone that cried within him. All
this strained inside him, strained and drove him,
pushed him and made him whip his fingers upon
the valves of his horn until they hurt. And his
lungs seemed to bleed inside; his eyes ran water,
and he kept blowing, and blowing, with his eyes
closed to the white of the daytime and the touch
of the wind and the sound of the fists banging
at the door, and the bark of the voices outside
his door, shouting: Open up! It’s the police!
What’s going on in there?
FRANK LONDON BROWN
from Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young
More Posts: book,classic,collectible,history,jazz,library,poet