Jazz Poems
LESTER YOUNG
Sometimes he was cool like an eternal
blue flame burning in the old Kansas
City nunnery
Sometimes he was happy ‘til he’d think
about his birth place and its blood
stained clay hills and crow-filled trees
Most times he was blowin’ on the wonderful
tenor sax of his preachin’ in very cool
tones, shouting only to remind you of
a certain point in his blue messages
He was our president as well as the minister
of soul stirring Jazz, he knew what he
blew, and he did what a prez should do,
wail, wail, wail. There were many of
them to follow him and most of them were
fair–but they never spoke so eloquently
in so a far out funky air.
Our prez done died, he know’d this would come
but death has only booked him, alongside
Bird, Art Tatum, and other heavenly wailers.
Angels of Jazz–they don’t die–they live
they live–in hipsters like you and I
TED JOANS
from Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young
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