Jazz Poems

DARK TO THEMSELVES

Invent, experiment–Jazz

that doesn’t swing but dances tight

as a drumhead so taut it might

explode: whole notes cleaved

into sixteenths with a single blow, melodies

recoded as arpeggios. Say, what he calls this 

composition? Tiny fingers divining

an architectonic flow, forearms jacking

cracks in the keyboard as wire

and wood cry out in agony:

duo follow, ringing changes.

Liberate the dissonance without killing

the blues. Unit structure cut it.

They don’t teach this joint in the Conservatory.

Varèse via Jelly Roll, serial Waller,

harmony ribbons in a Möbius strip. Recut it.

Enough is enough. Brother can’t play

here again, the customers ain’t paying.

Even Miles was giggling in the darkness.

It’s always a bitch to be out

front. He summons the bassline

of his thoughts in the shadows, tracing a new theory

of silence. Don’t worry about the next gig.

Their ears are still learning.

JOHN KEENE 

from Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young

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