Jazz Poems

BRINGING JAZZ (Odd-numbered lines spoken slowly even -numbered ones quickly) Last night I had an oboe dream— Whistlers in a box-car madness bringing jazz Their faces stormed in a hobo-gleam, Blinding all the grinding wheels and singing jazz. The box-car gloried in its dirt— Just as hallelujah made of chanting mud. And one old bum opened up his shirt Showing wounds of music in his ranting blood. The hoboes sang with scorching notes Burning up the pain into a gale of jazz, While sadness poured in their shaking throats, Like a molten bugle in a wail of jazz. The rails were jails for death and rust— Holding up the cruel, dark blue speed of jazz— But life still stirred underneath their crust— Little hums and clicks brought by the need of jazz. Within the box-car, hoboes leaped— Fatalists and pagan in a carefree trap— And when they sang of hungers reaped, Bread and wine of sound came from a dark god’s lap! The hoboes made a fox-trot blaze— Scorning women, gliding in a sexless dance— And on their coats of ragged baize- Ghosts of orchids fluttered down and looked askance! The jungle sent a moan of sound—- Made it blend into an oathof northern grime. A music came, flaring and profound, Flayed with rapture half repelled and half sublime. And then I saw the dream’s dark spring—- Hurricanes of jazz born from the underworld. “Saint Louie Gal with a diamond ring” Danced with mobs of hoboes while the thunder swirled! MAXWELL BODENHEIM 

from Jazz Poems | Selected and edited by Kevin Young

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