Jazz Poems
BLACK AND BLUE
(WHAT DID I DO TO BE SO BLACK AND BLUE)
VERSEOut in the street,
Shufflin’ feet,
Couples passin’ two by two,
While here am I,
Left high and dry, black, and ‘cause i’m black I’m blue.
Browns and yellers
All have fellers,
Gentlemen prefer them light.
Wish I could fade,
Can’t makee the grade,
Nothin’ but dark days in sight.
REFRAIN
Cold empty bed,
Springs hard as lead,
Pains in my head,
Feels like old Ned,
What did I do
To be so black and blue?
No joys for me,
No company,
Even the mouse
Ran from my house,
All my life through
I’ve been so black and blue.I’m white
Inside,
It don’t help my case
‘Cause I
Can’t hide
What is on my face,ooh!
I’m so forlorn,
Life’s just a thorn,
My heart is torn,
Why was I born?
What did I do
To be so black and blue?
REFRAIN
Just ‘cause you’re black,
Folks think you lack,
They laugh at you
And scornyou too,
What did I do
To be so black and blue?
When you are near,
They laugh and sneer,
Set you aside
And you’re denied,
What did I do
To be so black and blue?
How sad I am
Each day I feel worse,
My mark of Ham
Seems to be a curse, ooh!
How will it end?
Ain’t got a friend,
My only sin
Is in my skin,
What did I do
To be so black and blue?
ANDY RAZAF | 1895~1973
MUSIC BY THOMAS “FATS” WALLER
from Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young
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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
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Jazz Poems
CHASING THE BIRD
The sun sets unevenly and the people
go to bed.
The night has a thousand eyes.
The clouds are low, overhead.
Every night it is a little bit
more difficult, a little
harder. My mind
to me a mangle is.
ROBERT CREELEY
from Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young
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Jazz Poems
CHARLIE PARKER BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION, TOMPKINS SQUARE PARK
I was telling you about that junkie wannabefrom Wall Street who OD’ed last week
on Explosion 2000 on that street corner
right over there when KABOOM! You kissed me
smack on the lips just as “Confirmation” kicked in.
Just as Venusin two-toned dreadlocks and a skin-tight
smock danced from the band shell with her pet python,
Bodyguard, to “All the Things You Are.”
Just as punk rockers rocked, in-flowered on sheets,
sipped smoothies and smoked,
Their hair spirited to pastel auras, rosehip,
Island lime, a shade of blue just washed by rain.
Just as Ukraine checkmated, as twins seesawed,
As bikers cracked smiles in the Hari-Hari, the slap-
tongue of sax. At the mommies and the poppies. Just as.
And they were doing the brothers in descending order.
The three brothers Heath: Percy, Jimmy, call him “Little Bird,”
And Albert “Tootie” Heath. With Milt Jackson on vibes,
three score and twelve, and still working. Two boys in love
Grooved, one in white pants and sailor hat,
the other in a buffalo nickel belt that bedazzled.
They sat on the park bench eating falafel.
A man with one leg sold charms for a dollar. For luck.
For the music that day and the light, you could say it
was all bell-bottomed and swaybacked. Young-like.
And your kiss. All at once I was riding a sparkling gold Schwinn bike.
Something in my head went from full torpor to starburst:
as if whetted by some wild vibranto, your kiss,
the vibes’ licks cleared my vision of fizz for an instant.
What had been all Midnight Dragon was now
a Tropicana-Pure-Premium-sharpened C
delivered as of this morning to the Santa Barbara Deli
and Superetti down the street. Just like that.
In your arms and the music and the light, I thought I might
>go plumb or Penteostal, lay down on the grass, recite
Kahlil, take up knitting, eat pickles and marry you–
Tell that priest to stop playing Frisbee with the lab
so we can say our vows right here and now before “Tenor Madness”
ends! Opps! I forget we’re already married! Just as.
CATHERINE BOWMAN
from Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young
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Jazz Poems
HERE WHERE COLTRANE IS
Soul and race
are private dominions
memories and modal
songs, a tenor blossoming,
which would paint suffering
a clear color, but is not in
this Victorian house
without oil in zero degree
weather and a forty-mile-an-hour wind;
it is all a well-knit family:
a love supreme.
Oak leaves pile up on walkway
and steps, catholic as apples
in a special mist of clear white
children who love my children.
I play”Alabama”
on a warped record player
skipping the scratches
on your faces over the fibrous
conical hairs of plastic
under the wooden floors.
Dreaming on a train from New York
to Philly, your hand out six
notes which become an anthem
to our memories of you:
oak, birch, maple,
apple, cocoa, rubber.
For this reason Martin is dead;
for this reason Malcolm is dead;
for this reason Coltrane is dead;
in the eyes of my first son are the browns
of these men and their music.
MICHAEL S. HARPER | 1938 ~ 2016
from Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young
More Posts: book,classic,collectible,history,jazz,library,poet