Jazz Poems
THE DAY LADY DIED It is 12:20 in New York a Friday three days after Bastille Day, yes it is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine because I will get off the 4:19 in Easthampton at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner and I don’t know the people who will feel me I walk up the muggy street beginning to sun and have a hamburger and a malted and buy an ugly NEW WORLD WRITING to see what the poets in Ghana are doing these days I go on to the bank and Miss Stillwagon (first name Linda I once heard) doesn’t even look up my balance for once in her life and in the GOLDEN GRIFFIN I get a little Verlaine for Patsy with drawings by Bonnard although I do think of Hesiod, trans. Richmond Lattimore or Brendan Behan’s new play or Le Balcon or Les Nègres of Genet, but I don’t, I stick with Verlaine after practically going to sleep with quandariness and for Mike just stroll into the PARK LANE Liquor Store and ask for a bottle of Strega and then I go back where I came from to 6th Avenue and the tobacconist in the Ziegfeld Theatre and casually ask for a carton of Gauloises and a carton of Picayunes, and a NEW YORK POST with her face on it and I am sweating a lot by now and thinking of leaning on the john door in the FIVE SPOT while she whispered a song along the keyboard to Mal Waldron and everyone and I stopped breathing FRANK O’HARAfrom Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young
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Jazz Poems
WHAT I’M WILD FOR I broke when I was ten and forty- year-old Mr. D. was clambering on top of me and it was all I could do to kick him back, keep the red ceiling light in sight, and wait for her to find me. So this is what she’s on her knees for every night, praying for Pops to come on back, rip her skirt off and ride her until it’s only skin she ever wants to feel again. I wanted to fling that in her face the way a slick trumpeter cat from Philly flung any panties at me summer I was fifteen. I’ve seen more love in Alderson, behind the warden’s back, behind Jim Crow’s back on the way home from movies: dykes would touch hands, feed cigarettes to one another like they were kisses, before the cells broke us all up–- forgers, whores, boosters, pushers, users. The soldiers had it, too, begging for pieces of my dress and stockings, tearing them to petals under their noses because they have the smell of woman on them. I could love a whole army like that. But two husbands later and the hungry I feel is not the 600-miles-a-night on a bus flashing slow silver between gigs while my stomach opens wide. The cure for that is simple as a couple bucks, red beans and rice. What I’m wild for is a few grains of dope and the shakes I get from head to satin feet when it’s “Strange Fruit.” One night, mybody can’t
hold me down, the notes break clean, and no one can see me, but they point to the voice flying over the band and say, Billie, nobody sings hunger like you do, or love. JANET M. CHOIfrom Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young
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Jazz Poems
JAZZ
I’d like to know everything
A jazz artist knows, starting with the song
“Goodbye Pork Pie Hat.”
Like to make some songs myself
“Goodbye Rickshaw,”
“Goodbye Lemondrop,”
“Goodbye Rendezvous.”
Or maybe even blues:
If you fall in love with me I’ll make you pancakes
All morning. If you fall in love with me
I’ll make you pancakes all night.
If you don’t like pancakes
We’ll go to the creperie. If you don’t like pancakes
We’ll go to the creperie.
If you don’t like to eat, handsome boy,
Don’t you hang around with me.
On second thought, i’d rather find
The fanciest music I can, and hear all of it.
I’d rather love somebody
And say his name to myself every day
Until I fall apart.
ANGELA BALL
from Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young
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Jazz Poems
FALL DOWN in memory of eric dolphy All men are locked in their cells. Though we quake In fist of body Keys rattle, set us free. I remember and wonder why? In fall, in summer; times Will be no more. Journeys End. I remember and wonder why? In the sacred labor of lung Spine and groin, You cease, fly away To what? To autumn, to Winter, to brown leaves, to Wind where no lark sings; yet Through dominion of air, jaw and fire I remember! Eric Dolphy, you swung A beautiful axe. You lived a clean Life. You were young– You died. Calvin Herntonfrom Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young
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Jazz Poems
LISTENING TO SONNY ROLLINS AT THE FIVE SPOT There will many other nights like this be standing here with someone, some one someone some-one some some some some some some one there will be other songs a-nother fall, another–spring, but there will never be a-noth, noth anoth noth anoth-er noth-er noth-er Other lips that I may kiss but they won’t thrill me like thrill me like like yours used to dream a million dreams but how can they come when there never be a-noth– Paul BlackburnFrom Jazz Poems | Selected and edited by Kevin Young
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