Jazz Poems

MELODY FORENSIC

If someone told me I only had one hour to live,

I’d spend it choking a white man. I’d do it nice and slow.

MILES DAVIS

Years in the gristle of knuckles. Thick muscle

 

at the palm’s base. Fingers squeezing,

digging valve keys to mold exhales. Some pain

 

pinched by the reed—would it wail

if you found a pink neck before leadpipe brass?

Forgive the epigraph. Don’t apologize,

 

your music may taste funny to someone

 

after reading this. But damn Miles (if I can call you

 

Miles) why do black men have to scream in art?

What wants off our tongue floats

 

in the same ether lungs feed wood-wind

 

(now you got me doing it). Listen

 

if “I hurt” falls deaf on their ears,

Kind of Blue is no different.

The black-sound congeals in mason jars

lined across the tops of rickety stoves.

We been frying our story, over-seasoned

 

with silences. Miles

(I’m calling

 

you Miles) you don’t want to play. Sweet indulgence—

let’s pretend we’re back at the Five Spot, the poem

 

just another stage light. Move it,

 

put the trumpet down. Where would you start?

Maybe there, Mr. Cool at the bar—hear lolling,

 

eyes wilted from you blow,

 

a coil of saliva in his throat so

 

sure he can swallow your blue note whole.

KYLE DARGAN 

SUITE TABU 200

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Jazz Poems

FEBRUARY IN SYDNEY

Dexter Gordon’s tenor sax

plays “April in Paris”

inside my head all the way back

on the bus from Double Bay

Round Midnight, the ‘50s,

cool cobblestone streets

resound footsteps of Bebop

musicians with whiskey-laced voices

from a boundless dream in French.

Bud, Prez, Webster, & The Hawk,

their names run together riffs.

Painful gods jive talk through

bloodstained reeds & shiny brass

where music is an anesthetic.

Unreadable faces from the human void

float like torn pages across the bus

windows. An old anger drips into my throat,

& I try thinking something good,

letting the precious bad

settle to the salty bottom.

Another scene keeps repeating itself:

I emerge from the dark theatre,

passing a woman who grabs her red purse

& hugs it to her like a heart attack.

Tremolo. Dexter comes back to rest

behind my eyelids. A loneliness

lingers like a silver needle

under my black skin,

as I try to feel how it is

to scream for help through a horn.

YUSEF KOMUNYAKAA

from Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young

SUITE TABU 200

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BIX BEIDERBECKE (1908~1931)

January, 1926

China Boy. Lazy Daddy. Cryin’ All Day.

He dreamed he played the notes so slowly that

they hovered in the air above the crowd

and shimmered like a neon sign. But no,

the club stayed dark, trays clattered in the kitchen,

people drank and kept on talking. He watched

the smoke drift from a woman’s cigarette

and slowly circle up across the room

until the ceiling fan blades chopped it up.

A face, a young girl’s face, looked up at him,

the stupid face of small-town innocence.

He smiled her way and wondered who she was.

He looked again and saw the face was his.

He woke up then. His head still hurt from drinking.

Jimmy ws driving. Tram was still asleep.

Where were they anyway? Near Davenport?

There was no distance in these open fields–

only time, time marked by a farmhouse

or a barn, a tin-topped silo or a tree,

some momentary silhouette against

the endless, empty fields of snow.

He lit a cigarette and closed his eyes.

The best years of his life! The Boring “Twenties.

He watched the morning break across the snow.

Would heaven be as white as Iowa?

DANA GIOIA

from Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young

SUITE TABU 200

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LOUIS ARMSTRONG

suddenly in the midst of a game of lotto with his sisters

Armstrong let a roar out of him that he had the raw meat

Red wet flesh for Louis 

and he up and sliced him two rumplings 

since when his trumpet bubbles 

their fust buss

poppies burn on the black earth 

he weds the flood he lulls her

some of these days muffled in ooze 

down down down down 

pang of white in my hair

after you’re gone

Narcissus lean and slippered

you’re driving me crazy and the trumpet

In Ole Bull it chassés aghast 

out of the throes of morning 

down the giddy catgut 

and confessing and my woe slavers 

the black music it can’t be easy 

it threshes the old heart into a spin 

into a blaze

Louis lil’ ole fader Mississippi 

his voice gushes into the lake 

the rain spouts back into heaven 

his arrows from afar they fizz through the wild horses 

they fang you and me 

then they fly home

flurry of lightning in the earth 

sockets for his rootbound song 

nights of Harlem scored with his nails 

snow black slush when his heart rises

his she-notes they have more tentacles than the sea 

they woo me they close my eyes 

they suck me out of the world

ERNST MOERMAN Translated by Samuel Beckett 

from Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young

SUITE TABU 200

 

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THE JOURNEY

Miles was waiting on the dock,

his trumpet in a paper bag.

Lady was cold—

wind lashed the gardenias

I stole for her hair.

We were shabby, the three of us.

No one was coming so I started to row.

It was hard going—

stagnant, meandering…

The city moaned and smoldered.

Tin cans on the banks like shackles…

To be discovered, in the open…

But Miles took out his horn

and played.

Lady sang.

A slow traditional blues.

The current caught us— 

horn, voice, oar stroking water…

I don’t know how long we floated—

our craft so full of music, 

the night so full of stars.

When I awoke we were entering an ocean, 

sun low on water 

warm as a throat, 

gold as a trumpet.

We wept.

Then soared in a spiritual.

Never have I been so happy.

LAWSON FUSAO INADA 

SUITE TABU 200

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