POEM: listening to Tom Waits’ Small Change

Posted 29 January, 2012 in Music, My poems, Poetry

listening to Tom Waits’ Small Change

you’re sleeping close to me
holding one of my hands
in both of yours
there’s a candle on the dresser
another on the night table
a third behind the two Buddhas
on my map, our rivers
don’t meet anywhere
which just goes to show
it’s worth getting out
to see for yourself
the mapmakers can get it wrong
there could be just one big river
right off the edge of the page

POEM: sing me a Haitian song

Posted 20 December, 2011 in Jazz, Music, My poems, Poetry

Photo source

sing me a Haitian song

sing mules and horses on the mountainside
          a calabash of river water to wash in
          another to drink

sing to me of the climbing tree
          four uncles on the summit waiting
          for the return of the prodigal nephew

sing me an African rhythm
          drawn from the source of the one true river
          that became the ocean and surrounded the islands

sing to me of proud women with straight backs
          burdens atop their heads as they appear and disappear
          on the peaks and in the valleys

sing me a policeman’s song
          a wide-brimmed hat his badge of office
          his horse weary from climbing

sing me a Brooklyn dance, no music but the drum
          to remake their lost island in an old meeting hall
          filled with vegetable stew and mountain stories

sing me sixty-odd years since then
          the boy once mesmerized by the drummer
          returning to old ground as a man of the drum himself

/ / /

This poem is inspired by an interview I conducted with drummer Andrew Cyrille. You can hear the interview here.

POEM: poems for foolish hearts

Posted 29 November, 2011 in Jazz, Music, My poems, Poetry

Listen to this poem using the player above.

/ / /

Tonight I went to see Foolish Hearts, a duo with Peter Eldridge and Matt Aronoff. They were amazing — a master class in musicianship at the highest level paired with an incredibly emotional connection with the crowd. As I often do, I wrote a poem while listening to them. This is an acrostic poem. Not a format I often use, but it seemed like a fun place to start. I took several photos tonight, too, which you can see here.

From

poems for foolish hearts

1.

picture me
even now, waiting
till you arrive
even now
remembering the last time
even now
looking toward the back of the room
darting ever-so-casual glances
ready to wave you over
I have to confess I
didn’t expect to be here alone
giving myself over to the music
even now

2.

meet me
at Cornelia Street
tonight, wearing
that dress
ask me to
remember
or kiss me
now before
one of us
falls to earth
from this narrow ledge

POEM: Cale on the 6

Posted 18 November, 2011 in Music, My poems, New York City, Poetry

Listen to this poem using the player above.

I wrote this today on the 6 train while listening to John Cale’s album Vintage Violence.

/ / /

Cale on the 6

John Cale’s on the uptown 6
singing about Adelaide
Spring to Bleeker to Astor Place
on a November day
that finally feels like winter
there’s a guy a few seats down
who’s a ringer for Robert Pinsky
(whom I last saw in Boston
reading poems to commemorate 9/11)
five more stops and I’ll be at the temple
with the money lenders and usurers
meanwhile there are happy hands
clapping on the Cale album
and a tambourine that sounds
like a baby laughing
I feel I should tell you this
so we’ll both know

POEM: the king’s clothes

Posted 18 November, 2011 in Jazz, Music, My poems, Poetry

Listen to this poem using the player above.

I saw Mark Turner play at Jazz Standard a few months back and wrote a poem while watching him. The poem was longer than this version and I kept trying to figure out what else to add. Finally, after being away from it for a while, I not only decided not to add anything, I decided to take things away. Here’s the result.

/ / /

the king’s clothes

corduroy-suited tenorman
plays non-clichéd blues
in clichéd suede shoes

on his furrowed brow
the image of a lotus

POEM: passing notes

Posted 1 November, 2011 in Music, My poems, Poetry

Listen to this poem using the player above.

I wrote this tonight at Cornelia Street Cafe. The three lines in quotation marks are by David Budbill, from his book Moment to Moment.

/ / /

passing notes

nothing is more beautiful
than Portuguese at night
and everything sounds better
in your fickle accent

I’m drinking peppermint tea
watching you watch the band
like you’re memorizing them

I started this poem
on five separate pages
almost didn’t write it at all

but I’m listening to Judevine
the mountain sage, who wrote:
“Never be deliberately obscure.
Life is difficult enough!
Don’t add to the confusion.”

so while this may not be clear
it’s as clear as I can make it
at least without more tea, less sleep
or a longer walk to the train

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