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.
[…] NOTE: I wrote a poem inspired by Andrew Cyrille’s story. You can read it here. […]
That’s lovely. I came here from the jazz session interview. Your poem captures his story beautifully.