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Category: Jazz
napkin poem
how many times in how many bars
on how many napkins
text bleeding into the cheap paper
better suited for soaking up
condensation and mistakes
the band is playing “A Felicidade”
we are talking but not talking
text and subtext and saxophone
trying to avoid monkey clapping
loose lips sink ships
/ / /
28 February 2014
Zola, State College
Never heard “A Felicidade”? Enjoy.
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pages
I opened the file
it contained two pages
of quotes from journalists
gushing about you
but not one from me
I have been neatly
edited out of your biography
struck from the record
of your accomplishments
left behind by the parade
of your admirers
where once you eagerly
sought my counsel
now your people
send group messages
on which my name
is one among many
it’s only fair
I’ve excised you as well
opened up my biography
removed the pages
on which you’re mentioned
leaving a slight fraying
on the binding, nothing more
/ / /
25 February 2014
Oak Street
Dizzy Gillespie At Newport, 1957
wailing
everyone is wailing
trumpets splitting
the blue Rhode Island sky
bringing the crowd
to its feet
in a surge
the dam breaking
women in summer dresses
men in linen pants
white short-sleeved shirts
they swirl and jump
hands grabbing
sweat on their foreheads
back on stage
Dizzy is dancing
thick black glasses
years ahead of his time
bell pointing at heaven
the saxophones slither
as the song builds
to a crashing avalanche
loud enough
to compete
with the howls
from the lawn
when the ending comes
it takes the people a moment
to realize it’s over
then their screaming gets
if anything
louder
until Dizzy says
“silence”
and the crowd obeys
just another collection
of instruments
on this summer afternoon
28 December 2013
State College
melissa bell
I can’t decide
whether to mention
in the context of this poem
that I’m listening to Miles Davis
reduce a bunch of young stoned minds
to
their
constituent
parts
at the Fillmore East in the Year of our Lord 1970
I only bring it up because some-
times there are
moments
brief
inescapable
when someone holds up the mirror to your reality
reminds you that you
YES YOU
are part of this immense wash of struggling humanity
and that you
YES YOU
can, if you choose, stand straighter and walk taller
and really this poem isn’t about Miles Davis at all
it’s just that as a white man recently turned 40
watching these two icons of black feminism
all I can say is yes
and thank you
and I am on my front line
and they are on their front lines
and when I look to the
left or right
I want to see melissa and bell
and I want to hear the cry of Miles Davis’s trumpet
and
then
we
move
forward
8 November 2013
Oak Street
/ / /
This poem was inspired by listening to this and this.
2 Comments
Amy Cervini is a singer. She sings jazz and country and folk and mash-ups of all three. She’s also one of the kindest, most caring people I know. And she’s inspired more of my poems than anyone I haven’t dated.
I’ve interviewed Amy twice on The Jazz Session. Her first appearance on the show was in 2010, when we talked about her album Lovefool (buy)
I’ve heard Amy sing live many times, primarily at the 55 Bar in New York’s West Village. Here are some photos from one of her Jazz Country shows back in 2011.
I’m not sure why, but I always find myself writing a poem at Amy’s shows. Here are three of those poems, starting with my favorite, which is dedicated to Amy:
I’m so glad I know Amy. Please wish her a happy birthday and visit her site to check out her music.
Happy birthday, Amy!
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grumpy
because he’s done it all
seen what there was to see
reclines now in black pants
and a semi-formal sweater
talks in the general direction
of the microphone on the table
tells all the same stories again
tries not to sigh too loudly
at the half-his-age questioner
midway through he’s surprised
by an advertisement dragged
behind a barnstorming plane
out of place in this post-
industrial skyline
it’s the most animated moment
in the entire conversation
as the plane flies behind
a nearby building
he reclines again
waiting reluctantly for
the next question
30 September 2013
State College, PA
big band
he came out from behind
the bank of speakers
headed down the street
just as I caught sight of him
the trumpet soloist belted out
a high screaming note
the man’s head snapped back
as if he’d been struck
a smile took over his face
he kept walking but every
few steps he turned back
to look, still smiling
31 August 2013
Detroit, MI
Alabama: space is the place
saw a Saturn 1B rocket
towering over the trees
as I entered Alabama
not far from where
Sonny Blount was born
27 August 2013
Elkmont, AL
I, Eye, Aye
(for Rahsaan Roland Kirk
7 August 2013-5 December 1977)
I said I can’t see but I can see
not the way you see, not with my eyes
I see through the sounds from the crowd
the roar of voices flying toward me
like fighter jets screaming out of the sky
I see through the ends of my fingers
pressing the mother of pearl
stopping the air, letting it pass
I see through the crash of cymbals
the dry thump of bass strings
hammers pounding inside the piano
I see through the windows in my dreams
out of which come magic words of power
talismanic names to guide me forward
I see through the needle on wax
like a forest fire captured in a wine bottle
waiting for you to let it out
7 August 2013
Auburn AL
We did it! Thank you all so much!
In particular, I’d like to thank Josh Rutner and Patrick McCurry for their help with the planning and execution of this Kickstarter campaign. It would not have happened without them.
The Jazz Session’s new season starts October 1, 2013.
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this isn’t the first time
for John Coltrane
this isn’t the first time
I’ve tried to capture you
between the lines of a poem
as if any collection of letters
could do justice to the
staggering power of your art
this isn’t the first time
I’ve tried to describe how I felt
the first time I heard
“My Favorite Things”
and realized I’d just been shown
the door to a new universe
this isn’t the first time
I’ve wondered whether anyone
will ever burn again
with a fire as intense as yours
a fire so bright it was hard
to look upon or listen to
this isn’t the first time
I’ve wanted to say to someone
LISTEN TO THIS
CAN YOU EVEN BELIEVE IT?
to watch their eyes as they
make first contact
this isn’t the first time
I’ve realized how much I owe you
how the course of my life changed
because of what you did
how you showed me a distant land
toward which I could point my little boat
17 July 2013
Auburn AL
when our grandparents were young
(for T.B.)
everybody took ballroom dancing lessons
or learned to play the accordion
they kissed under lampposts on street corners
had midnight burgers and milkshakes
there was a Crystal Palace in most towns
the bands would fill it when they played there
somehow all the fedoras stayed on in the wind
and you could still be a sex symbol
even if you played the clarinet
I wouldn’t go back there permanently
but I sure would like to take a trip there with you
see if we can spot our grandparents dancing
then dance beside them, silently, knowing
11 June 2013
Auburn, AL
/ / /
That’s my grandpa in the center of the top row.
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listening to Leon Thomas
who yodels like Switzerland
is a planet orbiting a distant star
Leon its first astronaut
“every since the beginning of time
man has yearned to travel
to a distant land far away”
Leon is into some next-level shit
channeling the solar wind through
what must be a massive set of lungs
were we able to decode the waveform
of Leon’s voice, would it be a message
explaining to all of us how to travel
as one human race to the stars?
3 July 2013
Auburn, AL
/ / /
This poem was inspired by this performance.
One Comment
Bobby Hutcherson on Eric Dolphy:
I’m rehearsing with Eric at his loft — myself, Tony Williams, Richard Davis and a trumpet player named Eddie Armour. We were rehearsing for about an hour and a half. It was a cold winter day. All of a sudden, right in the middle of the tune, the trumpet player, Eddie, starts cussing and packing up his horn. We get to the end of the tune and Eddie says to Eric, “You’re nasty.” And Eric was real sweet, just like Trane was you know, a real sweet cat. Eric said,” What?” Eddie says, “I don’t like you, I don’t like your music, and I’m not going to play this gig. I’m out of here. Fuck you. Fuck this band. That’s it. How do you like that?”
We’re all standing there thinking, “My God, how can this cat say this?” And he continues to put his horn away, clip the fasteners on his trumpet case. He grabs his coat, pulls his hat down and goes stomping to the door. He gets to the door, I mean, just yanks it open. The door hits the wall. Bam! He’s just about to go out the door.
Eric had just been sitting there with his head down. We’re all thinking, “Eric must feel horrible. What’s he going to do?” All of a sudden, Eric says, “Hey, Eddie.” Eddie turns around and says [in growling voice] “What?” Eric, with the most conviction and love, says, “If I can ever do anything you need, please don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll be there for you anytime.”
Whoa! And Eric was serious. With that, this cat really got upset, he slammed the door and stormed out. We just stood there all quiet. It was like he Sunday punched him with love. The lesson was, “Love conquers all,” you know? It’s like the devil couldn’t take that love, and this is what Eric was showing him. He went out that door with so much hate, but with a message that Eric still cared about him. This was one of the biggest lessons Eric showed me “that if you can forgive somebody right when they do the most horrible thing they can to you, you just immediately take the weight of what they did off your back and just make it this beautiful experience, so that you can go on and do the things you want to do during the day and not waste time with negative feelings and negative thoughts.”
Well, we sat there quiet for two or three minutes, didn’t say anything. Then we went on with rehearsal and we never played so hard in our lives. We were just overcome. Then Eric called Freddie Hubbard, and that’s when we did Out to Lunch.
/ / /
I saw this story on Facebook via Jason Parker, who was sharing something posted by Joe Giardullo.
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