I
It’s that southern acid
cutting oxygen to brain cells
in heads floating from sniffs
of catfish, cornbread
and collard greens;
ear holes inhaling.
It’s that fecal funk
from strumming strings.
It’s this pluck here
or that twang there;
these toots, clangs,
and ba-dop bangs
with bleats blown
by big blue cheeks
that gets in good
when it’s good to get.
It’s what eating chitterlings is about.
There’s no choice but to blow it out
with that blow by…
blow by…
blow by…
bloooow…
It’s itchy throats scratching soulful notes.
Like needles dropped in waxy grooves,
it’s that skip, hop, bid-dip-bop
II
I wanna write something nice
like Richard Wright or
Langston Hughes then vocalize
like Lady Sings the Blues
(Horn: dee-do-dee-do-dee…)
(Strings: ting-ting-ting)
Yeah, I want my foot in it…
(Put it down, papi!)
Nah… You don’t get it.
I want my sole to show
the age of folks like rings from trees
stringing our Strange Fruit.
(Shoot!)
(Horn: dee-do-dee…)
I’m that Native Son.
I got a Hundred Guns,
two hundred clips
pointed by New York’s
finest
punk ass
cowards.
(Horn: deet-deet-deet…)
(Reload!)
I’m that American
Dream Deferred like apple pies
cooling on counters
serving Whites only…
(Remember me?)
The golden age of civility
like canines and fire hoses
turned on to put Blacks out.
O, we were hot then.
(And we kept burning.)
Now we’re a hot mess.
(‘Cause we stopped learning.)
Malcolm and Martin
are in their graves turning.
Ay-O, where’d our soul go?
The Souls of Black Folk
that marched in millions.
When those men spoke
we moved to hear them.
(Now we just don’t listen.)
Author notes
Ronnie Jordan (was at the Blue Note recently, last time I was there, Tito Puente played), Courtney Pine, Maceo Parker ("Every Saturday Night...!" That's that itsh!), Modern Jazz Quartet, Boney James... Damn, I love that "bop-bop-bop," "ba-dop..." "Deeee...." Listen to "The Jackel" by Ronnie Jordan. Ya'll don't know. Ya'll don't know! YA'LL DON'T KNOW!
Second part, freestyle ad libs in parenthesis are by my girl who paints (remember this: http://allpoetry.com/poem/3813347 ) Her man plays the horn--gotta give Brooklyn it's props, different calibur of Blacks from the Bronx.
Anyway this is a post for you, sis. You know who you is. Always, writing. I just don't post all the time.
Part II
Line 4 "Lady Sings the Blues" -- Autobiography of Billie Holiday (film with same name starring Diana Ross)
Line 12 "Strange Fruit" -- Song sung by Billie Holiday (the "Strange Fruit" hanging from trees were Negroes hung in lynchings).
Line 15 "Native Son" -- Homage to Richard Wright (Book)
Line 16-21
-- "I've got a hundred guns..." -- Song by BDP (remade by Ja Rule)
-- "New Yorks finest" -- NYPD ("Cowards in Blue" http://allpoetry.com/poem/4169907 ) A few are now under investigation for planting drugs on a couple of Hispanics and ruining their lives for about six months. Way to go NYPD!
Line 25 "Dream Deferred" -- Homage to Langston Hughes
Line 40 "The Souls of Black Folk" -- Homage to WEB Dubois
A contest entry
- Prewrites. ♥ by GraveyardGoddess.
400 points, ended November 27, 452 entries
• next poem in this contest, • Add to finalists list, or remove from contest
Eh...
Comments
1 - 17 of 17
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Had to come back for some more!
Thanks! I'm full now. (Burrrrp) Excuse me, couldn't help myself.
Love Ya! ♥
Renee
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Absofunkinlutely Awesome!
I cannot describe all the emotion, brain twangs of delight and images that poured through my mind body and souolas I read this Dez. GET PUBLISHED!
Every time I read this I go mad!
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D_ _ _ Dez!!!!
I'm putting this link on my page to have it to gaze at always... remind when i'm blue of what jazz looks like when the pen is caressed by you...( I don't know why I'm talking like this but this peice right chea is bliss)
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Fantastic
I absolutely LOVE reading you. You are my top poet on this site. The top voice. Ya, I'd be in trouble.
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I cannot claim to be a fan or knowledgeable about jazz. I certainly cannot engage with the cultural history of which you speak, although the cruel events of the day ("the golden age of civility") remain in my memory like scars of surgeries always hurting in bad weather, but which we hope will be remembered as having healed and helped make us whole. The end of the poem, though, is like the end of hope. Is this really what it has come to after all that?
Still, I know what I like, and I know what I feel with the rhythms of your poetry delivered here. I know and love the tastes and scents which fill my senses from your vibrant and vivid imagery. My feet and head move to the beat that stirs the blood common to us all.
Langston Hughes is a favorite poet, one who raises the hair on the back of my neck with the force of his words. Your poem reminds me of the people, moods and scenes brought to life with the cadence of his lines. This is a wonderful tribute to all those whom you acknowledge with this magnificent poem!
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Me too, me too...
"I wanna write something nice
like Richard Wright or
Langston Hughes then vocalize
like Lady Sings the Blues"
"Nah… You don’t get it.
I want my sole to show
the age of folks like rings from trees
stringing our Strange Fruit."
You are driving me insane baby, this is the flavor to savor...
Dez, I was about to highlight too much--too much, I mean DAYEM, what was dis' cat listenin' to?
WOAH!
That's about all I got to say about it!
LOVE YOU ♥
Renee
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Thanks, sis.
Long time no see... How goes it?
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It goes well. Been locked into Youth Theatre since June 17th. The show, "Fracture Fairly Tales & Puppets" has its' Finale on July 18th. I made a rappin' puppet. LOL
I hope all is good with you.
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ronnie jordan and boney are a few of my faves i love this hon i think you did a very great job thanks for sharing your talent
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Dez, you definately
have soul in everything you write. I enjoyed this piece. It's been a while, but it's always good to see a brother doing his thang.
All the best
-ephiphany
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Mighty fine lines
About growing times I remember , too. Keep writing the things that you do.
Zabba wa wa cho
Favorite part is about the ear holes
Tecohe
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Yikes ...
this is unbelievable. It sings its own song with no pretension, no regrets, and no phony remonstrations.
C'est absolument parfait.
I can't see a single thing I could suggest you do to improve on this. Rock on.
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Music has always moved our souls ... and so have words that speak of truth. But you're right, these days people don't listen much ... 30 sec. soundbites narrated by biased morons rule the day. Folks have gotten too lazy to do their own 'work' (research), so they depend on others to tell them what to think. After all the sacrifices made by our ancestors to give us the rights and tools for knowledge ... I think many "are in their graves turning." Great write Dez ... always keeping us thinking!
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Your usual gritty realist self shines brightly in verse so honest in this.I sometimes read your works to center my self on realities of life. You have a habit of "diversity shine"that takes me to other places in scenes outside my boring little Kansas,Oz-life style. To call this interesting would be an understatement of the century to say the least.I must admit equally honest,some of this soulful script is out of my realm in understanding. And yet some isn't. You have depth my poetic friend. And I'm never disappointed in reading your works.
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Inspired, yes. Billy wrote about the Strange Fruit, and sang through tears; so this is like that: the horns and rhythms make the sweet noise while the words make sounds no one should forget, and oh, how the rear view has a way of becoming the view...this is great...PK
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Thanks for posting this to share, this is real art, I don't even know what to say about it. I love how this moves with a tight rhythm, demands to be read aloud, and reaches right inside us linking the soul to the food, jazz rhythm to the blues, history, hope and disappointment, all in one amazing flow. Brilliant!
P.S., Get thee to the publisher, dagnabit!
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This is great, Dez--one of the very best things I've read on this site. I love the way you've fused together various aspects of black experience, jazz and American attitudes and life. Emotional and powerful, like good jazz should be!
Excellent work, my man,
Bill
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