|
|
|
|
|
|
Fall 1996, Volume 19, Number 1
|
Talking Jazz
I am the curling ribbon and the twisting skein of the cigarette's breath.
I am the weaving cobra and the rambling of the East river.
I am three-quarter time and the tapping of fingers on a denim-clad knee.
I am black and blue and dim under mellow spots.
I am the blare and the beat and the whine and the screech
and the thump-thump-thump
and the tsk-tsk-tsk.
I am spontaneous passion and mellifluous joy.
I am the pitch of night and the elephant's tusk.
I am the flesh of the oak and the gleam of a G-minor on polished brass.
I am the pulsing heart and the beating soul.
I am directionless and I am lost and I am weary.
I am the falling snow and the glow of a waxy flame.
I am a bed of pine and a carpet of moss.
I am a solitary stool and a 12-piece clique.
I am 125th Street harmony and Cajun spice.
I am the unaccompanied cry, wavering in the night.
-By Dan Perlmutter
|
|
|
|
|