Unknown Artist
relaxing the ride
out and back
fluid phrases
free-slip in and out
ghosting melody
breathlessly
improvised
grace-notes
hang ornaments
up and down
quicksilver bones
cached in clusters
of chord tones in
rhythmic progressions
with slurred
syncopation
that’s felt by the ears
and heard by the skin
true jazz virtuosos
perform
one-on-one
in a roomful of ones
carry on
closed-eyed
intimate dialogues
with no one
but you
(originally posted November 2013)
Writer & Poet Lynne Sargent
Poetry Puttering by Pax & Company
You don't know where you are going. You don't know how to get there. And you arrive just the same. Ghanaian saying
Poésie sous les étoiles
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
no dust here
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Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
flights of fancy from New Zealand
You're never alone, if you've something to share
All you touch and all you see / is all your life will ever be
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I am where the valleys are deep, the mountains are high, and the wind moans through trees...
Those last few lines… yes… that’s jazz..
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thanks dearly, Sue
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felt by the ears and heard by the skin,,,,,,,,,that’s pure jazz, as Sue says, and grabs the reader.
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Haha… indeed!
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thanks kindly
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thank you kindly
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I agree with Sue, the last lines are definitely a cherry on a top, so beautiful and powerful…
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it’s difficult to pay proper homage to another art form, but I relish the challenge
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🙂
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I was listening to the great Jim Eason on KGO one afternoon, and his guest was The Velvet Fog himself, Mel Torme. Mr. Torme regaled the radio audience with this anecdote: He was at a radio station, back in the 50s, about to conclude his business, when he was informed that John Hart, who was upstairs getting ready to do The Lone Ranger show, was a big fan and wanted to see him before he left. Torme agreed and went to see radio voice of the Lone Ranger. When Hart saw him, he went over, shook his hand and exuberantly proclaimed, “You gas me, baby! I have all your jazz albums. You gas me!” Informed that they were about to go on the air, Hart moved to his microphone, still keeping his eyes fixed on the jazz singer. “Stick around ‘til after the show, and we’ll go have a beer. You gas me, baby!” The light went on and, without missing a beat, John Hart’s voice went deep and resonate, “Sheriff, this mask is the same as your badge—a symbol for law and order.”
I tell this story only because I wanted to say, “Paul, you gas me, baby!”
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Cool Daddio – I saw Mel perform at the Carlyle in Manhattan with Bobby Short – sometime late 60s – and it was a real gas, indeed
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Reblogged this on The Poetry of GaylordTrotsky.
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thank you for sharing my poem with your readers
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Oh Wow, that is GOOD–and I’m not a big jazz fancier.
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it’s an acquired taste
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Well I made an effort to acquire it for years, and l like “smooth” or soft jazz alright–but it’s not my fave genre.
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OH yeah!
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this is me taking a bow
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Music to my eyes..!!
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ha ha – I thank you kindly
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Beautiful! Thank you.
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much appreciated
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Reblogged this on Poesy plus Polemics.
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Excellent! I just love it!!
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so glad that it worked for you
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Makes my mind wander off to a little club I recall down on the River Thames.
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I think of the Parisian jazz caves
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Reblogged this on OUR POETRY CORNER.
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thank you for sharing my poem with your readers
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A wonderful rumination on musicianship in general, and jazz in particular. It brought me back to so many performances, where the best moments meant the artist was not on stage, but in my heart and mind, plucking at my own thoughts and feelings. This is a great piece, thank you.
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much appreciated, Michael
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Thanks, Paul, for using my painting image for your blog. It is a fitting poem for The Jazz Player. I normally would appreciate if people would ask my permission for the use of my artwork images as a way of courtesy to the artist, that way I know where my artwork is being shown and I can promote the site featuring my artwork as well. It works both ways I think. Best regards and God bless!
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Jun, I apologize for neglecting to secure your permission. As there was no commercial aspect involved, I assumed, apparently incorrectly, that it was permissible. And I always give full attribution for any images I use as complements to my poetry. I’m pleased that you thought it was fitting in this case. Thank you for your kind and considerate message. Blessings returned in kind.
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“rhythmic progressions with slurred syncopation”; your writing sticks to the bones.
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so glad that you liked it
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Poet Paul has a feel for music, you have to be a part of something to hear or feel it and this poem states it in obvious, but, subtle notes and or tones. He took me into the music he hears in his head as he wrote this poem. Well written, one that knows both dance and music hears and feel your muse.
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yes – I was a musician
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