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| In Memory of James Black - Dennis
Formento (for Jim Markway & all the jazz workers) |
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Over
& over it’s the same story: found Jesus, living in retirement in the Third Ward, waiting for royalty checks that never came didn’t travel well, New York too cold, L.A. too far away Never heard of the Beatles "too racy" for vanilla broadcasting until lightened by Bobby Vee— Corporate squawks & jingles of shopping mall radio— on Jane Place behind the prison the Funky Butt Bar where Buddy Bolden blew ain’t nowhere to be found. All rabbit-faced rose the moon. "You mother-fucker!" shouted the bass-man as he carried the drummer off the stage "You should be carrying me!" The moon full of ships, masts rise above the rooftops, sail across dry land. The smell of the Tastee Donut Shop cuts through the mosquito fog— the little trucks come out at night & disappear into the clouds Forty hours a week he pounds nails, five nights a week he plays to make the house note groceries, light bill & the kids’ tuition. Drives to Baton Rouge, "8:30, late for the gig, on my two back tires down to the threads," the jazz carpenter Moonlight chief source of opium |
Oleanders dream through the noontime heat the ghost of Thelonious drifts through the waves of heavy air 14.7 pounds per square inch here at sea level. Beds on balconies bricked-up fireplaces, a single amen at six o’clock as the sun fades under the beaks of angels It rained all night & the face of the moon is cloudy, its silver screen experiencing technical difficulties "This is the greatest place in the world! Why would I ever want to leave?" "Got stuck here & died early," James "Gonzo" Black, monkey-puzzle master of fives & sevens. There’s a hurricane in the west Gulf but here we have a pleasant breeze that rocks the casement windows Today we board ‘em up & get some holy Virgin candles light up & hope the banana trees make it A frog burps in the garden as I sit in the corner attracting worms, living in a world of my own, buoyant & tipsy on a wave of wind The personality dissolves upon contact with Paradise Adam & Eve learned their names on the ay out of the garden. "Get thee to Chicago, Satchmo!" said the voice of his dream-- And he went!
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