After a little searching and a lot of computer troubles, I've found a good picture to accompany DMV poet Miss Kiane's prose poem. Hampton University's Linzy Henderson performs in a 2012 tribute to African-American women at Virginia's Ft. Eustis.
Her body writhed like a
snake controlled by “Trane’s rhythmic power.
Every note transcended the previous and her flesh was possessed with
jazz. Syncopation was her holy ghost and her feet spoke in tongues. Arms flapping so powerfully, she created the wind
she soared upon. There was no shame in
her movement. No fear of expectation or
rattling chains. Just freedom.
It's good to remember the summer on such a bitterly cold day! Imagine "the bass line of summer." Imagine a wind that kisses you or strokes you rather than biting or clawing. All of that is coming, and Miss Kiane brings it closer.
The sun illuminates the brush ever so perfectly
The air is quietly filled with bird songs, wind powered streams and canine conversations
If you listen close enough you can hear the bass line of summer on a nearby basketball court.
It's peaceful. For this moment, the dry brown spots are a luscious green and bare limb are laden with fruit.
Like an enamored lover, the wind kisses my neck gently while stroking my hair sweetly.
And for this moment, the piercing sirens are but mezzo sopranos performing urban opera and trees give a standing ovation.
The painting in the sky is a perfect blue decorated with wisps of white and multi-room birdhouses.
All is serene. Even insects refrain from their pest-imistic ways. They lie still sipping on placidness and humming the song of the blue jay. For this moment, the war cry of the locust did not mean the end of the world and the sun was not possessed by hell's fury.
It's so quiet. I can hear my heart clanging against my rib cage. There are no mini wind storms in my nostrils and the race cars are not crashing against my cranium.
For this moment, all is well. For this moment, perfection is tangible. For this moment, I close my eyes and I am not afraid.
The air is quietly filled with bird songs, wind powered streams and canine conversations
If you listen close enough you can hear the bass line of summer on a nearby basketball court.
It's peaceful. For this moment, the dry brown spots are a luscious green and bare limb are laden with fruit.
Like an enamored lover, the wind kisses my neck gently while stroking my hair sweetly.
And for this moment, the piercing sirens are but mezzo sopranos performing urban opera and trees give a standing ovation.
The painting in the sky is a perfect blue decorated with wisps of white and multi-room birdhouses.
All is serene. Even insects refrain from their pest-imistic ways. They lie still sipping on placidness and humming the song of the blue jay. For this moment, the war cry of the locust did not mean the end of the world and the sun was not possessed by hell's fury.
It's so quiet. I can hear my heart clanging against my rib cage. There are no mini wind storms in my nostrils and the race cars are not crashing against my cranium.
For this moment, all is well. For this moment, perfection is tangible. For this moment, I close my eyes and I am not afraid.
Let's start with John Coltrane's "Alabama": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=saN1BwlxJxA
Or perhaps his "Manifestation" was what the woman in the prose poem was listening to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xJXJmXf1f6M
These two jazz bassists give you a preview of the 1950s contest. Stanley Clarke was born in 1951: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gldoTwdvW2Y https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TtyzeBsZe4A
Jaco Pastorius was born in 1951 but died in 1978: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TgntkGc5iBo
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