More Poems by Pijush Kanti Deb

This evening I'd like to post some new poems by the Indian poet Pijush Kanti Deb.  He has appeared in nearly 100 different poetry journals, and most recently JD DeHart has interviewed him for Profiles in Poetry Literary Zine.

The Provisional Paradise
         By     Pijush Kanti Deb

At any time and place
a tumultuous gang of bellicose
makes the peace-loving flesh creep
to nowhere
but need not to be worried
as today the scaring is tired
and enjoying a nap
leaving its thundering weapons aside
making the day a red letter day
for the peace-loving lives
to spend it in dancing and singing
covering the stains of blood-shedding
with their dust of their mirthful shoes
and giving the innocents a peaceful night
to dream of a heart-soothing paradise
to be built in the next morning
Alas!
The sun rises again
but along with a godless morning
showing diplomatically a big dining table
with beautiful dishes thereon
collocated some with fish and some with meat
and the rest with nothing
and hiding a time bomb too
somewhere
in the heart of  the provisional paradise.

The Five Senses And The Fled Fish
                  By Pijush Kanti Deb

Assuming the golden sunrise
and the colorful rainbow
standing in the sky
against the invasion of black clouds
with the flying colors
as the beginning of a good day
a mysterious hand
blooms the five senses together
saying, ‘’Enjoy my greatness,
I’m caught in your net”
and makes the five senses curious
to look here and there
by their naked eyes,
through the restless machines
and by peaceful meditation by turns.
Alas!
They find nothing fantastic or celestial
except a big hole
in their net to kill their curiosity
and give birth to a popular conclusion
‘’The fled fish is always colossal’’.

Atonement
              By Pijush Kanti Deb

Today I must win the final match
against my beloved opponent
who has been winning so far against me
and making me happy
to add my hidden smile
with his invisible smile
but making my supporters-
my parent and close friends
sad to subtract their smiles
from their lips
and prizes from my luck
like
treasuries of seven kings,
a wingless fairy from the fairy land
and above all
smiling faces of my parent
and of other nearest and dearest
germinating a feeling of atonement in my heart.
‘’ I must win today’’,
it’s my promise
though it will hurt me and my opponent
but our hidden tears will be dried up
by the sweet heat of my mirthful supporters.

---------------

In the meantime, the fall/winter contests continue.  I would like to post a few songs to inspire you.  Let's begin with some Latin jazz:

Danilo Perez is one of my husband's favorites: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-KK__zBHnSc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Do1jSdg7CU8

Dizzy Gillespie's "Con Alma" fits both contests: Latin jazz and musicians born in the 1900s and 1910s.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLUyVyM626A

I know I've posted "Manteca" before, but here it is again: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A5tRGMHfKrE

For more information about the fall/winter contests, see the link below:
http://thesongis.blogspot.com/2015/09/welcome-to-fallwinter-contests.html

A Love Supreme

This evening I'd like to post Martin Willetts, Jr.'s "A Love Supreme," a response to John Coltrane's composition of the same name.  I don't think that I've posted much Coltrane on this site, so tonight is a great time to begin.

A Love Supreme

            A four-part suite composed by John Coltrane, each section is the section title of the suite 

1.         Acknowledgement

The phrase “love supreme” is chanted throughout, and the phrase is written on the sheet music

I acknowledge the earth I come from, the sun

pouring from my saxophone.

Sheets of music are the foundation of love,

love supreme. Love in brick buildings

blasting with sounds. Love is always supreme.

I acknowledge the water which is in our bodies,

bodies of supreme love, the ebb

of passion bass thumping in our chests,

pigeons flying through sheet music

supremely in love with love, all drenched

in singing, all praising with wing and dive

in & out of clouds, making tapestries of love

supreme so everyone can see it & testify to it.

Love is supreme, the supreme gift, all acknowledging

that great musician who sang forth creation.

I acknowledge the air, breath of musical phrases,

lungs willingly letting noise of joy

become a supreme unmuted trumpet

hitting high notes, making stars for lovers,

love supreme. Love is supremely divine,

from the Divine,  to our divine bodies.

I acknowledge the space between us and the Divine,

the beginning gong of creation, the cymbal washes

of life-giving rains before the sun knew light

and earth knew love as supreme light.

I acknowledge my personal struggle for purity.

These impure notes, these impure desires

not worthy of supreme love, but craving it

more than a heroin rush, more than air or earth.

There is a fire in me, wanting more,

more of myself: to be supreme in life and love.

Love, supreme love, love is the center of being,

supreme is the drum set knowing its rhythm.

Love is supremely pure coming from the Creator.

I acknowledge my gift comes from a higher power.

I am powerless until I submit.

My breath comes through God through me

through my fingers on a saxophone

and what you hear is not me

but God’s extreme supreme love for me,

for you, for everyone, for everything, for

ever & ever strung together blasts of notes

more than I could normally play.

And the instrument becomes me,

love becomes me, love becomes supreme

through me, in me.  Love is all-knowing.

Love, love, love: it is supreme, it is supreme.

I cannot get love out of my head,

I cannot get that love out fast enough.

My fingers are not worthy of such supreme love.

I acknowledge God walking through me

with four notes of a bass,

and now I must play what God has given me.

2.         Resolution

I resolve these facts to be true: I have no control

of my life, what I play, why I play on the sax,

where I am going when I play.

When I get there, God will stop me.

I resolve these facts to be true: I was given this life

and it is not mine to destroy, not mine

to change what God wants of me.

When God stops me, it will be on his schedule.

I resolve these facts to be true: love is supreme!

It is more than a couple exploring possibilities;

it is the entire universe connected through love.

When love was given by God, it had no boundaries.

I resolve these facts to be true: nothing of mine

is mine unless given to me, nothing is taken from me

unless I was not intended to have it.

God knows how to love me better than myself.

I resolve these facts to be true: Not everyone

can express love, or share love, but I can love

like God does, unconditionally, with forgiveness.

God loves me enough to forgive me.

3.         Pursuance

I can pursue love, but only if I love enough.

I can be pursued my love, but only if it catches me

will I know love is supreme in all things.

My music pursues the elusive sounds I hear

in my head. Words telling me

love is supreme, love supremely.

My body is the strings on a bass.

My heart can know love, give love,

but is always short on giving supremely.

My eyes are a drum, clashes of cymbals.

When I do not see enough love,

God sits in on the set tapping out love beats.

My ears are a piano pursuing all the keys

to the supreme love. The white whole notes

are God's laughter. The black are his true love.

When I woke this morning, I wrote this composition,

all supremely blowing out of me  like a saxophone,

and love was written onto the sheet music instead of music.

I was pursuing the gift before it was taken away,

and when the spirit is in the air, earth, fire, water,

you cannot escape all that love, it is so supreme.

4.         Psalm: a music narration where he played what he could not say but could write

Wordless, wordlessly in love,

in love with the supreme words,

these words I cannot say,

testimony is harmony,

I must shout them,

if not with words than with my music,

the only way I know how to speak,

how to speak coherently,

for I know so much supreme love right now,

such speechless love, such love without end or giving,

I cannot find words worthy of saying what I feel,

words seem so empty, missing a beat,

needing a better instrument than me,

I must turn to the only way I know how to talk,

preach with my saxophone,

love is supreme

from the most tender heart, the Creator’s,

comes the most necessary love of all,

giving all the time

without tiring, without correcting, without scolding,

a love in the stars as well in the smallest atom

all connected, all interconnected, all love

what we are given

is often forgotten

then a note hits the right mark

all the world finds the right tempo

then everyone is supremely loved

love is supreme

darkness parts with love, love is supreme,

extreme, everlasting, lasting past death,

coming with birth, filling every single thing

seen and unseen

with tremendous supreme unconditional love

love is supreme.

Here's a link to John Coltrane's entire album: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p3L-gL4XmjM

You may also want to hear what remains from his only live performance of this masterwork:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_qt435yF2Qg

After Midterms...Martin Willitts, Jr. and Bryn Fortey

Apologies...it's been a while.  Now that I've finished my midterms, and before I dive into some proposals for the final project, I'd like to post some long overdue poems.  First are Martin Willitts, Jr.'s poems in his Helga series after Andrew Wyeth's own series of paintings and drawings.

Braids

Andrew Wyeth painting, 1979

How long do they take to make them?

Hand over delicate hand, twisting them into shape.

It must take all day or more, such raveling;

do you unbraid them, ever?

What is that like? Is it like I imagine it would be?

I am envious of your husband if he undoes them.

He must take his time unwrapping them

like they were Christmas presents.

He must enjoy untangling your hair as it speaks to him.

The air must be holding its breath.

If only I could have the pleasure.

I would untie them like knots on a nightgown.

If there is a God, then he must have created braids,

and rested several days

admiring their luster, their primitive sexuality,

and gasped, it’s good.

Martin Willitts, Jr.

Letting Her Hair Down

            Andrew Wyeth painting, 1972

She has let down her hair

and foxes take the best hens.

She brushes the blond hair out,

and waterfalls are envious.

Loose strands stick in the paintbrush bristles

and men vote in Congress for the end of war.

She strokes her hair one hundred times

like she was told long ago when she was little

and never knew why.

She puts down the hair brush

and stares at the movement of light on her skin

as the upper half-moons of her breasts

rise over the horizon.

Martin Willitts, Jr.

Bryn Fortey now returns us to jazz, specifically the music of the fall/winter contests: musicians born in the 1900s and 1910s and Latin jazz.

FIRST GENIUS

(Louis Armstrong: (1901 – 1971)

High register playing that could slice your soul

Notes cascading like sunlight spearing crystal

Louis Armstrong: genius

His gravel-like voice

Used as an extension of his instrumental approach

The man who invented scat when he forgot the words

Dippermouth  -  Satchelmouth  -  Satchmo

The jazzman extraordinary and trumpeter supreme

Who bypassed the ensemble and created the solo

****

One Saturday evening in May, 1956, my mother

shook hands and exchanged a few words with

Louis Armstrong while I was stranded on the

other side of the Empress Hall, London. Later, on

the Paddington to South Wales milk train, she was

like a schoolgirl, claiming she would never wash

that hand again.

****

Louis Armstrong

The King

First genius of jazz

Bryn Fortey

First published in CANINE TEETH, a now defunct British small press magazine.

BIG

(Ben Webster: 1909  -  1973)

London

Landmark

A century

And more

King

Of clocks

                                        Jazz

                                        Stylist

                                        Saxophonist

                                        Supreme

                                        King

                                        Of tenors

Chimes

Ring out

From

Stately tower

Demanding

…Big

                                        Rich

                                        Velvet tone

                                        Most poetic

                                        Of soloists

                                        Masterful

                                        …Big

Big Ben, the clock:     (1856  -  ……)

(Big) Ben Webster:     (1909  -  1973)

Bryn Fortey

First appeared in POETRY MONTHLY, a now defunct British small press magazine.     

KENNY GRAHAM (1924 – 1997)

MAINLY OVERLOOKED

If you want to talk about tenors

The ones who helped shape modern jazz

Here in the UK

Few think of Kenny Graham anymore

Player

Composer

Arranger

Born Kenneth Skingle

(No wonder he changed his name)

Kenny Graham’s Afro-Cubists

Merged African and Cuban rhythms

With bebop harmonies

An artistic success

But a commercial failure

The band lasted only two years

As a fulltime outfit

Though they would reassemble

For recording and one-off gigs

Kenny Graham himself

Worked with all the top bands

Writing and arranging when

Ill-health curtailed his playing

A lot he did would be worth

A re-examination today

Work with the Ted Heath Orchestra

And a band of ex-Ellington sidemen

But I especially remember

The Latin/Bop mashups

Of his Afro-Cubists

Overlooked by many

But not by me

Bryn Fortey   

And now for the music....

We'll start with some early Louis Armstrong: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BhVdLd43bDI

"Wild Man Blues" is even earlier: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xO3k-S_pqK4
If you'd prefer later Louis, here is his performance of "Hello Dolly" live:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kmfeKUNDDYs

I've been playing a lot of Ben Webster lately, so here are a few of his songs.
In fact, this performance was in London: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0CHzdyJps6M
Here he plays "My One and Only" with Art Tatum: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1rYF_tZ_cTM
This performance of "Sunday" is with Oscar Peterson: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UeTqPwKN3ps

I'll finish with some Kenny Graham.
I just happened to find his version of "Sunday": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kYMkYtBnb9k
This version of "Mambo Jump" is from a 78: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fba-0Ah40HE
We'll finish with his version of "Rockin' in Rhythm" with the Afro-Cubans:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1Dpq3Yri5A

I Dream of Empathy

I prefer to use The Song Is... to promote other poets' work, but this evening I'd like to post a lovely review that Michael Oliver (one of the judges for the spring/summer contests) just sent me.

I Dream of Empathy

Marianne Szlyk's slender volume of poems, I Dream of Empathy, with its delicate sounds and intimate touches, reaches the reader at her loneliest; and we wonder: across what abyss these feelings must travel?

The volume's more than two dozen poems resonate with music and art, with memory and deep yearning: a yearning for human contact, human touch, human knowledge.

By far its most emotionally powerful sequence is Ms. Szlyk's "Scene from the Blue Room." In this three poem montage, we first discover Mrs. Feeney, the matriarch, sitting in blue, yet embraced by "her tan and orange plaid chair," which ironically no longer matches "the white that the walls used to be." It's that detachment that matters most, that disharmony that leaves the reader imaging empathy in a world no longer welcome to such sentimental journeys.

In the trilogy's second poem, we enter the space of Mrs. Feeney's granddaughter, Olivia, and the void at the center of that space could not be more filled with possibilities. Olivia's chorus, a thrice repeated "I miss..." rolls like thunder in the background, a remembrance of a life vivacious, until finally Olivia stands with bitten lip and her "blood in the lip gloss." It is with those uncanny details that Ms. Szlyk woos her reader, not to empathy, but to its dream.

That's when Mary Rose Feeney enters, "arms akimbo" ready to curse the hospice workers only "if ladies cursed." Her world is that of surfaces, the details, but not so intimate to stir an empathetic response. As her cell phone vibrates, and the walls turn from blue to a more cheery color, she sells her memories to the highest bidder.

And that's where "I Dream of Empathy" resides: a world where once sacred simplicity grows increasing more difficult to see and appreciate; but more importantly, a world from which we grow increasingly estranged.

"If you bloom you need the sun, not the ice." Yet, in these words sun at best is a brilliant reflection off a mirrored wall and at worst a ghost whose light barely flickers; in these words, the bloom seeks its essence in imaginings, in recollections, and in brief semblances of truth.

Ms. Szlyk's "I Dream of Empathy" will take you to that place of solitude, where yearning to embrace the other shines brightest.

-- R. Michael Oliver

If you would like to buy a copy of the book, here is the Amazon site: http://www.amazon.com/I-Dream-Empathy-Marianne-Szlyk/dp/1517160677

The book is also available on Createspace: https://www.createspace.com/5713941

I'll begin the music with "Crepuscle with Nellie" since one of of the poems in the chapbook is "Crepuscle with Callie":

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RFVTWEVhxY8

Stanley Turrentine and the Three Sounds perform "Blue Hour" here.  It's a little after Mrs. Feeney's time.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DBEmSJZ45hQ

This is more Mrs. Feeney's cup of tea:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ImK45C-ENuk

I'll include Gary Bartz's version of "But Not for Me" from his Red and Orange Poems:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hVkTKUWAo90

Let's finish with a little Dorothy Ashby:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EytHwYcilFU
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CtUYuTiWuSs

Now we'll return to A.J. Huffman's poetry: http://thesongis.blogspot.com/2015/10/aj-huffmans-i-am-high-and-in-shadow-of.html