There’s a kind of poetry
that sounds like jazz
dropping beats on you
as you read, but I don’t have
that kind of rhythm
and I never quite
find the flow
of staccato, pause,
repeat, and crescendo.
I don’t even have the
required for free jazz,
on raptor wings
swooping to make sure
your ears have noticed.
But the words find their
way in a unique
time we speak in
a veritable word jazz.
Ken Nordine knew.
And the words blew blue
all the way back to you.
Sometimes when musicians finish
A piece that has gone well, they let out a
Combination sigh and laugh that
Expresses relief and pure joy.
It’s the same laugh you hear from
Women who have had a satisfying
Orgasm, enhanced by a slight tinge
Of guilt for being unduly blessed.
Of course, these laughs are never
Unwarranted. In both cases,
Substantial effort is required
To produce an even mediocre effect.
To achieve a crescendo of pleasure
Deserves a chuckle at least, but
Probably warrants a standing ovation.
And sometimes we do bask in the spotlight.
And bask we should, because we’ll soon
Be loading equipment back in the van
In a wet parking lot or shivering under the
Sheets, listening to neighbor dogs barking.
But, hey, tomorrow’s another day,
So we run through the scales, flirt
With the barista, steel our nerves,
And prepare to move heaven and earth.
When people see a spectacular dancer,
They say, “Oh, that’s poetry in motion!”
And then they might see a moving painting,
And say, “That painting says it all—It’s like a poem!”
And good musicians are just considered poets.
I mean, Bob Dylan won a God-damned Nobel Prize
In literature, didn’t he?
But it doesn’t stop there. I’ve heard motorcycle
Races described at “pure poetry in action.”
It seem like any time something is done really well,
People think of it as poetry. Really, “poetic” is like
A synonym for really freaking fantastic.
If you were an outsider and heard people saying all this,
You might get the idea that everyone reads and cherishes poetry.