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“Drums and Bass” by Marsha Hammel
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It’s Jazz
It’s
sittin’ in the corner knowing what others don’t get and smile-noddin’ over scotch and coda after a day bounced you about like Buddy’s snare and high hat clamped you down to sweet Georgia brown dirt in the Summertime wailed by Sidney Bechet right before you spread your wings and take to the sky, dancing among the stars with Sinatra.
It’s
silver snakeskin smooth Spyro Gyra sliding in your skull on South American Sojourn interrupted by the crunch of the Preservation Hall Jazz Band marching a North Rampart Street funeral with horns by Hirt, Marsalis, and Gabriel saving you and another corpse from a hell of rap and grunge sending you to heaven to sing with Ella, Billie and of course, Miss Mahalia Jackson
It’s
still and quiet, Coltrane on a Soul Train inside, chugging down to God where his jazz is His jazz is your jazz, staring into a dusty amber starlit streetlight listening to the reeds of your old soul float into the dark night over solitary street saxmen sending spirits to possess the rhythm and click of your Bojangles step carrying you nowhere and deeper into the fuzzy night – a street monk chanting blue notes.
It’s
foot poppin’, thing swingin’ Zydeco groin spice flamin’ deep and hot and wet, make you grind in your chair or Dixie bounce to The Flamin’ Mamies strumming Dr. Jazz, one ear crying one ear laughing to the screachin’ vocals coaxing and contorting a sumpin-got-a-happen full body staccato bouncing like a Fountain of music that puts you in the mood on the dance floor joined by the beat to the feet of a hundred dance partners.
It’s
trance, all trance – getting the vapors smelling Jesus in Satchmo sweat and falling back in a Magnolia dream caught in the arms of fellow worshippers chasin’ the taste of a moment of gone: gone spinning, gone tapping, or gone fixated finger-stirring bourbon, mind swirling in an amber tornado of ice and Ellington where the groove hangs just above the tenor like the last note of the invitation hymn on Sunday morning.
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Scott Brown is a psychologist who lives with his family near Kansas City, Missouri. He loves poetry. He has been a lover of jazz since boyhood, when Sunday mornings often found his parents dancing in their pajamas to Pete Fountain. Like poetry, he enjoys jazz that is smooth, crunchy, or thick and spicy like red beans and rice with pork chops at Coop’s Place on Decatur Street.
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A native of Miami, FL, Marsha Hammel grew up in Central America and Europe, returning to the states in 1961. A prolific artist, she enjoys a wide audience for original paintings and published works in the UK, having been represented by Felix Rosenstiel’s in London since the early 90’s. During a four-decade studio practice, at least 1500 paintings have become part of private, corporate and institutional collections throughout the US and Europe. Click here to visit her website.
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Watch Bing Crosby and Louis Armstrong perform “Now You Has Jazz,” from the 1956 movie High Society
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Click here for information about how to submit your poetry
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“It’s Jazz,” by Scott Brown, is one fine, swinging, singing, boot, scoot, shimmying, and just letting your body fly creation of jazz poetry. Bless Mr. Brown’s achievement, bless those of whom he writes, and bless those who chose to read the world he has created and respond to it whole-heartedly. Fine work, Sir, fine fine work in your response to giants of the past.