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The Sunday Poem is published weekly, and strives to include the poet reading their work.
Robert Alan Felt reads his poem at its conclusion.
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Infrogmation of New Orleans, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Dutch Alley, New Orleans. 2018; during pre-Mardi Gras Day mask market event
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The Artists of Dutch Alley
Man, this Quarter sure does sizzle:
in the silky Delta night a gigantic palette burst,
friendly toot of brass, sweet birdsong of reed,
one-up duels of rock guitars, funky zydeco mix,
in spiced air within brick and beam pop and slurp of oyster shells,
wall dance silhouettes of suited gents with southern belles,
rendezvous, entre nous, through gold green purple night
eventual surrender to chastening first light…
With the morning mist vanishing so goes the ghosts of
colonizers and Creoles, sailors and slaves, pirates and priests.
The Gulf sun spills across the Mississippi filling North Peters
and Decatur where the artists of Dutch Alley are waiting, watching.
By noon the sidewalks are tourist packed, human collage,
some eager and curious, some indifferent and nonchalant.
Mixed in are proud jaded locals and a smattering
of young revelers burnt out from the night before.
For the artists this is easy time, fun time, mandatory time.
To them the sidewalks are flower gardens in breeze
and all daylong their work is pluck and tuck
gathering up character of people passing by:
pluck one here, pluck one there, tuck one here, tuck one there…
In time, blended with their personal character
and that of the Delta from centuries before
they will transform all into acrylic stroke and swirl,
into welded steel and painted baked clay,
into slick varnished wood, fashioned blown glass,
and soulful photos black and white; and by doing so
create a history of the Gulf inarguable, boldly engraved
in the flamed dusk high above Dutch Alley.
For these artists there is no choice otherwise; it is
c’est la vie, c’est la vie in the jubilant city of the fleur-de-lis.
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Listen to Robert Alan Felt read his poem
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Robert Alan Felt is a retired law enforcement officer, woodworker, and avid saltwater fisherman living on the south shore of Long Island, New York. New Orleans has been his favorite getaway for many years for its music, food, art, and history.
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Listen to Professor Longhair perform his (and Theresa Terry’s) composition “Go to the Mardi Gras.” [Universal Music Group]
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Click for:
More poetry on Jerry Jazz Musician
“My Vertical Landscape,” Felicia A. Rivers’ winning story in the 69th Jerry Jazz Musician Short Fiction Contest
More short fiction on Jerry Jazz Musician
Information about how to submit your poetry or short fiction
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Jerry Jazz Musician…human produced since 1999
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