All About Jazz

Home » Articles » Jazz Poetry

Dear All About Jazz Readers,

If you're familiar with All About Jazz, you know that we've dedicated over two decades to supporting jazz as an art form, and more importantly, the creative musicians who make it. Our enduring commitment has made All About Jazz one of the most culturally important websites of its kind in the world reaching hundreds of thousands of readers every month. However, to expand our offerings and develop new means to foster jazz discovery we need your help.

You can become a sustaining member for a modest $20 and in return, we'll immediately hide those pesky Google ads PLUS deliver exclusive content and provide access to future articles for a full year! This combination will not only improve your AAJ experience, it will allow us to continue to rigorously build on the great work we first started in 1995. Read on to view our project ideas...

194

Miles Showed Me His Trumpet

Larry Jaffe By

Sign in to view read count
Miles Davis lived around the block from me
deep in the upper west side of Manhattan island.

He played like one man could be an island
living for his horn that paid his daily bread
living in this house made of gingerbread, on
West 77th Street while I lived on West 76th.

I would see him every now and again going
into that brownstone that his horn built.

— I got to meet miles

Walked round the block, walked round
the clock where Miles stood outside his
homestead just proud as peacock.
He told me how much he liked San Francisco women
because their bottoms were so round not flat
from riding subways all days, he said with smile.

Nudging me, guy hood joke "You know what I mean."
We went inside past the New York façade
into his musical domain —
headquarters for lonely horn players

The purity of Miles' trumpet leans into me
he sings it blue. My eyes tear uncontrollably.

He has touched melodies that riff with magic,
I escape ego with this horn. It is evolution of life
in notes counterpoint. My fingers feel broken,
wanting to make the same sounds with words

— that staccato lip thing that merges horn with man.

— Miles showed me his trumpet
in this house of sugar coated dreams.

When I was a kid I dreamed of playing trumpet
but I wore braces on my teeth... they said I would
cut my lips to ribbons and bleed on my horn.

I looked up with tears and thought Miles,
Miles always bleeds on his horn

Tags

comments powered by Disqus

Related Articles

Read The Fire in Coltrane’s Lungs Jazz Poetry
The Fire in Coltrane’s Lungs
by Larry Jaffe
Published: August 2, 2014
Read Kissing Cousins: Jazz + poetry = jazz poetry Jazz Poetry
Kissing Cousins: Jazz + poetry = jazz poetry
by Jeff Winke
Published: May 1, 2014
Read The Answer is Jim Jazz Poetry
The Answer is Jim
by William DeLancey Adamson
Published: December 11, 2013
Read Birds with Long Red Tails Jazz Poetry
Birds with Long Red Tails
by Adriana Carcu
Published: October 28, 2012
Read Poetry in Motian Jazz Poetry
Poetry in Motian
by William DeLancey Adamson
Published: November 23, 2011
Read Black Sage (for Henry Grimes) Jazz Poetry
Black Sage (for Henry Grimes)
by Gordon Marshall
Published: July 17, 2011
Read "Enrico Rava Tribe Quintet at the Folkclub" In Pictures Enrico Rava Tribe Quintet at the Folkclub
by Antonio Baiano
Published: November 19, 2017
Read "Match&Fuse Dublin 2017" Live Reviews Match&Fuse Dublin 2017
by Ian Patterson
Published: September 24, 2017
Read "Al Di Meola at Balboa Theater" SoCal Jazz Al Di Meola at Balboa Theater
by Jim Worsley
Published: September 30, 2017
Read "Presenting Problem" The Big Question Presenting Problem
by Duncan Heining
Published: January 30, 2018