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The Answer is Jim
by William DeLancey Adamson
The freshening breeze slides off the shadowed slope past the warming land the sand the sapphire bay then smacks the spinnaker with its surging power and suddenly we're flying! through the spray and fiery sun down to Aruba with you Jim on your music
Mind
by Gordon Marshall
For Yoko MiwaShe knocked me out for a yeartook me to the tombsof Egypt, where she embalmedthe brains of the first tribeof jazz... with kindest careshe put them in their jarslabeled calligraphicallywith multi-colored lettersindicating Duke and 'Trane
The Business of 'Trane
by Gordon Marshall
Carlos Santana turned me on to himin an article in Guitar Player magazineI read at the Hingham library,at 14: spiritual centerof his Baja brain,and mine now,for 35 years,in Boston, in the rainafter a storm...the storm--it lasted years,
Birds with Long Red Tails
by Adriana Carcu
[Written during guitarist Stian Westerhus' solo show, June 4, 2012 at Green Hours Jazz Fest, Bucharest.]I see things, scary things,wars and ghosts,planes and meadows.I hear my pulse and the bloodrushing through my veins,I see an old clock on a marble mantelpieceand I ...
November (for Yoko Miwa)
by Gordon Marshall
On the ebony off-keys, your hands,your head in a veil of black mist, tonicto your turquoise evening gown. Poised as a turtle dove on an eave,you press an index finger on the ivory,liberating a passel of scales zooming down like falcons in a swarm,
Poetry in Motian
by William DeLancey Adamson
Shimmering behind Bill's subtle reharmonies of the Gershwin tune LaFaro's pungent doublestops and even that asshole girl's phony laugh at the climax is your intelligence I've never heard nor ever will hear the like it's only Sunday night at the Village Vanguard but I feel it's the garden of Eden ...
Black Sage (for Henry Grimes)
by Gordon Marshall
I have seen the stage lights playthe sly sagacity of Henry's smile:the lightning on his lips, decadesdark with spattered starlight coming back to his eyes.To win words from that smilethat opens like a jackknifedrawing blood from parchment spurting ...
Trumpet
by Gordon Marshall
for Forbes GrahamArc shoots to treble tongue tripfingertip tapping valve topstraps the sinuous sound round the quartet's quartal vibe, tribeof truth, sooth of soothingtunes turned back on themselves lost in vertical vertigo. Thenthe trumpet picks them up,
Rites of Spring
by Wayne Wolfson
Spring was the sweat running down the back of her legs. It is the pack of young dogs running down the street in their best clothes, new haircuts and fresh packs of smokes always kept in the left pocket of their sports coats. Ready to offer one up to a beautiful or willing lady, unwrapping the ...
Brilliant Corners
by Wayne Wolfson
The last words of his hero still echoed in his ear but they brought no inspiration as there was a fear he had misinterpreted them. I met myself ten years from now on the Rue Grand Augustin. He did not have the patience to answer questions that he thought unimportant. Rolling his eyes at ...
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