the 7’s make me lose control so easily–

my saxophone

my saxophone

.

i saw this painting of a diner
in Laguna Beach, a certain emptiness,
(it was my last day), jazzy breath beneath
indianYellow tinted walls,
(the paint, way too even)
slow tunes
in a sidewalk streetlight puddle,
coffee scent, i knew i been there
leaning in–
To the rough pace of a tenor sax,
throwing surreal shades& notes creep
across rainwarm concrete

tremBle up my feet, ankles,
along suntanned thighs
(there’s a certain patTern to it
but if played well, it will take you
ages to deCipher& unScriPt)

Jazz has No legs//No hands,
it is Mouth&Tongue&Lips that close now
carefully
around this space where all my pools meet– pre
size moves, tongue searches its way,
& drizzle on my cheeks,

rain, has no more meaning
(do you know this feel?)
of slowly giving in//and oVer
growing– with the tension of each note
until your voice (aDagio// isIt// rea//lly //me?)
sounds coarse&raspy,
scrEAming, trying to findHold, reOrient
by its echo in the fog (like bats would),
wanna lay down on the deW/Pearls,
covering the lawn, all of a sudden, beGGiNg
for relEASe
(it never lets you)
“hey” i say (sweat glistening on my forehead,
trying to smile)
“i’d be ok now– would you– ?”

&i feel his lips relax
into a smile, (mouth wet) just for a second,
then gain weight, aGain, tongue resting
on that raW buD, loosely, (this is how you play
the deep notes) uP
2 where the scale range ends
(and doesn’t) & how Does he do it?
liPs a tense line// BloWing//7’s
(sliP//cREepiNg//tuRN inside the skin)
until the diner’s nothing more

than just a yellow wall
scratching harD against my back,
&i, a tiny dot on a forgotten planet,
on the far end of the universe, buMping against
the skY//bOUNCe (where have all
the walls– goNe?)BacK//bLack
//frEEze/&canNot brEAThe
until my feet

touch soil again

.

Gay has us writing jazz poetry at dVerse today… that could be a poem referring to jazz or jazz musicians, or which can be read to jazz, to or counterpoint to it, or uses jazz like sound, syncopation, jazz beats or rhythm… if you need some inspiration you could listen to joshua redman – one of my fav tenor sax players and his song “faith” is even my wake up call on my iphone…beautiful deep tunes..smiles

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46 responses to “the 7’s make me lose control so easily–

  1. I can feel your love of jazz in this. I could almost hear the sax (my favorite instrument) playing in the background. I sigh with pleasure. So nice Claudia.

  2. Wow, what a trip…enjoyed the ride, and all the while playing the notes–and the deep notes–whew–I love jazz.

    Claudia, I had written more, until it became a post unto itself, which I’ll “clean up” later and post…This was GREAT, girl!

  3. Caludia, I feel as if I have just had a lesson in the appreciation of jazz. I like these lines

    “Jazz has No legs//No hands,
    it is Mouth&Tongue&Lips that close now
    carefully
    around this space……….”

    and in places in your poem picture YOU playing your saxaphone as I read. I enjoyed your jazzy wordplay!

  4. ha. just got out of the shower and i may need to go back…what you have captured here to me is how music can move you to your core and grab ahold of us and make us a little crazy as well…esp live music….nice sensual tones without being over the top…might need a bit of oxygen now though…he

  5. Jazz has No legs//No hands,
    it is Mouth&Tongue&Lips that close now
    carefully
    around this space where all my pools meet– pre
    size moves, tongue searches its way,
    & drizzle on my cheeks,

    I’m hearing it & I’m feeling it… Whew!

  6. Whoooeeeee! Sometimes it’s like that. How nice to be at a beach with a too yellow wall guarding your back as if you walked in the collages of Romare Bearden or the paintings of Jacob Lawrence. Sexy Jazz, freeing jazz, lift me up and put me down jazz.

  7. Damn, I had written a cool comment, and the blue notes ganged up on me, and stole it as I endeavored to post it–Christ, is there no mercy in the jazz histrionics of heartfelt responses? I asked you is there nothing that you are not good at?
    You prance, pout, poeticize, paint, and blow sax–hot & wild & crazy–and just like Brian, I am seduced and overwhelmed by your sensuality, loving your lines
    /to the rough pace of a tenor sax/throwing surreal shade & creep across rainwarm concrete/ knowing full well that your ersatz California girl tan lines could drive the boys wild, and throw magma white-hot kisses into the sea.

  8. I heard your music in my heart & soul as I read. SoGggoooooooooooooood! The notes in difficult 7ths lifting me off the Pacific Coast into a blue.black.star.studded sky of sound with a revelation of all who live and aspire in the universe. You wail a fabulous poem, my dear friend.

  9. Jazz has No legs//No hands,
    it is Mouth&Tongue&Lips that close now
    carefully
    around this space where all my pools meet– pre
    size moves, tongue searches its way,
    & drizzle on my cheeks,

    I LOVE that stanza, Claudia!

  10. Wow! This absolutely sizzles!

    I, too, enjoyed this:
    “Jazz has No legs//No hands,
    it is Mouth&Tongue&Lips that close now
    carefully
    around this space where all my pools meet”

  11. This is really deep poetry written by one who understands the intricacies of music, for how can one play jazz if they don’t understand music first,impossible !!
    and by the way Shadow of Your Smile has one of my all time favorite melodies !!
    Outstanding poem, just to say again, I am so impressed how consistently excellent your poetry is !!!

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