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Digging Duke's Solitude
By Rudolph Lewis
in our solitude
there are holy circles—our songs
& tales
humor
& hoodoo—they
haunt us
We sit &
stare wars everywhere
knowing the world will soon go
mad
We pray to our Great
Composer
to send his Spirit back to
us
in our solitude
Blues sweet & hot
west end rhythms, timeless
shuh wop, shuh wop—shuh
wop
with burnt-faced
dancers, flying—sweating.
Spirituals flooding memories that
never die
like stewed chicken
feet, steaming
We tunneling—boring up from
dark wombs
we keep on jamming jamming
in
our solitude
Satin dolls—loose & light, sparkling
indigo before sunrise
media flashing,
angling, cameras
slashing
We dreaming outstretch arms
as some escape on Duke's
A-Train
Superstars smacking
veins—soul-wrecked
bloodthirsty as stalin
& sudan
drained of sacred
dramas
We toss
ashes upon righteous
ground
Miles & Mahalia
clapping marching
like faithful soldiers dying with
the Lord
Down with our ancestors, Duke swings
on
in “Diminuendo & Crescendo in Blue”—
Paul Gonzalves' saxblowing . . .
screaming screaming
We clapping stamping—dust
rising
in
his solitude
Mingus
remains on stage defiant of bomb threats,
declares,
“If I’m going to die, I’m ready.
But I’m
going out playing ‘Sophisticated Lady'."
in
his solitude
the mystified crowd,
listening
to Mingus inside
his performance becoming
hotter and hotter
beyond the opened doors, the Duke is smiling.
in our solitude.
posted 3 July 2004
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