poem: rushmore cat
Pops blowing his chops at
The Colored Waif's Home
for Boys, the pastoral
poetry of racism,
fireworks in his mouth
& his horn,
blowing hots
by the number,
Bolden by the wayside
Oliver in Chi-town
summoning the new
King, Bessie's
new mule wagon,
splaying the beat
out for barbecue,
butterbeans,
& sop, this chessman
angered by none other
than the need to blow
home, blow harm,
blow past the
snickering attempts
to carve him
a different Rushmore:
Cat was subversive
to his dying day,
all 9 of them
& counting.
Labels: paean
posted by murat11 at 4:30 PM
6 Comments:
sent me to wikipedia repeatedly :) I had no idea - what an interesting group of people. Louis Armstrong - awesome! I ended up stuck at the end though - dying day - all 9 of them? Stumped!
Dee: Read about another LA bio in an old New Yorker. Coming Through Slaughter, one of my favorite novels, is by Michael Ondaatje (The English Patient fame) and about early New Orleans horn player Buddy Bolden.
The 9? I figured the "Cat" had at least 9 lives, hence 9 dying days.
ahhh I was being too factual. I love that he wore a star of David for the Karnofskys.
But old jazz players live on forever whenever anyone plays their tunes. Their souls come back and waft on the music whispering in the poet's ear... inspiring once more.
Dee: Sent me to the Wiki myself for that one. Good story. I've got a bio and Pops' own autobiography in the queue behind the current Trollope.
Agreed, Teresa: I think that's why "& counting" insisted on being the last line.
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