Jazz Is Classical Music & Other Poems Poems

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    Jazz

    IsClassical

    Music& Other Poems

    Larry Goodell

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    a duende get it together2014 Larry Goodell

    P O Box 571Placitas, New Mexico 87043

    [email protected]

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    Jazz

    IsClassical

    Music

    & Other Poems

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    I dont revise so I think Im doing a jazz solo in silence when Iwrite, doing that solo I could never do well when I was playingpiano jazz. But unlike a jazz person I cant perform on cue: Ican only read what I wrote when the cue came.

    this little collection is forTom Guralnick & Don McIver

    Pictures are of my 10" (well a few 12 ) lp albums many datingfrom 1952-3 when I first discovered progressive jazz and eventook lessons from a Walker Air Force Bass airman-musicianand along with Lyman Lea on tenor sax formed a combo to

    play for dances and events. At that point I thought Id be acomposer (12 tone jazz? ha!) till I faced the fact I wasnt muchgood at it and started writing poetry. Strains of the jazz lovehave always remained.

    Larry Goodell

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    Jazz Is Classical Music

    JazzassicalJassicalLassy-calcome homeJazzicalClass-A-AssicalPizzazzicalSaturday Night Live AssicalSuper sassicalenter anything that hindersGertrude Stein impossibleclassical piano in perfect notablelast supercision improbable

    lack of Englishin foreign tongues-ableI love to imitate Daddy-a-Bulla great big dropped-out-a-bull when you say the oppositeyou say the truth.Big Brother a bullBig Sister a trillan entering thru the wombthe Motherhood.Let's all get togetherand pretend we're women.We'll have the craziest Saturday Night Special

    that's never been aired.Chopin is classical as jazz.Jazz is classical as American jazz.European classical is European.American classical is super-classical.Super-classical is adrift in the rainbow.The hope of America's West as youkept populating & followed the end of the rainbowtill there was no Pot.Super Classical American is Jazz.Our holy & infant son. Our Ma Rainey.Our infinite gesture of woman in America beginning.Our one and only true jazz.

    Our birth of the aura.The hope of dream.

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    The actual playing of the piano.Our entering into eternityby way of the bass.The soprano who's actually a contraltowho sings the blues.Classical is classical.Jazz is classical.Classical jazz.Jazz that goes up intothe possible present.

    I will say anythingyou want to sing.Jazz American jazz.The open voice of the present.The forget-about-the-past.The past keeps me fromhearkening to the future.Heartening anything of improvisation.A real poet listens to jazz.Jazz will set you freeJazz will

    Jazz willthe hand ofset me free

    the hand thebody banger --

    simplygently.

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    Set me free.The jazz ofpoverty.Property.Destined city.

    Bigger than the triangleof love.Bigger than

    the TV.Jazz will

    it set me free.I did it hungover the tree of theballroom.The USOto dance

    impromptumemories.

    New Mexicanmeasurea square witha dollop.A little dripa big gush ofthe Rio Grandewhen flowing

    notthe Mississippi

    the Jazz ofthe lower rainbowlots of redsthe watermelon bloodglowing againstthe mountain

    No amount of over-populationwill keep me fromexpressing myselfJazz has swallowed upthe classics.Classical music has becomejazz.Jazz, is classical

    music.Jazz is classicalmusic.

    /16Jan85

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    Jazz Backwards

    for Tom Guralnick & Adolph Sax

    Jazz backwards is gorgeous entity

    that is the classical ass psychical cyclesbicycling through sarcophagus hollows ofvacant Christian churches looking for the lurchesoff their diving boards into the arms of Buddhawhose Darth Vader bums are mere retroflections ofDharma bums, Kerouack, Allen, Diane, AmiraAnn, Pablita, effluence a Masau, oh death disfiguredmaggot-face who knows what gives the life to lifebut death of the old and life of the young young younger:that is attractive to behold. As if I beheld anythingI tell you I saw the 'lectric energies attracting one anotherI am the pyramid of the death of death the end of transubstantiationtransforming entities into the rainbow of noise

    where quiet suddenly intervenes and there is the lowthe low sex of down in rainy streets, the walking slowdown as you finish everything and walk away thewanting nothing swinging hips as you walk the cool coolrain wanting everything slowly drenching you.Wet, wet is this soundand it is mind coming out of the cranium to encounterdarkness, oh wet death, Masau old Hopi on those Greek crossroads

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    how everything gets twisted back and forth in paradiseas if it were the life to liveyou know it everyday. Death facesAdolphe Sax, in 1840, invented guess what

    the Saxophone, a brass wind instrument witha clarinet mouthpiece. Of course his fatherthe Belgian Charles Joseph Sax with his sax-hornsonly needed his son to bring the mellow outto affix that reed to the brassand sexify sexin dark quarters that blues on bluesas the bump it with a trumpet becamesay it with a saxophone, oh Antoine Joseph, known as

    Adolph Sax

    and at night, night when the hips work with the soundand the sound is everything when

    you cant put your finger on it he doesyes he yes she doesAnd now explores, bursts through conditionstraditions of furious renditionseverything allows the finesse of the hornthe warm wet sex of the mouthpiece to saysing aliveclassical jazz is now non-European Americanwhat hurt you can't get through without aspirin

    the flow of uninterrupted muse channels befriend hera wild, wiley wail, old now narrow streetsand the bump it with a trumpet is trasheda sex-a-philea sax-aphobiaa sax-a-maturea sex a saxa sax amourlove lays lying downan unopened door opened.A woman I meanwhat is her namea woman she is there in 195556,57she is there in the sixties but mostly

    earlier, pre-electronicthey're all waiting for the cue.Cue.

    /8Feb90

    Note: in performance at the word Cue Tom Guralnick took off onan extended amazing solo tenor sax improvisation. This was in hisOutpost Performance Space in Albuquerque.

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    Cool To Be Cool

    /for TomHot iscool isswing is swell

    hot can beswellswing can behotcool can be swingor anti swingswing swellhot can be swingswing can not be too coolswing can't be cool at allbut can be swellcool can swing some& hot swing a lot

    hot can be cool-hotcool can be hot & coolor cool can be only coolcool cool coolhot only hotor hot cool hotand then swingswing hot & swell

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    it can all be everything andnot be cool butjazz is jazz as Louis said

    "Hot can be cooland cool can be hot,and each can be both.But hot or cool, manjazz is jazz."

    Swing on thatSwing on bySwing on out to cooland the cool cool coolso swellhot only hot

    swing to swellswell to cool& outJazz is asJazz does,it's coolto be cool.

    /20Dec91

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    Coolest

    Skies open their hearts to the flash continentsjazz as only jazz is, jazzrepeats nothing, introduces nothing (something?)nothing is but nothing.(something?)I found no pain in Charlie Parkers heartwhen his music lives in itself as lip heavenand birds knowing world open spring,lilt singing, crush heart improvise a larkflash around the world, continental driftvoices in cells freed. Voices unique tea.Drinks shoot up stop. Hell stop.Open surgery sugary torch, jungles burning.Forever pure original song in the seed, tongue.

    The flash of living bird living won, one, among us.

    /2001

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    Jazz Play

    Alan Seawater Sadness CenterI play the blues on the blues guitarthe blues make me blue.

    Blue as I ever was to the coreI dont like the blues.Id rather jazz play jazzTurn over listen to theimprovisation of life life eitheris or isnt.Life always is. Improvising its waythrough history.History has the bluesbut I dont.I just make up thingsand sing alongin the heart of my mindto the chords progression of the seasons.Nature is tapping her feet to the beat.In the here now.Do you listen do you accompanydo you lead?Do you make it up as you go alongalong with what youre hearing?

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    Hearing Earth

    Silence of two ears ringingin the sound in the bass in the voice inthe piano up and out mutual caressing in the air sing in basso profundo

    sing in coloratura soprano sing inMeso-America beat to the drums run rampantbeauty under the sun, beat to the moon

    as warmth of love, genetics swoon image imaginationcreate creation inspiration spontaneous suggestioncounter-levels of contrapuntal counting counterpointon edge, levels through song, to ease passion inthe human breast, the chest of miracles, the breaththe anointed of music, the calming of the artsthe moving of the pictures of rhythmthe heart of the beat the song in the singingfreeing of expression melodious instantlet hearts let love out, love & compassion

    our code of the moving art, the jazz hymnto the Earth

    love & compassion, as we eat what we art.Create what we are. Music, the cooperation ofthe soul and here we are, the music of two ears singingluminescence of the spirit, peace in the love magic of hearing Earth.

    for David Parlato, marvelous bass man, and the Musiciansat the Lunatique, May 3, 2003,Placitas.

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    Afterthought

    (Ornette Colman was the last great innovator in jazz. After that jazzbecame user-friendly, derivative, reflective of what came before . . . andsometimes still powerful and fully expressive.)

    Like I Said

    Everything is astonished paradise and the rules of law ascend.Love is at the center and waves of compassion mendthrough actions as far as they can go to all suffering.Who can be brought in, but a crack in the bell appeared in

    this island of paradiseand the outside rushed in and like a tide running out

    drew everything with it, and mingled with the world,that paradise broke down into little pieces of compassionthat grew like seeds, and like a story they grewand implanted the chaotic world with particles of loveand like a poem they recited themselves into historyand the rules of good law began to spreadlike a story you would want to hear, they told themselvesto others who took up action, until more & more were engagedlike a rhapsody of a prelude symphony quartet jazz group

    of innovative love.

    /2008

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    Boyhood

    Boyhood in two parts of townas my dad got better jobsand then another move, better:

    and then the best into local businessand even politics, a true representative.He was the epitome of that town to meeverything that I could never be there.As art poisoned the image of what I was

    brought up to beand my body couldnt hack the football image

    or the basketballor anything nothing was possible thru

    the filter of small town, isolated success.I left with aims of art and intellect

    and making things beyond those dimensions.I was bitten by the innovation bug

    from what jazz I tried to domostly faltering blunders of what I tried to playbut in my head was Brubeck, Stravinsky, *the dawn of abstract expressionism from

    afarand little did I know my keeping a journalmight jump off into writing about my latest herosthe giant artists and creative intellects that

    filled the stars of my sky.And words, solipsistically obsessed with myselfcould be my buddies and be an outlet for everything.So far from small town unity, society,

    interrelated energies of everything in its place.I discovered true isolation, the misery ofloneliness and writing.

    What happened to the plains that never endedexcept where a distant mountain began?I left them and discovered the mountain of poetrythe landscape of poets and artists and gardens

    of the spirit which never ends.

    *Getz, Shearing, Stan KentonJerry Mulligan, Shorty Rogers, Bartok, Shoenberg

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    Do You Hear It Now

    Even poetry must communicateas the ups meet the downsand the fires of revisionburn up inspiration,the schools abuse each otherand play games with the Museuntil she leaves boredby all the camps and cliques:she teaches each one must say itas it is saidbut the deaf ears are only outnumberedby the tin ears,

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    and her jazz riff which is her ruseis lost in the cubicles ofacademic hypostacy,as if anyone cared what musicwas the origin of things

    what ears really heardthe voicing of her constant riff,her take on things as she comes nearrarely, usuallybut bent egos are confined to their

    own hearingas they beat words together whether

    they fit or notand her singing subtle voiceends up in the most unlikely ears,do you hear it nowthat turn of phrasethat reveals the unexpected

    in the most economical way.

    /2012

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    1995 long poem fromBeyond TV

    I Love You Truly Times

    What I did was lift the chairs off my heartthe diggle-dee-daggle-ee off my harp,the hope that hearing well heals, just

    listening, no bag on chin or nose or eyes or thumball bags lifted in the world thats not dumb,and a harp I play strumming the harp in my pianowaltzing thru Christian heaven & out againa hopscotch waltz a toboggan-screaming trotI mean race, I am not mean I mean trace yourheart to the harp, the hope, thewished-for wealthy thingthe note played tender

    I touch your hand (sing Tenderly)with a bandtheres not one cord

    on the standwe play acousticwhen play we mustto make the bucksoffStardust.

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    Lyrics lift my hoping soul to sappy ballad heaven.I go back to 40's early 50'swhen a teenage face was favoredin all the hopes of

    American land.We did not kiss butwho would understand!

    Im your Tree in the Meadowready to be shaken freeby rock & roll

    but Ipreferredconsidering what came after,the steady drunken under the pianodisasterof thoseI Love You Trulytimes.

    Times that chime witha nickel & a dime.When we were so modern towear a thin brown velvet tie& Mr. B shirtwith collars that flared out& single button sky blue suitpadded shoulderstapered trouser legscool zuit-suit jazzopened all kinds of eyes around the countryin deep dark holes of the nightstaying up to listenwhats in Chicago, Blue Note, Birdlandthat new bandbrought us out of the balladsthe drippy foxtrots thatwere nevertheless hopeful andin a major key, free ofcontemporary death threats now.

    Nothings better, and yet thats a lie.It was better not to dieso easily

    & why?

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    Jazz preceded & outlasts rock & rollsome saywith their hearts in upbeat landdownbeat positive staccatowith a radical thrown in.

    I take my Vitamin C andcod liver oil in milkas 60 turns me aroundto think when violence wasnt in the airor even much of a wordexcept for rumbles in New Yorkand a few gangs in LApurse-snatching.

    Catch anything you can nowthey say character doesnt countthey say they say they sayintegrity is old hat old potatoes,everything is rotten

    and with that I leave youin any mess I canbeing such a bad, bad guy.I leave you to clean upafter yourselfas I am alwayswilling to do

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    to keep up the dayin a waythat staysclearclear as day

    with nothing, nothingto haze it upnothing in the waybetween me and the dayno artificial connectionsan acoustic high that is not high but isit, iswhat it is & was,unencumbered and eternalunless you drop from itconnected onto hearingseeing the whole day

    truetruly belovd,rub my eyelidswake up in the middle of the nightto perusewhere have I beenslight& rightall alongperhapsa weesong.

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    Loveis not an emotion?

    but a conditionthey say they

    tell meI love youhits

    the psychologistout of the blue

    betweenthe eyes,will doconditionallyperpetuatinglyperpetuatinggood cornersfor hardnose

    hard linershard headers,dopers who cant thinkbeyond the daywho have no hopesJustgo away.

    Im here to shake your handsout of itin a circleday after working day.Love becomes an emotionwith the newest notion.We see eye to eyewhen theres onlyyou & Iand no abuse, nothing abusedjust the scary presentwhich is the future today:

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    what I did was liftthe chairs off my heart,set them down for youto play the earthly harp

    as if we could,

    someonethere in the crowdcanand thats the jazz that heals the hearingagain.

    Im a health-hazardin a poisonous landand so are you healthy tooDrugs are the padlock on the exit doorsomeone in the crowd saidWe dont know where the center of the universe issomeone who knew it said.

    Oxygen was formedby massive starsexplodingcasting the elementinto the Milky Way,someone knew to say itode to a gone catthe Chinese philosopher unconscious.

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    Unconscious say

    do as thou doupside down or right side upwhether grownor a pup,

    homicide increased 3 Xs whenthere is a gun in the house& suicide

    5 Xs whenthere is a gun,a gun isto shootyou, medownwithwilling to tear downbut does nothing to buildup

    back into the dreamcarbohydrates from the nectar& protein from the pollenI be you beeas I watch youwaspdrying out from a lifeinto life of old song inmajor key hope

    Its better to limp in the right directionthan run in the wrong direction.

    What you will suppressyou will oppress.

    What we dont revealcant heal.

    For the perfectly healthythe healthy is perfectbut I am always lackingexcept what I cant control:that is my strengthwhat I cant controlknowing my wits are about meand not thrown off some placenot a plinus or a mus

    but a definite yes.

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    I see through you clearlyuntil you drop the haze, the pretend-knowing-it-alland see through me clearlyYou give even more than you receivethats what love is about

    Jeanne Moreau sayswho has a house of all her loversin her mind we are as clearas the day gone wild.

    I love you truly timesthey are toughbut not tough enoughto turn me to crimethat isI cookwe eat

    we arepolite

    unless youcome in from the nightwith all your fright

    we are stillfor you to bounce off better from.I am not on the run.I ama native son,the oneI know bestin the sun.Strengthrubsoff.

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    Im so happyI could beas sad asI want to be.All musicis singingshe saidand the great big nothingwent away.

    Hellohello

    hellowhen greedhas goneberserk.

    They are doing theirdevouring thing.I dont eat muchand do a back exercising yoga

    that verges on the curefor the miraculous:it returns meto the ordinary day& Tai Chi to toss off devils& a run around with a happy-go-lucky doginto winter

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    all you need for happinessis a good bowl of soup& the freedom to singto sing I mustclear.TrustworthyI give you my wordmy words are as good asgood can be.You cant see through thembut you can deal with them,within the confines of my ownlack of strengthis the power to singyour heart outin pleasurable thingsyou mean.

    Seen isseeing

    seeing isto see.

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    Dream big &dare to fail.Youre not making art unlessyour purpose is art.

    Which means you aresurprisedsincerity does not alwaysequal the truthbut as I recallthis is the shape of doing somethingfor someone elsewhen they may never knowit was done

    by youor such a oneyour character

    cracks

    with a laughto the benefitof yourself.You haveto live withthe restof your life.

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    Doing good without beinga do-gooderbuilds your characterand the world,the bit of the world in this

    tiny corner,builds it better.

    Use butter in biscochitosand crushed anise:cookingis sharing.Giving

    isgiven back,giving isthe giving backwithout

    the giving back:radicals in natureoxygenate the systems,thanks to the explosionof massive starswe can breatheuncloudedunencumbered

    that is:a breath of fresh air.

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    Are you still aroundto remind yourselfor do somethingsome exercise

    somethingto remind yourselfwhat you are breathing.

    You need to bereminded to live, to beperceptiveto honor moreyour own presencein the knowing of what there isto see, hear, be on top ofin thinkingwhy not know all

    you canat any given time?Why not be breathing

    it in?The first breath in as a babythe last breath out when you die

    oneclearbreathinbetweenthoseI love you trulytimes.

    They will not dieas longas theyarealive.

    Alive

    and

    well.

    /17Nov95 in the early early morning

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    Goodell: I graduated from high school in 1953. I had written andproduced a musical in Roswellmy mother taught me how to play piano,and I took piano and tap-dancing for years. I was in chorus and band. Iplayed the drums and clarinet. I got interested in jazz; we had the old teninch records of Kenton, George Shearing, Stan Getz, Lee Konitz, ShortyRogers, Sonny Stitt, Dave Brubeck, Miles Davis.

    Tritica: You had access to those in Roswell?

    Goodell: Oh yeah. A friend of mine was a sax player and I played the piano;we had a drummer, and then wed get another player and play for thedances. But we really liked to play jazz. Walker Air Force Base was stillgoing and there were Air Force guys into jazz. On the AM radio at nightyou could pick up live performances from Birdland in New York, Brubeck,for instance, and the Palladium in LA, Kenton. We had records. Welistened and practiced. Thats how we rebelled. Everybody else wore Levisand were into sappy pop or western music; we wore dress pants and lovedjazz. We went to El Paso and bought a Mr. B dress shirt, and a narrow

    brown velveteen tie and a kind of blue Zoot Suit to wear at gigs. So when Iarrived at USC, I was going to say, I had written this jazz musical, calledClub Progressions, which we produced for a high school assembly. Also atthe time I got interested in Stravinsky and Schoenberg and Berg andWebern.

    from an interview conducted by Bruce Holsapple and John Triticahttp://bit.ly/1wDsCzw

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    http://bit.ly/1wDsCzwhttp://bit.ly/1wDsCzwhttp://bit.ly/1wDsCzw
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    Me, Lyman Lea, and Sal Gonzales . . . Jazz TrioRoswell, New Mexico, 1953 when we were in High School

    and thought we might get a summer gig . . .

    A bit later in L.A.

    I went to a lot of jazz events, Shorty Rogers and His Giants, DaveBrubeck, Chet Baker. There were a lot of things going on in the late 1950sin Los Angelesyou could hear Gerry Mulligans Quartet [on the jukebox]right there in the Drive Ins! I came from a place where no one wasinterested in jazz, so. I went to the Hague and other clubs.

    from the same Interview.

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    a duende get it together

    Larry Goodell P O Box 571Placitas, New Mexico 87043

    [email protected]

    mailto:[email protected]:[email protected]:[email protected]
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    Poems Included

    Jazz Is Classical MusicJazz BackwardsCool To Be CoolCoolest

    Jazz PlayHearing EarthLike I SaidBoyhoodDo You Hear It NowI Love You Truly Times

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    Jazz

    IsClassical

    Music& Other Poems