Wrote this immediately after seeing a documentary on the inscrutable, charismatic jazz pianist Lennie Tristano. It took less than an hour – (the poem not the documentary). I MUST have been inspired!
Arlene
A Big Pile of Junk 🎼🎹🎷🎸etc.
Tristano said, let thought come through
Your all ten fingers;
(Or whatever number you must use
To play the blues
Or any tune).
How high The Moon or Gershwin’s Soon…
Your thought a boon
If it’s spontaneous, impromptu.
Corwin says the same thing too.
Not filled with an emotive ardor
But the charter of the instinct
And the intuition.
Be as one.
Let musicianship
Take lead, and lead your music
To your still unripe;
No comic gimmick or alchemic hype.
Your hippest self will be your type,
Reveal all your inner hope and razzmatazz.
We’ll call it jazz
Because
That is what a true jazz is.
Tristano
Called his own piano
Nothing but ‘a pile of junk’
To be transformed by Monk
Or anyone whose inmost mind
Uses the utmost energy to find
That inner passion,
Do what’s bidden, always hidden
In the inner sanctum of the shrine
We’ll call your talent.
A Big Pile Of Junk 1.22.2019 Vaguely About Music II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Arlene Corwin Poetry 