Finding Standards
(an extension of “I’m Never Sure”)
Prior to this poem
Written to the poet/reader.
I thought, in fact,
The leader of the pack
May be the art of music.
Poetry a form read rarely,
Melody here, everywhere
And squarely in the senses.
If it’s hard to judge the quality
Of poetry,
How hard it must be
To judge music?
Genres are labile and fickle;
But the faithful stick to one, life through.
‘Elvis lives’ to those of seven- eight- and ninety-two.
As for my life’s taste born when big bands were ‘the big It’
I grew to be a jazz pianist singer.
When it was oh so hip to be so hip!.
Passing by me, hiphop, rap,
Sapping energies tp spare..
I, the cool, jazz improviser.
Gave me Lambert, Hendricks, Ross,
Corea, Brubeck, Jarrett, Getz.
Trumpet, sax, vibes, drums and bass.
Virtuosity that’s boss.
Are standards fixed?
Not, no, and nix!
They’re what each generation gets
And falls in love with.
As in politics and history.
No generation knows or cares
What came before:
(Hitler, Mussolini, wars)
Except the few aware
That rage and passion,
Phase and fashion
Come and go.
Finding Standards 8.3.2020 Our Times, Our Culture II; Circling Round Experience; Vaguely About Music II;Arlene Nover Corwin;
Arlene Corwin Poetry 