The sound of Los Jaivas is the sound of Chile , you listen and feel the music reach in. Gabriel Parra the drummer was sadly killed in a crash and the role went to his daughter Juanita Parra
Tag Archives: jazz
fictive beat
W/O/M/A/N
gone into abstraction
gitane smoke before the rain,
cello case velvet interior
soft and firm
W/O/M/A/N
breasts and silk once seen on canvas
could not concede to his kisses
or arch of bow
he had to wander
W/O/M/A/N
no more companion
than those strings he manipulated
with fingers callused,
she will not tremor
W/O/M/A/N
as absent as the background
waiting for a taxi,
rain effective conduit
to her misery,
he sheltered the cello
with umbrella
heading to a jazz club
W/O/M/A/N
is the beat
is the tender thrum,
a cello’s true heart
and poets calling,
absinthe and kisses
parted stocking thighs
he had found another
W/O/M/A/N
Musician in the Rain by Robert Doisneau
Kerouac The Movie (King of Beats) (1986)
John Antonelli’s documentary gives a slice of Kerouacs life from the early days to the publication of On The Road, it shows through comments how willing he was to suffer for his art as many writers and for that matter artists do
Off The Perfumed Saddle
piano keys washed in honey [ woman bathing in time ]
sexualist extreme ,
broken straw bed
assembled ingredients of a virgins reflection
desire/slutton/erogenous/ unforgiving
bitter fingers play [woman dried on flowers flesh]
hungering absolute yet no permanence
jazz expelled drum beat symphony
tatoo/dollars /benign/fragile
[woman forgotten in memories light]
supple sinewy ghosts on sunset go
a raw experiment for @dVersePoets 55 prompt
war in polystyrene
cockroach in the jazz room
sat on singers shoe
fed on golden olives
from bough hooked low,
ladybirds in 40D brassieres
cut back on the needles
stuck in their eye,
seven spots
notational dots as a code
to the twelve gauge hunter
who stalked them so,
cockroach had breathed
a stallions breath
and knew of a great stratagem,
lead hunter as prey
clarinet bullets penetrate his loins
with a chakka chakka chakka,
40D brassieres strung over light
wings spread
translucent shimmer of paradise,
cockroach touches
with hissing leg,
hunters body spread as sacrifice,
thrum of the drums
there are other monsters/ dragons/pain
drapery gone
meat on the anvil
clogged with anxiety and lust
chakka chakka chakkka,
cockroach fragments
a bed of panties and brassieres
become his resting place
ballad of a stripper and a bookkeeper
he shot a hobo
alas a hobo
my lover shot a hobo
it was love , so love
i was the most insane stripper
lost on a winters eve
he was a bookkeeper with a gun
we wanted to run together
passion and breast in flames
he tried so much to please
with bunched up bloody nose
another fight over me
he started to kill
for pleasure that winters eve
police would call
and i would deny
through a packards windshield
his face a policeman saw
once run down
no going back
mexico and jazz
we where on the run
but my passion waned
with his bloodstained hands
and made a call
to a deputy
our villa surrounded
he felt betrayed
as to the chair
he fried
my lover alas my lover
who shot a hobo
and broke my heart
dVersePoets
concatenation
ethno totems
to sky conspire
landscape doors and views
memory an artifact
to a city bar,
snowprints on sidewalk
snowscape lean and pale
collect and exist
what love brings tangible
native ambiance
settled and answered
bring your dances
and embraces
bleak satirical cold
twisted with lime in gin
amid saxophones and guitars
as red flamed resonance,
word labels on her cheeks
written and said
walk out of the snow
into the light
sins well washed with winter rain
glass bowl sun
will rise with the headlines
that make no sense,
the night as always
long with relief,
closing eyes
alaska seemed much closer
Wolfgang Paalen
Fata Alaska (1937)
interior of the narrative
with powdered paint and eye
and quenchless burning soul
deeper dark star fury
takes up the hurrying wind,
purity lost beneath the moon
misty champagne breath
keeps the flow
and warm ones eyes,
flash and hold,
adore me now or die
happy rays
reach sinew and bone,
beguiled so beguiled
by brighter grasp of desire,
fire and malice
forge the steel that cuts
the bonds of spanked behind
erotocise the far out stars
roses wanted only for the kiss,
hey harmony sing and
conceal wine impassioned veins,
sing one more time
the glory and the gem
of our dark hearts,
brutal tug of hair
claimed on oceans shore,
love an orphan of friendship
ceaseless and perverse,
liberty burnt over ashes
in her thrall i am
beat beat beat,
the frenzied imps of fire
in desperate crouch
of soul
i remain
@dVersePoets
Jack Kerouac – American Haikus
regions of desertion
ashfoot, ashfoot
under moonball capsules of starlight
take two tubes of the sea
and with hipster tone,
squeeze upon my subterranean pinnacle
handcuffed to a midnight train
brakeman with burning lantern
punched me to nothing more,
take two more boxes to burn
smoke and steam
play it cool
sinister strapped luggage fell
to which i became lashed
tunnel -bone condemnation
under white haired
fawns feet
voices from regions unknown
lifted me away
to churches with horns
and fed capsules of better things
hopping away the vision
pierced bone
i was no longer
the bum
with sorry leg
dada at dVerse poets an interesting cut up as i used Gregory Corso In the Tunnel Bone of Cambridge which is below
IN THE TUNNEL-BONE OF CAMBRIDGE
1
In spite of voices-
Cambridge and all its regions
Its horned churches with fawns’ feet
Its white-haired young
and ashfoot legions-
I decided to spend the night
But that hipster-tone of my vision agent
Decided to reconcile his sound with the sea leaving me flat
North of the Charles
So now I’m stuck here-—
a subterranean
lashed to a pinnacle
2
I don’t know the better things that people know
All I know is the deserter condemned me to black-
He said: Gregory, here’s two boxes of night one tube of moon
And twenty capsules of starlight, go an’ have a ball-
He left and the creep took all my Gerry Mulligan records with him
3
But he didn’t cut out right then
I saw him hopping
On Brattle street today-
he’s got a bum leg
on his way to the tunnel-bone
He made like he didn’t see me
He was trying to play it cool
4
Wild in the station-bone
Strapped in a luggage vision-bone
made sinister by old lessons of motion
The time-tablebone said: Black
Handcuffed to a minister
Released in a padded diesel
The brakeman punched my back: Destination, black
Out the window I could see my vision agent
hopping along the platform
swinging a burning-lantern-bone like mad
All aboard, he laughed, all aboard
Far into the tunnel-bone I put my ear to the ear
of the minister–and I could hear
the steel say to the steam
and the steam to the roar: a black ahead
A black ahead a black and nothing more.
velvetmedia 