Monk

American Jazz pianist and composer Thelonious Monk

 

I am jazz

I am blues

I am the 88 ivories
of beauty and sorrow

I play at the light’s edge
that pools in the night
in a joint on the bleak streets
of the sad brokenhearted

I play to the anguish
of the loveless who cower
in the dark nightmare alleys
of the lost and forgotten

I play to the grief
of the sinners who moan
alone in their heartbreak
in the ruins of love

I play to the horror
that encircles the planet
flogged raw by despair
in the shadow of plague

I play to the celebration
when the impossible falls
to the bold who succeeded
striving against odds & logic

I am the madman
sometimes the sideman
in the dark beautiful chaos
and in joy’s blue sky

I am jazz
I am blues
I am — that music

cool as a bone
playin’ it hot
hurtin’ alone

*
rob kistner © 2022

Poetry at: The Sunday Muse

Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers

Poetry at: earthweal

 




26 thoughts on “Monk”

    1. Thank you Carrie. Essentially gently revised stream of consciousness, with a light pruning of the extemporaneously opaque. The inspiration was augmented by a perusing of multiple Monk improvisations, including his anchored compositions like the one I posted as companion.

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  2. Rob, you worked hard on this and I liked it. I am not super warm on jazz although I did like “The Jazz Player” (sp??) movie. Lots of ‘I am’s’, my fave would be “I am a blister-hot 45 on the barroom slat-floor in a puddle . . . ” That’s although we don’t allow firearms in the bars here in Texas. Most in on the late closing specials do carry though, for protection, shooting back. We have several shooting deaths every weekend now here in the Houston area. Carrying is ok, hidden or open or in holsters, no permits required.
    ..

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    1. Thank you Jim! In an ideal world, there would be no guns — therefore,

      “shooting. Unfortunately, this is far from an ideal world. I haven’t picked up a gun since I turned my M16 in when I was discharged after 3 years of Army Reserve Officer Training. Thank god the lottery exempted me on 12/1/1969, just prior to my signing my final papers — because after my graduation from University of Dayton, I would have ended up a “shavetail 2nd Louie” in Nam, who were almost as likely to be fragged by their own men, as killed by the enemy. Strange war, strange times.

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  6. Rob you illuminate an aching truth about jazz and blues musicians. They soothe everyone else’s hard knocks — but suffer their own alone. Such a poignant write. You know your music and your musicians. Wonderful details of that smoky world where:
    “I play at the light’s edge
    that pools in the night
    in a joint on the bleak streets
    of the sad brokenhearted”

    Reply

    1. Thank you! Yes Lisa, my type are a vagabond/minstral/gypsy type, have been for centuries, as is the essence of the calling. That essence is always manifest relative to the times. It is a lonely choice, simply in the fact that the choice is separatist in nature. It is a choice to stand apart, and choose to express your truth on the stage, in the “limelight” if you will. It is not a consideration of superiority, it is one of “no other choice”. But there is a deliverance and joy in the nature of the act that can only be found and understood, in the reality of the sustained human energy, that we come to be privileged to enjoy. It’s that connection of spirits, being directed at the one — no matter how large or how long sustained it is, that connection is real and tangible. To play/sing your truth to even one other, and have it be received and accepted — is utterly spiritual. To those of us, in such open search for and need of it, it is absolutely addictive. I have been cold turkey for a number of years now, but I grab every chance I get to feel the “link-up”. I find a form of it writing and reading my poetry. Having Ken read one of my pieces last Thursday, and to do it so genuinely, in the presence of others, was semi euphoric. That stoked my songwriter/poet jones. Folk like me are always craving that fix. As a songwriter, musician, singer, and performer — my urges are incredibly strong. If it weren’t for significantly declining health. I would find a way to still be on stage. Make no mistake! 🙂 extra frustrating is that, while my arthritis would prevent me from being a precussionist — I can still sing about 3/4 pf my range quite well, and my falsetto head range is a bit better now. Takes a little longer to warm up, but I can still ger there at 75.

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    1. Thank you Brendan. The life essence and nuance of music and performance still lives deep and vital within me, enriched by my several decades on the stage, feeling the remarkable energy in unity of its celebration — for which I am forever most grateful.

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  10. I knew, before I read your poem … I would love it, that you would write from a place so deep inside that few of us are privileged to tap. Bravo, my Friend … bravo.

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  11. Masterfully created, I could feel the sadness in the rhythm. You have captured the very chords of jazz and blues. I tend to listen to blues when I am feeling blue. Talk about adding to the misery. You wrote with the pen of passion with the heart of a musician.

    Sigh…. Some days are moody like the blues.

    Reply

    1. Thank you Sara. Though I owned vinyl LP’s by both, I never heard John Coltrane live, but I heard Monk once when I was 21. He came to my hometown, Cincinnati Ohio, to play the Ohio Valley Jazz Festival, at the Cincinnati Reds baseball field, Crosley Field. He had his quartet with him. It was absolutely amazing. Theolonious died the day before my 35th birthday.

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