In heaven, I dig Afro Blue
(To Jonathan Blake)
A.J. Juarez
On the way to work I listen to the radio.
Searching for something good,
I stumbled onto a jazz station.... and
Miles Davis' Sketches of Spain, pour out as
Robust echoes of Roma music released
Through magical fingering putting just the right pressure on the trumpet's valves.
These notes decant through the radio,
Becoming clairvoyant investigators of the grove they create
Because in the ordinary acts of our machine drenched world-
Like listening to the radio on the way to work; we can find the miraculous
in the melody
Or the beat or that gorgeous riff we just heard
just like miles laid it.
there are other possibilities, other beauty bound, samples,
Maybe Jazz touches a
Maybe a pissed off boy invested the scars of race and class that
Continue to wound us. Maybe he
he discovered Dexter Gordon's cool sax, Or Sun a magical cacophony,
or the feet moving, heart thumping vulgarity of the Louis Jordan's songbook
While
Listening to Jonathan Blake's Jazz show on
On WCUW Radio.
Maybe it works that way,
that magic,
that human vibe that shakes things.
The station I am listening to could be the Emerson College station-
It could be B.U.
I am stuck in traffic and want to be here forever.
Getting to work can wait- I am in heaven.
Maybe they will play some Earl Garner or
Lady Day, or better yet, get esoteric and play
Some Mongo Santa Maria: I dig Afro Blue.
Searching for something good,
I stumbled onto a jazz station.... and
Miles Davis' Sketches of Spain, pour out as
Robust echoes of Roma music released
Through magical fingering putting just the right pressure on the trumpet's valves.
These notes decant through the radio,
Becoming clairvoyant investigators of the grove they create
Because in the ordinary acts of our machine drenched world-
Like listening to the radio on the way to work; we can find the miraculous
in the melody
Or the beat or that gorgeous riff we just heard
just like miles laid it.
there are other possibilities, other beauty bound, samples,
Maybe Jazz touches a
Maybe a pissed off boy invested the scars of race and class that
Continue to wound us. Maybe he
he discovered Dexter Gordon's cool sax, Or Sun a magical cacophony,
or the feet moving, heart thumping vulgarity of the Louis Jordan's songbook
While
Listening to Jonathan Blake's Jazz show on
On WCUW Radio.
Maybe it works that way,
that magic,
that human vibe that shakes things.
The station I am listening to could be the Emerson College station-
It could be B.U.
I am stuck in traffic and want to be here forever.
Getting to work can wait- I am in heaven.
Maybe they will play some Earl Garner or
Lady Day, or better yet, get esoteric and play
Some Mongo Santa Maria: I dig Afro Blue.