A Symphony Orchestra

Baroque and chamber.

Strings with lush chordal tones.

Brass and woodwinds interject.

Conducted in four.

Tuba’s and bass play low.

Harpist plays a glissando.

The finale starts.

The orchestra crescendos.

Reverberating last note.

-Stephen Edwards

Explication:

A three stanza tanka written by me. It is describing an orchestra, and the music played by the orchestra. I put in a bit of sound imagery to make it appeal to the senses and imagination more.

Houses of Jazz

The Village Vanguard.

Birdland and Small’s club.

The legends played there. 

-Stephen Edwards

Explication:

This poem is a single stanza haiku about famous New York jazz clubs of past and present. Once again the single stanza was enough to describe what needed to be described.

Paul Chambers

With Miles and Trane.

His presence was essential.

Both with his bow or fingers.

-Stephen Edwards

Explication:

A tanka about Paul Chambers the jazz bassist written by me. I found that the single stanza was enough to describe what he did, what notable jazz musicians he played with, and what instrument he played.

Tenor Saxophone

Warm or bright, not harsh.

Chromatically placed keys.

For jazz men past and present.

Essential to jazz.

On occasion for others.

So many icons played it.

Dexter, Sonny, Trane.

Lester and Webster before.

Guiding their musical voice.

-Stephen Edwards

Explication:

This is a three stanza tanka written by me. It is another tribute to the jazz greats of the 20th century, specifically the tenor saxophonists.

The Eccentric, The Old Dog, and The Deity

Mingus on bass keeps the spontaneity.

The Duke on the keys sticks with the idioms.

Max Roach on drums, he is a deity.

The club is noisy, with the sounds of drinks and voices.

In a place called Birdland music’s always swinging.

Old Mingus introduces the band and gives the crowd their choices.

They must stay quiet, no chatting or glasses tingling.

The musicians play throughout the night,

The crowd can’t help but love it.

These three great jazz men are gone now,

But new jazz men claim the spotlight.

- Stephen Edwards

Explication:

This is a free verse poem written by me to honour the jazz musicians of the 1950's and 1960's. It describes three specific musicians and one specific jazz club, but it really honours all jazz and musical innovators, without whom modern music would not be what it is.

Here Where Coltrane Is by Michael S. Harper

Here Where Coltrane Is

BY MICHAEL S. HARPER

Soul and race

are private dominions,   

memories and modal

songs, a tenor blossoming,

which would paint suffering   

a clear color but is not in   

this Victorian house

without oil in zero degree

weather and a forty-mile-an-hour wind;

it is all a well-knit family:   

a love supreme.

Oak leaves pile up on walkway

and steps, catholic as apples

in a special mist of clear white   

children who love my children.   

I play “Alabama”

on a warped record player

skipping the scratches

on your faces over the fibrous   

conical hairs of plastic

under the wooden floors.

Dreaming on a train from New York   

to Philly, you hand out six

notes which become an anthem

to our memories of you:

oak, birch, maple,

apple, cocoa, rubber.

For this reason Martin is dead;

for this reason Malcolm is dead;

for this reason Coltrane is dead;

in the eyes of my first son are the browns   

of these men and their music.

Explication:

This is a cycle of life poem about John Coltrane, his life and death. There are many allusions to John Coltrane's albums and songs.

Autumn Shade By Edgar Bowers

Autumn Shade (Excerpt)

BY EDGAR BOWERS

Nights grow colder. The Hunter and the Bear

Follow their tranquil course outside my window.

I feel the gentian waiting in the wood,

Blossoms waxy and blue, and blue-green stems

Of the amaryllis waiting in the garden.

I know, as though I waited what they wait,

The cold that fastens ice about the root,

A heavenly form, the same in all its changes,

Inimitable, terrible, and still,

And beautiful as frost. Fire warms my room.

Its light declares my books and pictures. Gently,

A dead soprano sings Mozart and Bach.

I drink bourbon, then go to bed, and sleep

In the Promethean heat of summer’s essence.

Explication:

This is an excerpt from a blank verse poem about autumn and music by Edgar Bowers. How calming music can help on an autumn evening.