Poems by J.P. Farrell from the publication Songs From The Icicle Asylum
A short history of Glen Cove, L.I. Abstract Art Alone
Black and Tan Fantasy Ferlinghetti at the bar Friday Night Autobiography
Black and Tan Fantasy Ferlinghetti at the bar Friday Night Autobiography
Jazz Manhatta (J.P. Farrell)
Native Saint of Melancholy
I have made the pilgrimage:
Jazz Manhatta.
Over countless steel miles
of Long Island Railroad tracks
leading me into lethargic premonitions
of the Jewish Vulture Magic.
On the cement platforms
of Attica
or Alcatraz
I hear the voice:
Electric Coltrane
singing across the stars
and onto the oceans of the moon.
Transistors, undulating,
confessing creation
in nightmares.
On fire
flames beautiful
shouting from his mouth
In a triplet passion.
Father,
don't let us fall like soundtrack verses
of the lunatic dreams walking
into temptation.
Electric Coltrane,
salvation broadcast from shadows
into my heart.
Art escaping into the Monet colors
of the night sky
over Jazz Manhatta.
Standing before the pulpit,
unplugged from memories
and fleeting Bebop.
The bar, raised,
now broken-
Fading away into the stratosphere
and only a sad sermon remaining
on the pulpit,
Jazz Manhatta,
Bebop Gospel Message
from the lips of Electric Coltrane.
Copyright © 2009 by Atonal Press.
I have made the pilgrimage:
Jazz Manhatta.
Over countless steel miles
of Long Island Railroad tracks
leading me into lethargic premonitions
of the Jewish Vulture Magic.
On the cement platforms
of Attica
or Alcatraz
I hear the voice:
Electric Coltrane
singing across the stars
and onto the oceans of the moon.
Transistors, undulating,
confessing creation
in nightmares.
On fire
flames beautiful
shouting from his mouth
In a triplet passion.
Father,
don't let us fall like soundtrack verses
of the lunatic dreams walking
into temptation.
Electric Coltrane,
salvation broadcast from shadows
into my heart.
Art escaping into the Monet colors
of the night sky
over Jazz Manhatta.
Standing before the pulpit,
unplugged from memories
and fleeting Bebop.
The bar, raised,
now broken-
Fading away into the stratosphere
and only a sad sermon remaining
on the pulpit,
Jazz Manhatta,
Bebop Gospel Message
from the lips of Electric Coltrane.
Copyright © 2009 by Atonal Press.
Here Where Coltrane Is (Michael S. Harper)
Soul and race are private dominions,memories and modalsongs,
a tenor blossoming,which would paint sufferinga clear color
but is not in this Victorian housewithout oil in zero degreeweather and a forty-mile-an-hour wind;
it is all a well-knit family:a love supreme.
Oak leaves pile up on walkwayand 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 plasticunder 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.
Michael S. Harper, “Here Where Coltrane Is” from Songlines in Michaeltree: New and Collected Poems.
Copyright © 2000 by Michael S. Harper.
a tenor blossoming,which would paint sufferinga clear color
but is not in this Victorian housewithout oil in zero degreeweather and a forty-mile-an-hour wind;
it is all a well-knit family:a love supreme.
Oak leaves pile up on walkwayand 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 plasticunder 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
Michael S. Harper, “Here Where Coltrane Is” from Songlines in Michaeltree: New and Collected Poems.
Copyright © 2000 by Michael S. Harper.
