(Don Ellis. Photo courtesy of discogs.com)
Don (Ellis)
More than any other
trumpeter apart from Miles
Don Ellis took me from
the Mound lands
Of Illinois-Missouri
to the bowels of Bed-Sty
Manhattan (another artery) where
Architects who build doorless porticos
that speak livery and later die on a tail
along the Hudson River Parkway
Design their mecca with no soul
brothers; more than a Juliard or Cage
seated but unmoving at the keys
Ellis showed my inner mirror
was not a white woman in knee
boots but the Triborough Bridge
Who never returned my calls
because I forgot my high school
Spanish. Harlem and East
like Mississippi speak embochure
from Granite City to New Orleans
and crypto stooge
The drugs the action dear sir is not
on a boat come in from France or within
a maquilador-made sedan but along
avenues of goods we can't afford.
-Jeremy Nathan Marks
This is a wonderful poem, Jeremy. It brings the whole world of jazz and so many related topics alive for me.
Enjoyed the imagery in your post