Looking for a picture, I came across this. It's too good not to share. Some here will get this. I offer my sympathies to those that don't.
Don't say goodbye to the Porkpie Hat Mingus, Bird, Prez, Langston, and them By Larry Neal
Don't say goodbye to the Porkpie Hat
that rolled along on padded shoulders
that swang bebop phrases
in Minton's jelly roll dreams
Don't say goodbye to hip hats tilted in the style of a soulful
era;
the Porkpie Hat that Lester dug
swirling in the sound of sax blown suns
phrase on phrase, repeating bluely
tripping in an under crashing
hi-hat cymbals, a fickle girl
getting sassy on the rhythms.
Musicians heavy with memories
move in and out of this gloom;
the Porkpie Hat reigns supreme
smell of collard greens
and cotton madness
commingled in the ****** elegance of the style.
The Porkpie Hat sees tonal memories
of salt peanuts and hot house birds
the Porkpie Hat sees . . .
Cross riffing square kingdoms, riding midnight Scottsboro
trains. We are haunted by the lynched limbs.
On the road:
It would be some hoodoo town
It would be some cracker place
you might meet redneck lynchers
face to face
but mostly you meet mean horn blowers
running obscene riffs
Jelly Roll spoke of such places:
the man with the mojo hand
the dyke with the .38
the yaller girls
and the knifings.
Stop-time Buddy and Creole Sydney
wailed in here. Stop time.
chorus repeats, stop and shuffle.
stop and stomp.
listen to the horns, ain't they mean?
now ain't they mean
in blue
in blue
in blue streaks of mellow wisdom
blue notes
coiling around
the Porkpie Hat
and ghosts of dead musicians drifting through
here on riffs that smack
of one-leg trumpet players
and daddy glory piano ticklers
who
twisted arpeggios
with diamond-flashed fingers.
There was Jelly Roll Morton, the sweet mackdaddy,
hollering Waller, and Willie The Lion Smith—
some mean showstoppers.
Ghosts of dead holy rollers ricocheted in the air funky
with white lightnin' and sweat.
Emerald bitches shot **** in a kitchen smelling
of funerals and fried chicken.
Each city had a different sound:
there was Mambo, Rhega, Jeanne;
holy the voice of the righteous sisters.
Shape to shape, horn to horn
the Porkpie Hat resurrected himself
night to night, from note to note
skimming the horizons, flashing bluegreenyellow lights
and blowing black stars
and wierd looneymoon changes; chords coiled about him
and he was flying
fast
zipping
past
sound
into cosmic silences
And yes
and caresses flowed from the voice in the horn in the blue
of the yellow whiskey room where bad hustlers with big
coats moved, digging the fly sister, fingerpopping while
tearing at chicken and waffles.
The Porkpie Hat loomed specter like, a vision for the world;
shiny, the knob toe shoes,
sporting hip camel coats
and righteous pin stripes—
pants pressed razor shape;
and caressing his horn, baby like.
So we pick up our axes and prepare
to blast the white dream;
we pick up our axes
re-create ourselves and the universe,
sounds splintering the deepest regions
of spiritual space
crisp and moaning voices
leaping in the horns of destruction,
blowing death and doom to all who have no use for the
spirit.
So we cook out of sight
into cascading motions of joy delight
shooflies the Bird lolligagging
and laughing for days,
and the rhythms way up in there
wailing, sending scarlet rays, luminescent,
spattering bone and lie.
we go on cool lords
wailing on into star nights,
rocking whole worlds, unfurling song on song
into long stretches of green spectral shimmerings,
blasting on, ****ing the moon with the blunt edge
of a lover's tune, out there now, joy rifting
for days and do
railriding and do
talking some lovely **** and do
to the Blues God who blesses us.
No, don't say goodbye to the Porkpie Hat—
he lives, oh yes.
Lester lives and leaps
Delancy's dilemma is over
Bird lives
Lady lives
Eric stands next to me
while I finger the Afro-horn
Bird lives
Lady lives
Lester leaps in every night
Tad's delight
is mine now
Dinah knows
Richie knows
that Bud is Buddha
that Jelly Roll dug juju
and Lester lives
in Ornett's leapings
the Blues God lives
we live
live
spirit lives
and sound lives
bluebird lives
lives and leaps
dig the mellow voices
dig the Porkpie Hat
dig the spirit in Sun Ra's sound
dig the cosmic Trane
dig be
dig be
dig be
spirit lives in sound
dig be
sound lives in spirit
dig be
yeah!!!
spirit lives
spirit lives
spirit lives
SPIRIT!!!
SWHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETT!!!
take it again
this time from the top
---
Lester In Paris, Undated
