Jazz Quartet <br /> <br />to Peanuts Taylor <br /> <br /> <br /> I <br /> <br />The saxophone makes <br />love to the mike in cool <br />excursions to distant <br />galaxies and back, <br /> <br />the instrument so heavy <br />in the musician's arms, <br />so full of metal buttons, <br />if he'd worn fatigues <br />you might have thought it <br />some kind of weird artillery. <br /> <br />Meanwhile, his friend <br />the bass player's <br />deft fingers weave <br />a complex spider web <br />of all the combo's sounds, <br /> <br />and as the drumbeat <br />feeds Time's tick <br />into the mix, <br /> <br />a protean <br />auditory creature <br />starts to move, <br /> <br />a benign golem fashioned <br />from the incantatory strains. <br /> <br />Now the piano takes <br />its rollercoaster ride <br />across the keys above <br />the net of woven rhythm. <br /> <br />II <br /> <br />Every song, though, <br />seems a mixed drink <br />poured from the same carafe', <br />brewed with metal, wood, and ivory <br /> <br />and aged in a distillery <br />where sounds imbibe <br />from nearby subway trains <br />and traffic horns. <br /> <br />The blue and purple <br />stage lights too glint <br />urban reflections <br />off the gold and silver metal <br />and the ivory and ebony, <br /> <br />growing gentler, though, <br /> <br />when shining off <br />the heart-shaped <br />chiaroscuro <br />of the bass. <br /> <br /> <br />III <br /> <br /> <br />Later, in a nearby <br />small cafe, <br />we hear an old man <br />crooning ballads <br />as he plays <br />a simple keyboard, <br /> <br />and we find <br />the one part missing <br />in the jazz quartet's <br />energetic, ranging beast: <br />the soul. <br /> <br />The old man smiles <br />and folds <br />his hands <br />in gentle greeting. <br /> <br />Our evening <br />is complete.<br /><br />Max Reif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/05-jazz-quartet/
