Jayne Cortez

[Guest Bill Barton]

I've been featuring some combinations of jazz and poetry on Bright Moments this month and figured - hey - it's National Poetry Month, so doesn't Jayne Cortez deserve her own thread? It's unlikely that I'll be able to play this track from Celebrations and Solitudes on the ray-dee-oh, so here's the text:

________________________________________________________

How Long Has Trane Been Gone

by Jayne Cortez

Tell me about the good things

you clappin' & laughin'

will you remember or will you forget

forget about the good things

like Blues & Jazz being black

Yeah black Music

all about you

And the musicians that

write & play about you

A black brother groanin'

A black sister moanin'

and beautiful black children

ragged under-fed laughin'

not knowin

will you remember their names

or do they have no names

No lives-only products

to be used when you wanta

dance fuck & cry

You takin'-they givin'

You livin-they creating

starving dyin' trying

to make a better tomorrow

giving you & your children

a history

But what do you care about

history-black history

and John Coltrane

NO

all you wanta do

is pat your foot

sip a drink & pretend

with your head bobbin' up & down

what do you care about acoustics

bad microphones or out of tune pianos

and noise

you the clubowners and disc jockeys

made a deal didn't you

a deal about Black Music

& you really don't give

a shit long as you take

There was a time

When KGFJ played all black music

from bird to Johnny Ace

on show after show

but what happened

I'll tell you what happened

They divided black music

doubled the money

and left us split again

is what happened

John Coltrane dead

and some of you

have yet to hear him play

How how long has that Trane been gone

And how many more Tranes will go

before you understand your life

John Coltrane had the whole of

life wrapped up in B flat

John Coltrane like Malcolm

true image of black masculinity

Now tell me about the good things

I'm tellin' you about

John Coltrane

A name that should ring

throughout the projects mothers

Mother with sons

who need John Coltrane

need the warm arm of his music

like words from a father

words of comfort words of Africa

words of welcome

How long how long has that Trane been gone

John palpitating love notes

in a lost-found Nation

within a Nation

his music resounding

discovery

signed Always

John Coltrane

Rip those dead white people off your walls Black people

your walls Black people

black people whose walls

should be a hall

A Black Hall of Fame

so our children will know

will know & be proud

Proud to say I'm from Parker City, Coltrane City,

Ornette City,

Pharoah City living on Holiday street next to James Brown

Park in

the state of Malcolm

How long

How long will it take for you to understand

that Trane been gone

riding in a portable radio

next to your son lonely

Who walks walks walks into nothing

No city No State No Home No Nothing

How long how long have black people been gone

Edited April 21, 2008 by Bill Barton

[rostasi]

...aaahhh, but I can take care of the listening part...

[Guest Bill Barton]

...aaahhh, but I can take care of the listening part...

[Tom Storer]

Now she's the one who's skeptical about time speaking English in the men's facilities, right?

[Guest Bill Barton]

Now she's the one who's skeptical about time speaking English in the men's facilities, right?

Indeed she is.

[JSngry]

Most definitely.

[The Magnificent Goldberg]

Thank you Bill and, particularly, Rod.

Never heard of her before except Jim's quote.

MG

[Tom Storer]

So, Jim, tell me--what language does time speak in the men's room?

[JSngry]

The same ones it does everywhere else, I guess.

I tend to try not to listen too much to conversations in the men's room.

[JSngry]

Never heard of her before except Jim's quote.

Ursula Rucker would probably consider her an "ancestor", it you know what I mean.

She was married to Ornette for quite a while (pretty sure that she's Denardo's mom) & has also recorded with then-members of Prime Time. But Celebrations & Solitude, the one on Strata-East that's the topic of this thread (it's just her & Richard Davis throughout), is quite the "Underground Classic".

[Guest Bill Barton]

Never heard of her before except Jim's quote.

Ursula Rucker would probably consider her an "ancestor", it you know what I mean.

She was married to Ornette for quite a while (pretty sure that she's Denardo's mom) & has also recorded with then-members of Prime Time. But Celebrations & Solitude, the one on Strata-East that's the topic of this thread (it's just her & Richard Davis throughout), is quite the "Underground Classic".

She also recorded some interesting albums on her own Bola Press imprint that are probably damned near impossible to find now.

It appears that Poetry and Music on Indigo (1994), Taking the Blues Back Home on Polygram (1996) and Borders of Disorderly Time back on Bola Press (2003) are still available.

I heard her in performance on several occasions back in the late 1970s-early 1980s. She is a good friend of Bill Cole, who at the time was chairman of the music department at Dartmouth College and put on The John Coltrane Memorial World Music Lecture Demonstration Series and a number of special concerts. She took part in at least one of his series of "Cycles" at Dartmouth and performed in duo with Richard Davis at the college's chapel. That was one hell of a show!

Edited April 23, 2008 by Bill Barton

[Guest Bill Barton]

I'm Taking the Blues Back Home

by Jayne Cortez

I’m taking the blues back home

I’m taking the blues back to where

the blues stealers won’t go

I’m taking the blues back home

because the blues stealers like to steal

when they think they have nothing of their own

I’m taking the blues back home

I’m taking the blues back to the fire of the spirits

I’m taking the blues back to the damp undergrowth

I’m taking the blues back to where

the blues stealers won’t go

I’m taking the blues back home

I’m taking the blues out of the mouth of the stealers

I’m taking the blues out of the western stream

I’m taking the blues back before somebody sings

“Ain’t nobody’s business if I steal your blues”

I’m taking the blues back home

I’m taking the blues back home

before Robert Johnson comes from

the graveyard to say

“The blues has been crapped on”

I’m taking the blues back to the crossroad

I’m taking the blues back to the bush

I’m taking the blues back to the place

where the blues stealers won’t go

I’m taking the blues back home before

Langston Hughes returns to say

“They’ve taken my blues again and gone”

I’m taking the blues back home

I’m the owner of the blues

& I’m taking the blues back home

The blues that came to me from the slave dungeons

the blues that came to me from the death trails

the blues that came to me from my ancestors

the blues that came to me in a spell that tells me

through birth that I’m the owner of the blues

from a long time ago

I’m the owner of the blues from a long

long long long time ago

I’m the owner of the blues

& even if somebody says

they have a right to sing the blues

I’m still the owner of the secrets in the blues

from a long time ago

I’m the owner of the blues

& even if somebody pays to play & use the blues

I’m still the owner of the blues

from a long time ago

I’m the owner of the blues

& I’m taking the blues back home

I’m taking the blues back to where

the blues stealers won’t go

I’m taking the blues back home

I’m taking the blues back home

[Guest Bill Barton]

There It Is

by Jayne Cortez

My friend

they don’t care

if you’re an individualist

a leftist a rightist

a shithead or a snake

They will try to exploit you

absorb you confine you

disconnect you isolate you

or kill you

And you will disappear into your own rage

into your own insanity

into your own poverty

into a word a phrase a slogan a cartoon

and then ashes

The ruling class will tell you that

there is no ruling class

as they organize their liberal supporters into

white supremist lynch mobs

organize their children into

ku klux klan gangs

organize their police into killer cops

organize their propaganda into

a devise to ossify us with angel dust

pre-occupy us with western symbols in

african hair styles

innoculate us with hate

institutionalize us with ignorance

hypnotize us with a monotonous sound designed

to make us evade reality and stomp our lives away

And we are programmed to self destruct

to fragment

to get buried under covert intelligence operations of

unintelligent committees impulsed toward death

And there it is

The enemies polishing their penises between

oil wells at the pentagon

the bulldozers leaping into demolition dances

the old folks dying of starvation

the informers wearing out shoes looking for crumbs

the lifeblood of the earth almost dead in

the greedy mouth of imperialism

And my friend

they don’t care

if you’re an individualist

a leftist a rightist

a shithead or a snake

They will spray you with

a virus of legionaire’s disease

fill your nostrils with

the swine flu of their arrogance

stuff your body into a tampon of

toxic shock syndrome

try to pump all the resources of the world

into their own veins

and fly off into the wild blue yonder to

pollute another planet

And if we don’t fight

if we don’t resist

if we don’t organize and unify and

get the power to control our own lives

Then we will wear

the exaggerated look of captivity

the stylized look of submission

the bizzare look of suicide

the dehumanized look of fear

and the decomposed look of repression

forever and ever and ever

And there it is

Nuff said, you know…

[Guest Bill Barton]

If The Drum Is A Woman

by Jayne Cortez

why are you pounding your drum into an insane babble

why are you pistol-whipping your drum at dawn-

why are you shooting through the head of your drum

and making a drum tragedy of drums

if the drum is a woman

don’t abuse your drum don’t abuse your drum

don’t abuse your drum

I know the night is full of displaced persons

I see skins striped with flames

I know the ugly dispositions of underpaid clerks

they constantly menstruate through the eyes

I know bitterness embedded in flesh

the itching alone can drive you crazy

I know that this is America

and chickens are coming home to roost

on the MX missile

But if the drum is a woman

why are you choking your drum

why are you raping your drum

why are you saying disrespectful things

to your mother drum your sister drum

your wife drum and your infant daughter drum

if the drum is a woman

then understand your drum

your drum is not docile

your drum is not invisible

your drum is not inferior to you

your drum is a woman

so don’t reject your drum

don’t try to dominate your drum

don’t become weak and cold and desert your drum

don’t be forced into the position as an oppressor of drums

and make a drum tragedy of drums

if the drum is a woman

don’t abuse your drum, don’t abuse your drum

don’t abuse your drum

[Guest Bill Barton]

MAKE IFA

by Jayne Cortez

Make Ifa make Ifa make Ifa Ifa Ifa

In sanctified chalk

of my silver painted soot

In criss-crossing whelps

of my black belching smoke

In brass masking bones

of my bass droning moans

in hub cap bellow

of my hammer tap blow

In steel stance screech

of my zumbified flames

In electrified mouth

of my citified fumes

In bellified groan

of my countrified pound

In compulsivefied conga

of my soca moka jumbi

MAKE IFA MAKE IFA MAKE IFA IFA

IFA

In eye popping punta

of my heat sucking sap

In cyclonic slobber

of my consultation pan

In snap jam combustion

of my banjoistic thumb

In sparkola flare

of my hoodoristic scream

In punched out ijuba

of my fire catching groove

In fungified funk

of my sambafied shakes

In amplified dents

of my petrified honks

In ping ponging bombs

of my scarified gongs

MAKE IFA MAKE IFA MAKE IFA IFA

IFA

* Ifa = a system of divination developed by the Yoruba of Nigeria, based on the interpretation of cowrie shells tossed on a tray.

source

[Guest Bill Barton]

Jazz Fan Looks Back

by Jayne Cortez

I crisscrossed with Monk

Wailed with Bud

Counted every star with Stitt

Sang "Don't Blame Me" with Sarah

Wore a flower like Billie

Screamed in the range of Dinah

& scatted "How High the Moon" with Ella Fitzgerald

as she blew roof off the Shrine Auditorium

Jazz at the Philharmonic

I cut my hair into a permanent tam

Made my feet rebellious metronomes

Embedded record needles in paint on paper

Talked bopology talk

Laughed in high-pitched saxophone phrases

Became keeper of every Bird riff

every Lester lick

as Hawk melodicized my ear of infatuated tongues

& Blakey drummed militant messages in

soul of my applauding teeth

& Ray hit bass notes to the last love seat in my bones

I moved in triple time with Max

Grooved high with Diz

Perdidoed with Pettiford

Flew home with Hamp

Shuffled in Dexter's Deck

Squatty-rooed with Peterson

Dreamed a "52nd Street Theme" with Fats

& scatted "Lady Be Good" with Ella Fitzgerald

as she blew roof off the Shrine Auditorium

Jazz at the Philharmonic