Blake to Dizzy Gillespie

Excerpt: American – A Prophecy By William Blake 1757-1827

“…The morning comes, the night decays, the watchmen leave their stations;
The grave is burst, the spices shed, the linen wrapped up;
The bones of death, the cov'ring clay, the sinews shrunk & dry'd.
Reviving shake, inspiring move, breathing! awakening!
Spring like redeemed captives when their bonds & bars are burst; ….”


*******


By ADAM NOSSITER
New York Times
Published: February 23, 2006

“NEW ORLEANS, Feb. 22 — Lt. Gov. Mitch Landrieu formally entered the race for mayor of New Orleans on Wednesday, adding a politically potent name to a foreshortened contest certain to raise the make-or-break issues facing this city.

"The primary is on April 22, with a possible runoff in May. The stakes and shifting
demographics here have made the contest unlike any other in recent memory.

In addition to Mr. Landrieu, two other well-known whites have entered the race,
underscoring the possibility that New Orleans could elect a white mayor for the first time in more than 30 years. They are Ron Forman, president of the Audubon Nature Institute, credited with making a financial success of the city's zoo and aquarium, and Peggy Wilson, a Republican former city councilwoman considered a voice for wealthier Uptown residents.

"Mr. Landrieu, son of the last white mayor and brother of Senator Mary L. Landrieu, and Mr. Forman, a favorite of the business class, are considered formidable challengers to the incumbent, C. Ray Nagin, who is widely seen as weakened by a sometimes shaky performance with Hurricane Katrina. Mr. Nagin has one black challenger, a minister, the Rev. Tom Watson.

"Although Mr. Forman, with his ties to the economic elite, may have a fund-raising edge, Mr. Landrieu is likely to prove a more potent vote getter among blacks, who have long supported his family.

"Mr. Landrieu thanked Mr. Nagin for being "a good public servant," but drew a pointed
contrast between him and what critics have seen as the mayor's lack of polish.

"Today what we need is leadership that can restore our credibility, nationally and
internationally,” Mr. Landrieu said. “What we need is a mayor and a leader who can
communicate with Congress and the White House.’”

From Blake to Dizzy Gillespie

Every day I watch the sky for perfection and its lies.
I count dark invisible stars, fashion maps of light that bleeds
to sacrifice hope, esteem and great prophetic moral schemes, alas.

Then, I watch the air implode. The night is sparrows on the walk
stealing bits of bread and talk that has no other end but lush
self aggrandizement, and that other sin, vanity, rusting
on the back of ships, long iron with electronic clips
to measure death in its own despicable murder.

I look high for heaven. I count dead Satan’s ribs.
I plunge the stake into its heart, and twist the cross
murder its mouth but all the sky stays half red blue
when music long dead pronounced the end at last
of goodness, mirth, sacrifice and prophetic works

American you will be grand in this cathedral
stretched across the Golden Gate Bridge

Every face is clear. All death remembered for
their simple retort and half hearted defense

How can you measure lies? Men say nothing
can be done, but do it none the less.

They stop the waves; make red the storm fed
sky that will wake upon the morning calm.

America is dead. No, the country lives
as the edges of the wars recede.

Civil War is called. Mercy broken down
to a search for birds of prey and votes
counted twice, three times, five,
Gentility has returned to New Orleans
White families may rule again. Africans, Jazz
erased when the sand bars rise and waves
return to break the back of able soldiers
victims of the rhetoric torn from Bible,
Torah and Holy Quran dressed in prophetic speak

When do we live?

610 AD?

28 Shvat, 5766

What year is this, 2006, another empty hand?
The dead rise in the streets of Baghdad, Kirkuk
South Dakota votes to reverse history.
In New Orleans white racists run for mayor.
The land is boon, given away with a lark
riding the shoulders of false prophets
and those other lives broken down into putty
for the cracks in dams and levees.
So much money to be made on ruined land.
Only the dead stand in the way.
Blake would have screamed louder
that the world is lost, and death
invisible on the horizon like the warm ocean
melting the ice, the waters rise, man Falls.

Does Blake proclaim beginning or end
of what makes life, living or the dead
a simple trail of snails mounting
up the steeple to befall naked man
and woman busy in how we sigh.

Sex conquers all. Death loses.
Even the Hurricanes will pass.
Greed Almighty Allah, God, Yahweh.
House valued by the state for
condemnation at 60 percent
of its pre-Katrina value razed.

Oh, to be in real estate
when the world falls apart.

Watch them honkies build dam
Casinos, hotels and kill the Jazz.

“Hey Dizz, what ya think”
“Man, just drive on.
It’s all the same shit, another day”*

*in 1971, I drove Dizzy Gillespie by Babes Taxi (while in graduate school) to clubs in Harlem from his home in Englewood Cliffs.

first draft 2/26/06