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functional 

for sunny & celia sinclair


for fifteen years
i wrote my poems
in the streets,
on a thousand stages,
in the daily lives of my daughters.

i wrote my poems
but they were deeds,
not words, they took flesh
& blood from me, & the tears
of a thousand nights in prison.

i did my part, & gave
from the center of my heart, poetry
in motion, a record of action
cut into the grooves of my time
from 1967 to 82.

now i write in words again,
five years of welcome eloquence,
a thousand stanzas of investigative verse,
stark & functional as the music
which has so far informed these years.


harmonie park
detroit
february 7, 1988


]]> johnsinclair001@hotmail.com (John) We Just Change The Beat Wed, 28 Dec 2005 08:36:44 +0000 http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/371-25-qfriday-the-13thq.html http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/371-25-qfriday-the-13thq.html #51

friday the 13th 

for mike liebler


any day
can be the lucky one,
or the one with your number

written all over it, 123
507 in the poet's case,
walking out

the front door
of the penitentiary,
8:30 p.m.

14 years ago today,
2 times 7 years the cycle
of struggle, to make it through

in one piece, on the yard
or in these streets, anyone
who can pick up a frying pan

owns death,  burroughs said,
& sometime in new york city
coming back from the recording studio,

walking up to his front door,
john lennon with a gun
stuck in his face,

oh,
oh, sweet giant of song,
with heart of huge dimension

& eyes deep in the sky,
there has to be a day
when each of us must pass

beyond this tedious sphere,
to enter some wondrous place
of which we do not know

whether we're ready or not,
some other place or space
out of time

where no punk with a weapon
will ever press you again
or blow off your face

out of the depths
of his madness, no one
will hold us

against our will
in a cell with bars in front
& back, 6 feet by 4 feet

by 8 feet high,
no one will take us
out of our natural lives

& send us away from here
by means of some murderous fantasy
in which we are denied

everything we have lived for 
oh please let us die
at the end of our own time

& not before, free
in our world of strife,
let us have life

as long as we can
& please, let there be men
like monk & john lennon

to share of their hearts
& light up our ways
as long as we may live


detroit
friday, december 13/
december 30, 1985


]]> johnsinclair001@hotmail.com (John) We Just Change The Beat Wed, 28 Dec 2005 08:35:59 +0000 http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/370-24-qrhythm-a-ningq.html http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/370-24-qrhythm-a-ningq.html #84

rhythm-a-ning 

for paul lichter & the great ernie harwell


it's the top
of the 5th, two men
on & monk

on the mound
to face the meat
of the defending champion

new york tenors
batting order it's the
rhythm

inning, time now
to get something
going & at the plate

for the tenors,
digging in deep now,
center fielder sonny rollins

(also known as newk 
for his remarkable resemblance
to the great don newcombe)

is taking his cuts. rollins
checks the sign from arnett cobb at 3rd
& takes a called first strike

right down the middle. on the basepaths,
the leadoff batter,
johnny griffin, dances off 2nd

& james moody takes a short lead
off of 1st. on deck,
the clean-up hitter,

fellow native of north carolina,
veteran of many hard seasons
in the minor leagues,

john coltrane picks up his bat,
weights it,
& pounds the air without mercy.

monk
checks the runners,
shakes off the sign

from art blakey
behind the plate, nods,
stretches & delivers

a most wicked curve
& newk strikes air. the fans know
if monk can get past rollins

there ll be one down,
coltrane up & coleman hawkins
waiting on deck. so monk

looks in,
puts that rocky mount grip
on the ball, & sends newk back

to the bench
with a deadly screwball. trane fans,
& bean dribbles one down

to john birks gillespie at 1st. diz
steps on the bag & monk
puts another inning away

toward an eventual shut-out
of the defending champs. in the bottom
of the 8th, miles davis is hit

by a pitch,
steals 2nd,
bud powell draws an in-

tentional pass, & bird
puts the game away
with a 3-run homer. the series

goes to the challenger,
the bebop all-stars,
4 games to 3

& monk is voted most
valuable player
over dizzy gillespie

in the closest of votes. the year
is 1954, the legendary subway series 
is now history,

& baseball,
dear friends,
will never be the same



detroit
may 1, 1985
special thanks to peter klaver & martin gross


]]> johnsinclair001@hotmail.com (John) We Just Change The Beat Wed, 28 Dec 2005 08:35:26 +0000 http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/369-23-qround-about-midnightq.html http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/369-23-qround-about-midnightq.html #14

round about midnight 

for linda jones


there is a point
between night & day
where it all comes clear
& bright, a new beginning

where yesterday
can be left behind
& a new day is there
to greet us, clean

with promise
& a clear path
thru the hours before dawn
when the mind kicks in,

the squares all tucked in bed
& the people of the night
in charge of the scene players,
musicians, whores,

countermen at diners & cats
delivering the morning papers,
garbagemen & cops & drunks
in the rhythms of midnight

& the small hours after,
a different sphere completely
from daytime, traffic
& the peculiar world of commerce 

this is when the music is made,
in nightclubs until two
or four a.m., & then in after-
hours joints & people's cribs,

or in the recording studios
after the gig, with everyone nice
& relaxed, half-
juiced or hazy,

lazy, a little crazy maybe
but ready to put down some tunes
onto recording discs or tape
for the rest of the world to hear 

round midnight & after, the end
of a day, or in the meta-
phorical mode, it's the last sigh
of an era, like around 1939

thru 44, with the war
going on abroad, & the nation
finally tearing itself loose
from the last dying grip

of pre-modern america,
all its young men at war
& only the rejects, mis-
fits & draft-dodgers left

to shape some new form
from the ruins of the past,
some measure of their alienation
from the day before,

their allegiance to the flag
of tomorrow, like whatever
it might bring would be better
than what's happening right now,

the high discovery
of risk, or the existential premise
that something new & brilliant can be made
from the existing materials,

the intention
to create & invent
on little jobs  that monk
spoke of in 1948, with no reward

but the beauty of the thing itself,
the challenge of invention
with no idea of what might come next,
no pattern to fall back on,

nothing but the driving force in-
side your self, & the long roots of culture
stretching back to west africa
& the southern united states,

the utter & absolute beauty
of making a bridge
across the years, to link the past
in a whole new way

with what would come next,
round about midnight
of a dying world, & round about
3 a.m. of a brand new day,

monk at the piano
composing the future
& bud powell taking the piece
to cootie williams to record,

1944, a standard of modern music
even before its composer could record it,
the loveliest work in modern jazz
at just over three minutes long

yet longer than tomorrow,
longer than the 45 years
since monk eased it out of his head
& his gargantuan heart

& gave it to us,
round about midnight,  as a sign
that something was coming
that had never been here before



detroit
july 14/december 27-30, 1985


]]> johnsinclair001@hotmail.com (John) We Just Change The Beat Wed, 28 Dec 2005 08:34:56 +0000 http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/368-22-qin-walked-budq.html http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/368-22-qin-walked-budq.html #11

in walked bud 

for les reid & john petrie


first there was monk
before the war
& then from further up-
town, in harlem,

from the neighborhood
of coleman hawkins, sonny
rollins, & jackie mclean,
there was bud powell

or earl alfred bud  powell
on piano, strict interpreter
of dizzy & bird
for the keyboard, fleet

of single line & fast
to abandon
the heaviness in the left hand,
to make room for the bass & drums

& the harmonic
implications
of the melody, the farther
reaches

of the chords, the dizzy
atmosphere
which resulted
from the compression of experience

& the deep urban intelligence
of african americans
born in manhattan
or brought to harlem as children,

coming up on the streets,
standing outside of bars
& after-hours joints with the whores
& the dope peddlers, straining

to listen
or to hear from the bandstand
or to see the musicians inside
with such aspirations, to get up there

themselves, with they little horns,
behind the drums, or at the piano,
hands on the keyboard
& a room full of people

looking up
from the depths of their lives
to flood the bandstand
with huge waves of love

& warmth, then back out
to the streets, & the ugly
stares, the cold
bitter hatred

of the white people,
the nightstick
across the head
in philadelphia, the loss

of consistent memory,
the shock treatments
inside the several nut houses,
a phony dope beef in new york city

& no more cabaret card,
loss of license to work
in the nightclubs of manhattan
or even brooklyn, iced

out
of everything
but the will to make music
out of the guts of a piano,

the amazing bud powell,
the blazing bud powell,
now faltering
& lost, now lucid, now

gone
again, in toronto
with bird & dizzy
& mingus & max roach,

fresh out of creedmore
& more shocks to the head,
may, 1953, on the same night
rocky marciano

knocked out jersey joe wolcott,
drunk & crazy bud powell
back in manhattan, a night
at birdland with bird

in the first week of march,
1955, gone all the way out
of his motherfucking mind,
bud powell,

bud powell,
bud powell,
bird's voice ringing in his ears,
mingus pointing his finger

from the bandstand,
these are sick men, 
he said, ladies &
gentlemen, please

don t associate me
with this madness,  & in
walked monk that night
to catch some music, with his head

set straight on his shoulders
& his feet
firmly on the ground, in control
of his faculties

like few men of any time,
1955, just a week before bird
would leave us here
& bud would stagger on,

the scene changes,
time waits,
exile in paris
from 1959 to the end

of his life, but on this night
at birdland there they are,
bird at the microphone
intoning his name & bud

staring off into space, & monk
taking it all in,
crazy
too, like a fox

to say to bird & bud, i
told you guys
to act crazy, but i
didn t

tell you
to fall in love
with the act. you re really
crazy now.... 



louisville , ky
october 12 , 1985/
detroit
december 7-14 , 1985


]]> johnsinclair001@hotmail.com (John) We Just Change The Beat Wed, 28 Dec 2005 08:34:18 +0000 http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/367-21-qruby-my-dearq.html http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/367-21-qruby-my-dearq.html #6

ruby, my dear 

for estelle marie payno


a red candle
burning in a red
glass on a red tablecloth
in a dark corner

of a darkened nightclub,
a cigarette
burning in a red
plastic ashtray, a chesterfield

king
with lipstick red
on the end
& the smoke

from the cigarette in her eyes,
her hair is black satin
against skin of chocolate brown
or golden cream, or any of the million

gorgeous hues of american women
of african descent, purest black
to highest yellow
& every imaginable shade

in between, this is a song
to the woman in the red dress,
erzulie, or ruby
my dear

as monk would have her
pinned against the keyboard,
lush in the hips & thighs,
lush of lips & breasts,

the most beautiful ass
in the history of western civilization,
turned out over the top
of the thighs, out

to the western edge of africa
& back to the states again
to meet the small of her back,
the smell of jasmine & musk

rising from her flesh
in the closeness & warmth
of the tiny room, her eyes
so impossibly soulful

trained on the bandstand,
the band is bird,
monk on piano,
mingus & shadow wilson

at 3:00 am sunday morning,
a bottle of champagne
half drunk on the table,
the music is soft & sweet

yet as deep with intelligence
& spirit as the woman herself,
ruby, my dear 
filling her big heart with song



detroit
january 12 , 1985


]]> johnsinclair001@hotmail.com (John) We Just Change The Beat Wed, 28 Dec 2005 08:33:52 +0000 http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/366-20-qhumphfq.html http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/366-20-qhumphfq.html #2

humphf 

for big red


they say monk
couldn't play the music. they say,
monk, he limited
by his own vision

& just can't play right. monk,
he too weird. his music
don't sound right, and he gets up
& dances

while he's playing,
like a jackleg preacher
at a revival meeting
in an old tent in north carolina.

they say monk sound too much
like a whorehouse piano player
from some pre-harlem ghetto
stuffed with back-woods renegades

& sporting women & gamblers,
street-level intellectuals. they say
monk, what is that shit
you trying to play, you just can't

do it that way,
you too way out baby,
that stuff ain't you. & monk
in his infinite knowledge

& wisdom, shoots a grin
from behind the piano,
wiggles his ass on the stool,
lays down another few bars

of utter genius,
turns it over to the tenor player
& rises to dance beside the piano,
some more of that old north carolina boogaloo


oak park, michigan
may 30, 1984

]]> johnsinclair001@hotmail.com (John) We Just Change The Beat Wed, 28 Dec 2005 08:33:23 +0000 http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/365-19-qtheloniousq.html http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/365-19-qtheloniousq.html #1

thelonious 

for alfred lion & frank wolff


on the fifteenth
of october,
1947,
five days following
his 30th birthday,

thelonious sphere monk
was blessed
with his first recording session
as a leader
on blue note records 

the genius
of modern music,
prophet of bebop,
progenitor
of modern jazz,

born in rocky mount,
north carolina, & bred
in the jungles,  west
63rd street,
new york city,

where the piano players
were kings
& james p. johnson,
willie the lion  smith,
& numerous of others

populated the neighborhood
both night & day,
before blacks
took over harlem
& moved even further north, this

was the place
where the music was
in new york city,
just a few square blocks
off to the side,

dense
with negroes
from the east coast
& the south,
not mississippi

but atlanta,
charlestown, savannah,
the piney woods
& tobacco country
& virginia,

60 years
after slavery
was abolished,
300 years
after jamestown

unloaded slaves
shipped from west africa,
strangers
in a strange
land,

thelonious monk
was brought to manhattan
as an infant
& began his piano lessons
at age 6,

1923,
surrounded by genius
& the beautifully evolved culture
of africans
in america



detroit
april1984


]]> johnsinclair001@hotmail.com (John) We Just Change The Beat Wed, 28 Dec 2005 08:32:50 +0000 http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/364-18-qbloomdidoq.html http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/364-18-qbloomdidoq.html #21

bloomdido 

for amiri baraka


in the beginning
of the modern
era,

in harlem,
in the early days
of the new

music,
in the days of war
when bird

& diz & monk
made it all
start

to happen, in
harlem
late at night

the music hit
hard
& deep, monk

& bird & dizzy
turned it all around
& made it

fit
what was happening
in new york city,

the war,
the sound of modern
city

life, in harlem
or in midtown,
downtown,

monk & bird
& dizzy
made the music fit,

they made it
fit, they
made

the music
come to life,
they made life

come to the music,
they made it
bloom 

bloomdido,
bloomdido,
bloom ditty bop

bop bop,
they made it bloom
like a gigantic flower

or millions of flowers
in a magnificent garden,
bop,

they gave it life
& made it bloom,
dido,

bop,
& great flowers emerged
in the middle of the night,

they made it bloom,
they gave it life,
they made it all happen at once



traverse city, mi
august 24, 1985/
athens, ohio
march 1, 1986


]]> johnsinclair001@hotmail.com (John) We Just Change The Beat Wed, 28 Dec 2005 08:32:23 +0000 http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/363-17-qmonks-pointq.html http://localhost/backup/poetry/65-we-just-change-the-beat/363-17-qmonks-pointq.html
#124

"monk's point"

for my brother david


there was an interview
with thelonious monk
in downbeat, circa 1960

where he said something like,
"they call me weird
because i eat

when i get hungry
& sleep
when i'm tired."

as a young man at college
when i read these words
monk's point

drove deep
into my being
& for 25 years i have

followed him
faithfully
down the weirdness road,

the brilliant logic of bebop
burning bright
in my brain--

o monk, we thank you
for leading the way
& may we continue to gain

from your incredible example
& the magnificent music
you have left for us



detroit
january 27, 1985


]]> johnsinclair001@hotmail.com (John) We Just Change The Beat Wed, 28 Dec 2005 08:31:47 +0000