Monday Night Poetry

I like to listen to their song Adeline, it reminds me of all the hearts I’ve broken, and been broken by. It’s funny because I went to listen to some Jazz poets, the “Bone Jazz People,” I was excited to hear some poetry read hauntingly and with daggers tempered from turns of phrase. Entering the room three-quarters of an hour early, I chose my seat and read a book.

The poets are dressed in country clothes, with a bass, guitar and ukulele setup on stage. Props for the jazz poetry I guess. Weird style of jazz, I guess. I notice the blonde bassist strumming and tuning, black hat, black skirt, brown boots and brown vest, not very coordinated in my eye, but maybe she’s never lived in the country. “Is my harmony on river blues annoying you guys?” The mike is hot, but she is behind the speakers, and the monitor is probably not on very loud. I scramble in my bag for a notepad to catch some of the candid words, missing many as I search. “..what other songs…” The brunette who appears the lead asks the blue clad guitarist, who looks urban cowboy intelligentsia. He wears clothes too worn not to be new, too clean to be authentic. The blonde is pretty and keeps drawing my eye, she reminds me of someone or perhaps her beauty reminds me of my desire. The desire that everyone else calls their “soul mate,” but not me. My desire is ultimately God, and no woman could ever fill it perfectly, though hopefully one will show me fulfillment in ways I can’t imagine.

Maybe she’s not pretty. The angles of her face become more prominent with each glance, and the more I know the less my imagination can fill in, and the quicker reality sets in. The music strums and twangs fastly to the lead’s voice hidden by an artificial twang. I guess this isn’t Jazz poetry. The schedule confirms it, that’s tomorrow.

He leads the next song with a strain reaching to be authentic but to much not his own. It’s pleasing but hard to understand with the added arched tongue filling his mouth and forcing mumbles. River Blues comes up, and the blonde’s voice is scantly heard in harmony… what was she worrying about? She plays a worn mahogany bass, new boots and new threads… the bass is much more beautiful. I like things with stories, things old, things others would reject. I like them, because they’ve lived and stimulate dreams.

“When people ask me how to write a song I tell them to go back to a rich memory.” Mike, the guitarist who finally introduced himself, talks about the next song being a compilation of memories from his teenage years. Surprisingly Amy, the lead, starts. It’s simple yet vivid and honest. A young girl getting ready for a dance, with a young boy cutting into the song paralleling her anticipation of the night. Back and forth in an emotional dance, fantasies play out in their hearts. In the end they both get snubbed and are torn to pieces, “I’ll be fine…, but I wonder if I’ll ever love again” they sing in harmony. The song’s about Adeline, the girl’s sister, and the boy’s desire. Perhaps that’s my problem, I look for Adeline.

“Oregon” is next, “leaving old friends, worries, overdue bills” describes the young man escaping Iowa heading out west. I’m heading east. “Searching for things he can’t find in Iowa. Going to find his lover, goin to find a home, going to find his brothers, sisters wherever they roam.” Yeah. That’s why I’m leaving. I have nothing left here, my heart’s been broke by the reason I came, and no others have shown up. I’m picky, but I want a wife, so I must leave. I want brothers and sisters, and I have no friends here that I could call family, so I must leave. I must leave, or I fear I’ll die. I’m leaving. I really am. It’s time.

The ukulele is a mandolin. Who’d’ve guessed that it would make a great complement to bluegrass? I think I have a fever.