a few flock notes for jaimie breezy branch

Raymond Nat Turner, BAR poet-in-residence

07 Sep 2022

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“The artist must elect to fight
for Freedom or for Slavery”
—Paul Robeson

blinded by tears—
struggling—seeing
your ancestral ascension in
"Promotions..." .

…I'd planned to reach out
to you ‘bout doing a
Truth-Tellers’ double bill—
UpSurge!NYC opening
for FLY or DIE; Loisaida—
or Harlem— 2023…But it’s
Not To
Be...

Loving what you were doing
down
here
below—
with resounding crescendo of
a press roll—Ra reached out to
expand his Saturn Band/interstellar
sleight of hand

Ra reached out to sweeten his sound—
gave you the call/pointing the bell of
your horn at Saturn. and like sun shards
bouncing off brass you ascended— took
flight—you flew

you’d brandished ‘bebop’ ‘bout flight—licks ‘bout
flocking! ‘bout banding together and taking care of
one another; ‘bout flying further, faster—together…
you knew, when one bird found food—the flock
ate; and predators were less likely to fuck with flocks…
it wasn’t easy, ‘breezy,’ blowin’ brazen brass/truth-tellin’
on violently improvised land— or praying for amerikkka on
your horn—running Occupy notes, reaching for Arab
Spring! you knew nazis love ‘neutrality—’ even loved jazz
on
the
down
low.

yes, reich ears plucked fruit from the trumpet tree in Congo
Square. but dixie on the Rhine’s racist caricaturists banned
it from the masses. they branded it, ready? “degenerate art!”
Dr. Goebbels’s bugle/bent white noise notes/twisted facts
were easier than you blowin’ vitamin B flat to rock the
flock

you refused to stay confused/politically paralyzed/no
where to run to—nowhere to hide or duck and cover;
head buried in quicksand
land of make believe/believing blowing your horn
night and day drowns out screaming notes of missile music;
A-flattened Afghan homes; f-16 chords pulverizing
Palestinian children; and No one’s hungry; No one’s
home’s riding the same train all night; and your circular
breathing stops 9 min. of a neck being knelt on; or a
windpipe being crushed by crooks of the law’s long, white,
tatted arm amidst hushed, strangulated tones of “thoughts
and prayers.”

you found The Wright Bros. to FLY or DIE with—
mirrors reflecting reality/hammers blacksmithing
shapes of things to come—an international
anthem— when
Lester leaped in from a St. Louis womb;
baaaD Chad blew in from The Windy City and
Jason came down off Calf Mountain blowing a
way Co2 with you!

Now, it’s your turn to play way out in the universe with
Ra, be copied—
loved by Amerikkka… and her Amazon accountants…

© 2022. Raymond Nat Turner, The Town Crier. All Rights Reserved.
Raymond Nat Turner is a NYC poet; BAR's Poet-in-Residence; and founder/co-leader of the jazz-poetry ensemble UpSurge!NYC. You can Vote for his work at: GoFundMe and PayPal .

Jazz

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