| Young Ella with the diminutive Chick Webb at the drums in one of their famous Savoy Ballroom sets. |
Ella Fitzgerald,
the incomparable jazz singer whose career spanned decades would have turned 104 years old yesterday. As usual there were plenty of tributes for the beloved First Lady of Song.
Ella was not only a beloved
performer, she was profoundly
inspirational. There is a large body of poetry dedicated to her or inspired
by her. Two of those I selected
for birthday tribute were penned by Beat influenced poets who frequently perform with jazz accompaniment. Sonya Sanchez and Jayne Cortez, are probably no surprise. But Polish
Nobel Laureate Wislawa Szymborska
also wrote knowledgably about her showing Fitzgerald’s international appeal.
But first we will
hear from Jillian Philips, “writer,
poet, editor, actress, karaoke junkie,
mom, and feminist” from Eau Claire, Wisconsin.
Ella Fitzgerald in Her Livingroom
I find comfort in a downpour.
The sound of intermittent pings
is almost a sonata, lulling me.
If Beethoven played on tin,
it would sound like the rain on my roof:
drip
drip
drip
DROP!
His fifth symphony forming
puddles on the sidewalk
as I watch and listen
through my window.
—Jillian
Philips
A Poem for Ella Fitzgerald
when she came on the stage, this Ella
there were rumors of hurricanes and
over the rooftops of concert stages
the moon turned red in the sky,
it was Ella, Ella.
queen Ella had come
and words spilled out
leaving a trail of witnesses smiling
amen - amen - a woman - a woman.
she began
this three agèd woman
nightingales in her throat
and squads of horns came out
to greet her.
streams of violins and pianos
splashed their welcome
and our stained glass silences
our braided spaces
unraveled
opened up
said who’s that coming?
Who’s that knocking at the door?
whose voice lingers on
that stage gone mad with
perdido. perdido. perdido.
i lost my heart in
toledooooooo.
whose voice is climbing
up this morning chimney
smoking with life
carrying her basket of words
a tisket a tasket
my little yellow
basket-i wrote a
letter to my mom and
on the way i dropped it-
was it red... no no no no
was it green... no no no no
was it blue... no no no no
just a little yellow
voice rescuing razor thin lyrics
from hopscotching dreams.
we first watched her navigating
an apollo stage amid high-stepping
yellow legs
we watched her watching us
shiny and pure woman
sugar and spice woman
her voice a nun’s whisper
her voice pouring out
guitar thickened blues,
her voice a faraway horn
questioning the wind,
and she became Ella,
first lady of tongues
Ella cruising our veins
voice walking on water
crossed in prayer,
she became holy
a thousand sermons
concealed in her bones
as she raised them in a
symphonic shudder
carrying our sighs into
her bloodstream.
this voice, chasing the
morning waves,
this Ella-tonian voice soft
like four layers of lace.
when i die Ella
tell the whole joint
please, please, don't talk
about me when i'm gone....
i remember waiting one nite for her
appearance
audience impatient at the lateness
of musicians,
i remember it was april
and the flowers ran yellow
the sun downpoured yellow butterflies
and the day was yellow and silent
all of spring held us
in a single drop of blood.
when she appeared on stage
she became Nut arching over us
feet and hands placed on the stage
music flowing from her breasts
she swallowed the sun
sang confessions from the evening stars
mage earth divulge her secrets
gave birth to skies in her song
remade the insistent air
and we became anointed found
inside her bop
bop bop dowa
bop bop doowaaa
bop bop dooooowaaa
Lady. Lady. Lady.
be good. be good
to me.
to you.
to us all
cuz we just some lonesome babes
in the woods
hey lady. sweetellalady
Lady. Lady. Lady. be gooooood
ELLA ELLA ELLALADY
be good
gooooood
gooooood...
—Sonya
Sanchez
Ella
in Heaven
She prayed to God
with all her heart
to make her
a happy white girl.
And if it’s too late for such changes,
then at least, Lord God, see what I weigh,
subtract at least half of me.
But the good God answered No.
He just put his hand on her heart,
checked her throat, stroked her head.
But when everything is over – he added –
you’ll give me joy by coming to me,
my black comfort, my well-sung stump.
—Wislawa Szymborska
Jayne Cortez.
Jazz Fan Looks Back
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.
—Jayne Cortez
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