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Willie "The Lion" Smith

by jackparamour 

Posted: 04 July 2014
Word Count: 280
Summary: An evocation of a great classic jazz piano tickler


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Willie “The Lion” Smith
 
Take a walk to up-town Harlem 1932
Where jazz ferments in the moonshine whisky tubs
Of a thousand low down joints
Between Lennox and Seventh Avenue.
 
Down the stairs to Pod’s and Jerry’s
Where the Lion holds court
Bending the dancing waiters to his loping rhythm,
A savage ivory king smoke blurred shadow
Driving on his delirious ranks of musicians
With staccato grunts from his throne -
A master chain-handling his pack of hounds:
Women rhythm enslaved writhe in his vortex.
 
Light yet fierce (piercing the souls he controls)
Cross-rhythms constellate from leonine touch,
Muscular as slow motion kill of zebra.
And through all his lazy surge
(Bending the very furniture to his swing)
Mouth-clamped cigar never dies,
And the derby hat will not fall,
Nor silk-lined coat slip while silver-tipped cane
Stands guard by the jingle box.
 
Then curious to hear sounds of spring overlaying swing –
Echoes of Debussy and counterpoint Chopinesque.
The European concert hall floating in speakeasy smoke
But oh so gorgeously behind the ensnared drummer’s swish -
The left hand now a calm sea gently rocking boat,
Then striding and stalking like a dancing giraffe.
 
A rare moment –
Rays of genius dust filtering through stained glasses,
The sermon soaring over congregated heads
But moving feet in sacred formations.
The soft rage of left hand duelling against
Fierce delicacy of right,
Both sides reconciled in one paradoxical rhythm
That sets Time against itself.
Where now is the Word of Swing to be heard?
 
The old churches are closed.
Somewhere in a forgotten Harlem cellar
A silk-lined coat hangs on a stand
With an old derby hat.
 
Nicholas Gill
November 2013
 






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Comments by other Members



James Graham at 19:46 on 24 July 2014  Report this post
Hello Nick This was a very good read because the language is inventive and vivid, and I’ve re-read it several times. There are metaphorical ideas which convey quite powerfully the musical and personal presence of Willie Smith. Maybe some other jazz masters would fit these descriptions too. Some of the best lines:
 
A savage ivory king...
Driving on his delirious ranks of musicians
With staccato grunts from his throne

‘Smoke blurred shadow’ gets in the way somewhat, and the phrase could perhaps be worked into another part of the poem, but this image of Smith as a king who must be obeyed – African? Zulu? – is very striking. It’s about the power of his music, of course; musicians who play with him are galvanised and rise to new levels by his example.

Taking this idea in a slightly different direction:
 
A master chain-handling his pack of hounds

In the third stanza you take his nickname and compare him with a lion, his piano style sometimes having a
 
leonine touch,
Muscular as slow motion kill of zebra

This line would be better as ‘Muscular as a slow-motion zebra kill’ – just a more natural way of expressing it in English. The image of the lion combines fierceness and a surprising gentleness. An actual lion killing its prey is very like that – of course it’s fierce, but there’s a certain gracefulness as well. Again this captures an aspect of Willie Smith’s piano style.

This same combination of fierceness and gentleness is summed up further on, in two of your best lines:
 
The soft rage of left hand duelling against
Fierce delicacy of right

You have two very effective oxymorons here. I don’t know how familiar you are with literary terms; an oxymoron is not some peculiar kind of idiot, but the trick of putting together two words which seem to contradict each other but on reflection make a true statement. ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow’. ‘Soft rage’ and ‘fierce delicacy’ are excellent examples and convey the subtlety of Smith’s performance.

I like the way the poem ends. It’s a simple elegy in plain language without metaphorical fireworks. The king, the lion, the man of ‘soft rage’ and ‘fierce delicacy’ is gone and we are left with inanimate things – abandoned cellar, coat and hat. You write about them in plain language, which is perfectly appropriate.

Now, I do see lines, even groups of lines, that are not so effective and need attention. I’ll think about these and get back to you, hopefully tomorrow. It’ll be a matter of making minor changes or omissions; essentially this is a very good poem.

I believe Ellington said he thought Smith was the greatest of jazz pianists. A significant tribute.

James.

jackparamour at 09:38 on 25 July 2014  Report this post
Many thanks for that, James. I really appreciate you taking the time out to study and comment on my poem. Thanks for the useful insights.

I've often wondered what an oxymoron was but for some reason never got round to looking it up - thanks for enlightening me!

I wonder if "muscular as slow-motion kill of zebra" is a bit more jagged, the clumsiness giving it some sort of brutality...I've tended to remove prepositions where possible for effect, but as you point out, this may sound unnatural. I've used your suggestion in my latest re-write which I'm pasting below. Let me know what you think. Cheers Nick

Willie “The Lion” Smith
 
Take a walk up-town to Harlem 1932
Where jazz ferments in the moonshine whisky tubs
Of a thousand low down joints
Between Lennox and Seventh Avenue.
 
Down the stairs to Pod’s and Jerry’s
Where the Lion holds court
Bending the dancing waiters to his loping rhythm,
Smoke blurred shadow of ivory king
Driving on delirious ranks of musicians
With staccato grunts from his throne -
A master chain-handling his pack of hounds:
Women rhythm enslaved writhe in his vortex.
 
Light yet fierce soul piercing
Cross-rhythms constellate from leonine touch,
Muscular as a slow motion zebra kill.
And through all his lazy surge
(Bending the very furniture to his swing)
Mouth-clamped cigar never dies,
And the derby hat will not fall,
While silk-line coat and silver-tipped cane
Stand guard by the jingle box.
 
Then sounds of spring overlaying swing –
Echoes of Debussy and counterpoint Chopinesque.
The European concert hall floating in speakeasy smoke
But gorgeously behind ensnared drummer’s swish -
The left hand rocking now like a boat on a calm sea,
Then striding and stalking like dancing giraffe.
 
Rays of genius dust filtering through stained glasses,
Sermon soaring over congregated heads
Moving feet in sacred formations.
The soft rage of left hand duelling against
Fierce delicacy of right,
Both sides reconciled in one paradoxical rhythm
That sets Time against itself.
Where now is the Word of Swing to be heard?
 
The old churches are closed.
Somewhere in a forgotten Harlem cellar
A silk-lined coat hangs on a stand
With an old derby hat.
 
Nicholas Gill
November 2013 (revised July 2014)
 

James Graham at 20:31 on 25 July 2014  Report this post
Hi Nick – You’ve made some of the exact changes I was going to suggest! I was about to suggest the line
 
Then sounds of spring overlaying swing –

leaving out ‘curious to hear’. And
 
The left hand rocking now like a boat on a calm sea

this also being a more natural order of words. We have here a classic example of great minds thinking alike.

You’ve got this line in a better order too:
 
Smoke blurred shadow of ivory king

I was going to run a more fanciful idea past you – smoke-apparelled, smoke-liveried, smoke-mantled, or something similar, suggesting that his cigar-smoke and the smoke in the room formed a kingly garment. Too far-fetched maybe. My suggested line was
 
A smoke-apparelled savage ivory king
Driving on delirious ranks of musicians

These lines read well – but hyphenate ‘soul-piercing’:
 
Light yet fierce soul-piercing
Cross-rhythms constellate from leonine touch,
Muscular as a slow motion zebra kill

Also hyphenate ‘rhythm-enslaved’ in the previous stanza.

I wanted to be more drastic with
 
Rays of genius dust filtering through stained glasses,
Sermon soaring over congregated heads
Moving feet in sacred formations

by leaving out the second of these lines. I know Willie Smith’s ‘sermon’ would be very different in tone from a preacher’s sermon, and that the word is ironic. Still, it’s hard to see the crowd in a basement jazz club as a congregation. Even if it’s meant to be ironic, it still seems too stiff-necked and formal. But there is something ‘sacred’ about this ‘rare moment’, so I would make it:
 
Rays of genius dust filtering through stained glasses,
Feet moving in sacred formations

I think that covers it. This isn’t a poem that needs a makeover – just a few extra brush-strokes. As I said already, it’s an excellent poem. You clearly have a keen appreciation of the subtleties of a great jazz performance, and in this poem you’ve found some vivid language to communicate it.

James.

jackparamour at 10:13 on 26 July 2014  Report this post
Thanks James - I'm going to look at these ideas later today after I have driven my octogenarian parents to a vaguely spiritual encounter with the White Horse of Uffington...strange how these rationalistic atheists are beginning to look for something sacred at this late stage...there may be a poem in that. Thanks again, Nick

jackparamour at 11:54 on 28 July 2014  Report this post
Hi James,

Here is the latest re-write. I liked your "smoke-mantled" idea and used it. Your comments made me look hard at the penultimate section and in the end something rather different emerged. I'm hoping it is an improvement...Cheers Nick

    Willie “The Lion” Smith
 
Take a walk up-town to Harlem 1932
Where jazz ferments in the moonshine whisky tubs
Of a thousand low down joints
Between Lennox and Seventh Avenue.
 
Down the stairs to Pod’s and Jerry’s
Where the Lion holds court
Bending the singing waiters to his loping rhythm,
Smoke-mantled shadow of ivory king
Driving on delirious ranks of musicians
With staccato grunts from his throne -
The hunt master whipping on his hounds while
Dancers writhe in his vortex.
 
Light yet soul piercing cross-rhythms
Constellate from leonine touch,
Muscular as slow motion zebra kill.
And through all his lazy surge
(Bending the very furniture to his swing)
Mouth-clamped cigar never dies,
And the derby hat will not fall,
While silk-line coat and silver-tipped cane
Stand guard by the jingle box.
 
Then sounds of spring overlaying swing –
Echoes of Debussy and counterpoint Chopinesque.
The European concert hall floating in speakeasy smoke
But gorgeously behind ensnared drummer’s swish -
The left hand rocking now like a boat on a calm sea,
Then striding and stalking like dancing giraffe.
 
Dynamo rhythm surge electrifies
Beat hungry bodies
Conducting feet in sacred formations.
Soft rage of left hand,
Fierce delicacy of right -
Duellists resolved in a dance
That sets Time against itself.
 
Where now is the Word of Swing to be heard?
 
The old churches are closed.
Somewhere in a forgotten Harlem cellar
A silk-lined coat hangs on a stand
With an old derby hat.
 
Nicholas Gill
November 2013 (revised for the second time July 2014)
 

James Graham at 20:07 on 29 July 2014  Report this post
Just focussing on the penultimate section; everything else seems just right. As far as these lines are concerned, I’m sitting on the fence:
 
Dynamo rhythm surge electrifies
Beat hungry bodies
Conducting feet in sacred formations

Personally I prefer the idea of ‘stained glasses’ which you’ve now omitted. If these are, presumably, drinking glasses, it’s a ironic twist on church stained glass. Humorous irreverence. But it’s followed by ‘feet in sacred formations’ which isn’t ironic but in fact quite reverent towards Willie Smith’s music and the dance that keeps time to it. I like that change of tone: you begin by joking, as it were, that the joint in Harlem has got stained glass too – of a very different kind – and then go on to say, ‘Seriously, there is something truly sacred about this place’.
 
Rays of genius dust filtering through stained glasses,
Feet moving in sacred formations

Having said that, your new version works well too as it conveys the physical nature of this ‘ritual’ without losing the ‘sacred’ idea. The connection with Christian churches is lost, and it becomes more pagan. I also like ‘Conducting’ with its connotation of electrical charge as well as conducting in the musical sense. ‘Beat-hungry’ should be hyphenated.

So on balance it’s not what I prefer but what you prefer that counts. If you stick with your new lines, you can be confident they sit well in the poem.

This is perfect:
 
Soft rage of left hand,
Fierce delicacy of right -
Duellists resolved in a dance
That sets Time against itself

- these lines are reduced to essentials, and all the better for it. And setting the line ‘Where now is the Word of Swing to be heard?’ apart works well too.

You’ve pretty much sorted anything that was wrong, or not quite right. It’s a poem of real merit, and maybe you should think about getting it published somewhere.

It makes me ashamed to say  I haven’t got any Willie ‘The Lion’ Smith recordings. I seem to be leaning too much to ‘modernity’ – Davis, Coltrane, Mingus. Time to shop at Amazon again.

James.

PS. It's disappointing to see that no other members have commented. I think some folks are on holiday, but surely not all. It would be nice to get a response from somebody other than the group host. Still, I hope my comments have been helpful.

V`yonne at 19:10 on 30 July 2014  Report this post
You have had the benefit of James' expertise -- none better. I will just say that I loved this and I do hope you hang around!

jackparamour at 12:32 on 31 July 2014  Report this post
Many thanks to Yvonne for kind approving words!

And thanks to James for more very helpful insight. I wrestled for some time with the "stained glasses" line, but in the end felt it was just a little contrived - but it may well creep back in again. Certainly, there is a strong connection between early jazz/blues and the Church. There is a song with the title "Preaching the Blues" and the great Harlem stride piano innovater James P. Johnson said that numbers he wrote in the '20s and earlier were inspired by "ring-shouts" that people performed in church services - see "Carolina Shout". Of course, the relationship was uneasy, with some church people condemning jazz as "The Devil's Music". 

I really appreciate the feedback I've had and hope to stay with this site for some time - though I recognise that I can't expect help with all the 50-odd poems that I'm revising with a view to (self) publishing a little volume for my great-neices and nephews to see where I was coming from.

I look forward to reading other members' creations too.

Cheers Nick

Bazz at 13:17 on 31 July 2014  Report this post
Hi Nick, James has given you a lot of detailed feedback, so i just wanted to add that I really like the poem, and it's great seeing how you've devoped it, i'd certainly like to read more of your work on here :)

jackparamour at 15:35 on 31 July 2014  Report this post
Thanks Bazz - I look forward to seeing some of your poems too!

Thomas Norman at 11:35 on 16 August 2014  Report this post
Hi Nick,
I've only just joined this site so am trying to catch up on some earlier stuff.

James is so good at analysis I agree with all he has said. It's a highly atmospheric poem and I think the latest version enhances that. All in all a very good poem.

James has commented very intelligently on my first posting (in Flash Poetry,as have only just joined this group) I would greatly appreciate comments from you as an accomplished poet. 

Thank You,
Thomas


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