Sacred Profane

What am I talking about when I speak of jazz?
We talking space that speaks
We talking place with speed
And reeds that breathe, whisper and bleed
We speak of slow pain
Blues way down tempo
Like a Bird considered dead
But suddenly
Phoenixes with a sudden gusty uptake
Flurry of notes and paraphrased anecdotes
Accents from a passionate world
We talking broken language
Accents of a thriving Diaspora
The familiar and the strange
Anti-clockwise versions of orange
Kaleidoscope of colours clashing
Harmonising then disolving into beautyfully mathematically inacurrate nothingness in syncopated sequences
Bleak existentialism
Black Existential dread
Ukuthula nenxushunxushu
Amaqoqo nezimvuthu
Uxolo nesiphithiphithi
Usuku lodlame nobusuku benzolo
Ikuthangi neyizolo
Ubuthakathaka nokululama
The first thing to know about jazz is that there is No such thing as jazz
Yet not everything they call jazz is jazz
Paradox mired in quicksand
Hear it in Trane’s Equinox
A soaring upward spiral of a novice long-winded astronaught seeking new planets from a crevice in space and self created time
Hear it in Abdullah Ibrahim’s Mountain of the Night
Slow burning Blue flames and runaway veldfires raging around a cool stream running untouched
The black flakes of burned grass fallin on it like petals of crystalline snow
Jazz is an uncle rantimg uncanny wisdom in a drunken trance
She is also a sober minded Belle whispering I love you to a cruel lover with the most seering sincerity
She is used to all kinds of indigo moods
Yet with Sarah Vaughan’s elegance
She refuses to be diluted or be reduced to mindless loves
Fuckboys and their blase’ blase’
Cannot take Her hope
She aint no cheap thrill
She has had her fill
Of needles bottles and smokey bars
From the 20s to the 60s
They have invited her in only to chew her out
Took her to the bioscope
Trying to make a lady out of an enigmatic tramp
But she escaped all labels and remains enthroned in her own private state of Yin and Yang
Coloured and never gray
Unless She is fixing to rain
Bold and never weak
Unless she needs to display Her vulnerability
Elegant muse
Black classical Blues
Everything won yet nothing to lose
This Being called Jazz is a Shaman’s dream boogie
A thing of no nation
An activist with convictions beyond politics
Multiversal and viscerally private
Provocative and transluscent
Yet still Black as the root in a Healers bitter brew …
She is also a just music

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