ON BIRD, SMILING
�If I exorcise my devils, my angels may leave too
And when they leave they�re so
hard to find��
����������������������������������������������������������� --Tom Waits, �Out Walkin� in the Rain�
It took half a lifetime, but I learned to misjudge you.
Perhaps it was the terrible visage, the gyrating, convulsing pose,
The mad notes so close together that they split the atoms in the air
The figures so dense I almost didn�t believe in them
Until the night I closed my eyes and saw God in them
And then I got it, see, I got it: you,
The Universal Soldier in God�s Demon Brigade, the hep cat on heroin
Blowing something only the wise learn to hear
Scarred from years of cutting contests, muscles bulging Conan-like
After years toiling at the millstones
Of Big Bands and music halls
Finally busting out in the dark of the subterranean clubs in Manhattan
Where you blew so loud and mad they put you away in the nuthouse twice
Where you blew so loud and mad you tore your own guts out
Where you blew so loud and so mad you had to jab in the spike
To hush down the noise
To bring up the visions
So you could rest, for Bird
Could not stay on the wing forever
Although God knows you tried and tried right up until that terrible night
On the stage at Birdland, too ill and confused to jam
With the vassals
And in the end so angry
That none of the other cats could sympathize
So they split on you, they spit on you,
They walked off the stage
And eight days later you�re dead in Nica�s apartment
Legend has it
You were so torn that they never could have fixed you anyways.
Just a matter of time.
And then here�s this picture of you,
Backstage at the Five Spot or the Vanguard or the Savoy
Or who the hell knows where
face beaded with sweat
Smiling broadly, looking askance of the camera, smiling
So, so warmly
With the grace and assurance
Of an artist celebrating a job well done.
Now I get it.
�