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Poetry Review
By Joan Gelfand
“Talking With The Radio”
by Zack Rogow
Kattywompus Press, Somerville, MA, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-936715-83-1
$15.00
Music and poetry have been lovers ever since the first Renaissance troubadour
sang
his poetic love song accompanied by a lute. Music lives in poetry’s bones and
poetry
informs the rhythmic motion of song.
In recent decades poets have collaborated with jazz musicians, reading poems in
syncopated verse caressed by the deep timbre of a stand up bass, the beat of a
bongo or drum set, the languor of a saxophone or the lyric beauty of a flute.
Jack Kerouac, Langston Hughes, Bob Kaufman, Ruth Weiss, Joni Mitchell, Anne
Waldman, Lawrence Ferlinghetti and many others brought Jazz to poetry readings
to great success.
“Early jazz poetry did not mimic the sounds and improvisational spirit of jazz.
Instead, it heavily referenced the musical form with allusions made to
musicians,
instruments, and locations key to the burgeoning jazz scene.”* In “Talking With
The
Radio,” poet Zack Rogow continues the tradition.
Rogow, the author, editor and translator of twenty books and plays, is well
equipped
for the task. In the first section of the book, “Voices Carved from Obsidian,”
Rogow
assigns words to indescribably moving sounds. Reaching further, he explores the
roots of those voices, as he informs us that, for so many artists, harsh
circumstances
were transformed into a gift of life-changing experiences for listeners. About
Sarah
Vaughn, he writes:
“One voice was a siren
in a liquid dress
so much a woman
that you wanted to caress away
every lash life ever left her.”
From “Sass”
The stanza’s lines follow various beats (6, 5, 5, 9, 8) setting the poem to
inhabit
Jazz’s syncopation and Vaughn’s phrasing while employing finely honed poetic
tools:
internal rhyme, alliteration and metaphor.
Rogow burns to bring these Jazz greats back – if only for a moment – to reignite
the
fire in their souls to save us from our New Millennium selves. In his three-page
“Ode
to Billie Holiday,” Rogow apologizes for disturbing Holiday’s resting soul,
while
making a case for adding her to his firmament of ancestors:
“I call out the names of
my ancestors real and imagined
the Baal Shem Tov
Mickey Mantle
Frank O’Hara
My grandma Tillie.”
Holiday is embedded in the poet’s soul and his personal history. He composes his
own love song as he describes the effect her voice has had:
“That voice that sounded like
a baby wailing and a mother soothing
all at the same time.”
For this poet, music, listened to and experienced deeply, can heal, can shine a
light,
and can even change the world.
“Billie we need you now
to sing the earth to its senses
to make the bankers shake a storm of gift cards off the tops of skyscrapers
to heal the stripped and fracked thighs of the land
to sprinkle soul in all the boardrooms and bedrooms
do it now Billie
please”
***
In the next section, “Lame Jackets and the Dishwasher’s Serenade,” Rogow
ventures
out to set the record straight on the politics and the plights of so many
musicians at
the hands of cold-hearted record companies, greedy producers and misanthropic
colleagues. He sets the record straight on Herman Santiago, author of “Why Do
Fools
Fall in Love,” a #1 hit from which Santiago derived exactly nothing; to Jay and
the
Americans (really, David and the Americans,) and how Curtis Mayfield was
permanently injured when… “a shove of wind toppled/a tower of lights onto his
back.”
***
In the third section Rogow bares his own soul, joining his life to the pleasured
and
pained lives of his beloved musicians. In the raw series “Do the Ghazal” Rogow
educates the reader on the ancient form of lament and the rhyme schema. “The
ghazal consists of a group of self-contained couplets, often on unrelated or
loosely
linked themes, which the writer Agha Shahid Ali described as being like a series
of
two-line haikus.”
In these formalized poems the poet records the chaos of his inner life, musing
on
long term relationships, his sex drive, his process of sorting out his past and
how he
disciplines himself to not become stuck.
“Lord, I’ve been thirsty all day long
But I know I’m gonna take a good long sip tonight”
From “Ghazal of the Quarter Moon”
“The blues is just a skin too small for our flesh
But lately there are days I’m past the brink of it.”
“Lounge Ghazal”
“I know you can’t trade, bury, burn
Drown, strangle, or steal the pain.”
“Ghazal of the Wounds”
and
“Don’t get trapped in your past, Zack,
Not for a second, don’t you even think of it.”
“Lounge Ghazal”
***
In the final section, “My Land of 1,000 Dances,” Rogow dialogues with a few of
his
heroes. Bob Dylan, Fats Domino, Patti Smith. In the final “Jam Session: The Bill
Evans
Trio,” Rogow catches not only the contrapuntal timing but the sensuality of the
music:
“Then the bassist starts to slip his fingertips
all up and down
the instrument’s neck and belly
his touch light
but insistent
wincing with pleasure
at each note”
“The drummer rubs his brushes
splayed open
on the skins”
“The piano is driving so far
from the melody
hands probing
for every variation
till the tune melts away”
The words of “Talking With The Radio” mirror a deep and thoughtful exploration
of
both listening to and being the music, of both being effected by and affecting
his
reader with his mournful words, his grappling with meaning and his passion for
music with his excellent tuning fork – his writer’s pen.
* From “The Harlem Renaissance,” Wikipedia, 2015
Joan Gelfand’s recent collection, “The Long Blue Room,” was published by Benicia
Literary Arts in 2014. Her poetry and jazz CD, “Transported,” may be found on
itunes.com Joan is the Poetry Editor for the “J,” and Development Chair for the
Women’s National Book Association.