Poetry Corner - Walter Dean Myers

I may be deaf-blind now, but once upon a time I was hearing and
had dreams of being a professional musician. I played saxophone
and loved it. I wanted to be a jazz saxophonist. Becoming deaf
screwed that up.

I found this great poem that reminds me of those dreams. I
can't hear but I still remember the music... the feel of the horn
in my hands... the smell of old instrument... and the taste of
the wooden read. This poem brings it all back.

from Here in Harlem: Poetry in Many Voices

by Walter Dean Myers

Willie Arnold, 30
Alto Sax Player

He bops!"
That's what they're saying
When I'm playing
When I'm wailing
Hot notes sailing
Like soulful birds
Songs without words

"Be-bop!"
The joint is swinging
Hearts are singing
As I'm blowing
Really flowing
Up to the moon
With this sweet tune
He bops!
She bops!
We bop!
Be bop!

My horn will free you
Or maybe freeze you
In some rhapsodic frieze
It's a swinging rap
To wrap around your brain
A jazzy feat
You'll pat your feet
To this refrain
What can I say?

I can say
Be-bop!
Be-bop bo dee and
Be-bop!
Be-bop bo dee and
Be-bop
Be-bop a bo
Deee!

"He bops!"
That's what they're saying
When I'm playing
When I'm wailing
Hot notes sailing
Like soulful birds
Songs without words
Last call
That's all!