HORN OF PLENTY
for Joel Levy
Just before the refrain, you pulled the stops. Crooning
Out “Stormy Monday” while everybody swooned—not from the words
Exactly, but the surge, the deep, true timbre only you could summon.
Laying it down, doing it bad. You told us how it is. Was. And will be.
Pitch and phrasing danced together on the brass where
Lyric and heart converge. What you gave away went beyond
Arrangement or crescendo. In fact, you sang the things
You could not say—on the post office steps or waving from your van.
So sue us: We thought it was one of your protracted jokes
That Stormy Monday when news of you began to swell: We heard you’d gone,
Hadn’t packed your horn. Tuesday was just as bad (and Wednesday worse). Oh, for
A punch line where you’d wave your hand as if swatting a fly, then
Turn your head, shake it slightly and say, “Pshaw!”
Hometown boy: More than spice, your life was Feast, a Combo platter:
Oregano chicken. Beef Burgenoign. Dim Sum, and Peking Duck. “It’s about
Really living,” you said, laying your hand on the place near the
Navel where voice finds power, where breath and sustenance begin. You
Orchestrated bliss, then passed it on. And so today we follow your lead
From where you left off, riffing on that clarion joy.
Picture it now—–sweat flying from your face—the chords entangled. Your
Legs and belly rife with the food of love. Notes burning through your torso.
Every cell a mouth, a bell, an open valve. We’re playing through the changes, Joel.
Now it’s Sunday and we’ve got down on our knees, the tempo a steady
Thrum. We hear you, Joel, but we’ve reached the bridge. What next?
You’re taking it all back home.
Christine Hemp
Memorial Day Weekend
May, 2011
