Letras
In churches of soundof the phonaesthetic bliss
Of our musicof black notes
Of codesand modes of modal blues
In one and twoin which the and is actually
The groove — the beat
Between each breath
It is always
The same arc of air which floats above the snare
cbove the mouth of the drum which speaks
In its heritage of skin and wrist and chordophone
Play griot play triplet over duplet with dulcet tones and gutty moans and hollers that roll
With buckets at the door to wash the feet clean
Before entering the dance
(O) blood tree and tree of lifeO blood tree in Congo Square
New Orleans
Who transposedthe fleet rhythm of feet
— into the new thing
Over fields or from frolic houses
cnd there were gospellers of the Southern states — eyes spun with melisma — who blew the holy roll of their throatsto flatten the fifth // then move down upon usthrough Pascagoula Bay
(O) sacred ground from which our voices blossomed into constellations of sound (O) Bras-Coupé whose skin bulletscould not penetrate
Who danced
(O) Buddy Boldenand his head held the horn
(O) Sidney Bechet!
Then shout us into the wild Caribbean (O) gospel of soulful days
Where ashes are still thrown today — on Frenchmen Street
There were Spasm Bandswho built combustion in the ear
Beating the earth to freedom
Conceal usamong the dry plainsand plains and saints of La Pastora Trinidadwith metaphors for joywhich hid blades and smiles which hid scarsin wild island jazz
Move elsewhere with Obeahburning water into sounddip like Leader Jim — to one side
Chanting hymnsto kill death — dubwise
Lining the trackfor the members to pass into song
Into soundinto tongues
Extending outwardsto brightnessand expanding each time in every beat and bell
Each lineprecious and impossible
Centrifugally
In Glissant — the diaspora is circular
The insistent rippleof creolisationexpands outwardsthrough the earththrough human experience it is
The mal de debarquement of the inner ear reverberatingreturning