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Ella Fitzgerald

JAZZ IN ROOM M

i.m. Anthony (Tony) Barrell

 

‘Jazz, unlike a bucket of nails, is full of paradoxes’.

Norman Granz, sleeve note to ELLA AND LOUIS

 

During term time he had an understanding

with the prefect in charge of the tuck shop,

which was on the ground floor of the decaying

annex. His record player was kept

under the counter until each Tuesday

after school, when it would be brought up a floor

to Room M. How he had persuaded

whoever he had had to persuade

to allow his fellow scholars to listen

to jazz at all never mind unsupervised

he never said, and we never asked.

He was Le Grand Meaulnes in that grammar school

of scholarship boys – founded, as part

of the reformation, by Henry VIII,

or, rather, the strategic Thomas Cromwell,

seeing the need for serried offices of clerks.

The annex was a neglected Georgian house

clamped to the substantial sandstone gateway

of the abbey Thomas and Henry dissolved.

 

The LPs he played were his – mostly big band,

Benny Goodman to Stan Kenton but sometimes

the quintet of the Hot Club of France. He was

the pedagogue par excellence – charming,

intense, generous, a good listener

in every way. We went there to learn.

He was very much our guru,

our rabbi – with a sharp sense of humour –

and at the start of a creative lifetime,

making important things happen for others,

in print, on the radio and TV.

The Head Master, a reverend, would have

considered him ‘anti’ – which translates as

‘willing and able to enable

others to see behind the curtain’.

 

One Tuesday he played us the album

‘Drum Battle’: Ella Fitzgerald vocals,

Oscar Petersen piano, percussion

Gene Krupa versus Buddy Rich – bandleaders,

erstwhile sidemen with Goodman and Dorsey –

a Jewish American and a Polish American,

on snare, bass, tom-tom, hi-hat, cymbals,

four beats to the bar in Carnegie Hall.

 

In that shabby room, its long sash windows

filled with views unchanged for centuries

of an English provincial city,

we were jazzmen chatting between solos –

about Lionel Hampton’s purple LP,

the Duke boycotting venues in the Deep South,

Django Reinhart evading the Nazis.

 

Note: Tony Barrell – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tony_Barrell_(broadcaster)

 

 

WISHES

David Selzer By David Selzer3 Comments1 min read1.9K views

For Evelyn b. 13.1.10

 

Born to good music by strong women,

Ella’s ‘isle of joy’, Nina’s ’it’s a new dawn’ –

how you nestle in your parents’ untrammelled

love, how you suck with unrelenting hunger!

 

Born into a world of rubble, with children

buried alive, a world of chicanery

and hatreds – you have entered a difficult,

place, little Evie, somewhere remarkable,

full of tears and amazing kindnesses!

 

Born into a world of snow, a fox’s

nocturnal tracks in the white garden

of the tall, Victorian villa, a Black Cap

at the bird feeder, a Red Wing sheltering

in the laurel and, away on the Downs,

boys and girls, freed from school, tobogganing

over the fossils and flints on the steep shore

of a palaeolithic sea – how you squirm

with hunger, how you bask in so much love!

 

Three wishes then for you, little bird:

may you be lucky, may you be gracious,

may you always have someone to love!

 

 

Note: first published on the site in February 2010.

 

 

 

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST

David Selzer By David Selzer0 Comments1 min read1.3K views

The hardback quarto exercise book opens
at ‘Funny Valentine’, an unfinished,
blank verse piece – full of Auden, Larkin, Yeats –
in thick-nib fountain pen on feint ruled lines.
Four decades old and more – and pristine:
‘Today, at best, brings scented, satin hearts,
Numb messengers of somebody’s desires…’

I can see the back room in the shared flat:
sagging bed, faded armchair, torn carpet,
wobbly table; I’d brought a large ashtray,
a glass fronted bookcase and a small, handmade
Chinese cabinet; a tv blared upstairs.
Through the sash window stuck fast with paint
was the littered garden – out of sight and
sound, all of Liverpool, swinging city.

I google Lorenz Hart’s lyrics – ‘Your looks
are laughable, unphotographable,
Yet you’re my favorite work of art’- and hear
Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald.
The cabinet – carved drawers filled now with years
of love – was a woman’s gift to a man
coming of age. But I was a boy, full
of fears and words. ‘Stay little valentine, stay…’
Borne on the leafy fretwork of the doors,
two gilded, lacquered kingfishers in flight,
sun catching on their iridescent wings,
fall together into oblivion.

 

 

Note: the poem was one of the first pieces to be published on the site in April 2009  and has been subsequently published in ‘A Jar of Sticklebacks’ – http://www.armadillocentral.com/general/a-jar-of-sticklebacks-by-david-selzer

 

 

 

 

WISHES

For Evelyn b. 13 1.10

 

Born to good music by strong women,

Ella’s ‘isle of joy’, Nina’s ’it’s a new dawn’ –

how you nestle in your parents’ untrammelled

love, how you suck with unrelenting hunger!

 

Born into a world of rubble, with children

buried alive, a world of chicanery

and hatreds – you have entered a difficult

place, little Evie, somewhere remarkable,

full of tears and amazing kindnesses!

 

Born into a world of snow, a fox’s

nocturnal tracks in the white garden

of the tall, Victorian villa, a Blackcap

at the bird feeder, a Redwing sheltering

in the laurel and, away on the Downs,

boys and girls, freed from school, tobogganing

over the fossils and flints on the steep shore

of a palaeolithic sea – how you squirm

with hunger, how you bask in so much love!

 

Three wishes then for you, little bird:

may you be lucky, may you be gracious,

may you always have someone to love!

 

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST

David Selzer By David Selzer1 Comment1 min read2.5K views

The hardback quarto exercise book opens
at ‘Funny Valentine’, an unfinished,
blank verse piece – full of Auden, Larkin, Yeats –
in thick-nib fountain pen on feint ruled lines.
Four decades old and more – and pristine:
‘Today, at best, brings scented, satin hearts,
Numb messengers of somebody’s desires…’

I can see the back room in the shared flat:
sagging bed, faded armchair, torn carpet,
wobbly table; I’d brought a large ashtray,
a glass fronted bookcase and a small, handmade
Chinese cabinet; a tv blared upstairs.
Through the sash window stuck fast with paint
was the littered garden – out of sight and
sound, all of Liverpool, swinging city.

I google Lorenz Hart’s lyrics – ‘Your looks
are laughable, unphotographable,
Yet you’re my favorite work of art’- and hear
Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald.
The cabinet – carved drawers filled now with years
of love – was a woman’s gift to a man
coming of age. But I was a boy, full
of fears and words. ‘Stay little valentine, stay…’
Borne on the leafy fretwork of the doors,
two gilded, lacquered kingfishers in flight,
sun catching on their iridescent wings,
fall together into oblivion.

 

Note: this piece has been subsequently published in ‘A Jar of Sticklebacks’ – http://www.armadillocentral.com/general/a-jar-of-sticklebacks-by-david-selzer