Jazz Land

The following account, though it may sound strange, And, unlikely to have occurred, I tell you that it did. 

The occurrence I experienced, was one Saturday morn, At about age 12; when I was just a Kid. 

Had to get up early that morning, Me and my homies were goin to the beach. 

It was just about ten past six, Thought I'd eat on the way, grabbed me a pear and a peach. 

 My pet Boxer, Butch was raring to go; We were going to meet the gang, at Reggie's place.  
We left the house and into the streets we fled. The Sun's warm beams, caressing my tender young face. 

 Running down the sidewalk, we stopped at the curb, Noticing the quiet, and the morning, shedding its dark. 

Trotted down to Divisadero, made a left onto Grove, Then up the hill and into the park. 

Trotting on the path, up the semi steep hill – While enjoying the morning's fragrant air – 

To the other side of the park, where Grove Street continued, Slowing down, to go down the stairs. 

Down Grove Street, passing Clifton's house, And down to Fillmo', still full of energy, Passing the Holsomes' crib, and thinking about, My crazy-assed friends, in that family. 

Then down towards Webster, I continued to go, And at the corner, I made a quick right, Where I collided with something, that I can only describe, As a cushion of air, surrounded by a blue light. 

Startled, and momentarily blinded, Butch and I, just halted in stride, To see what had happened, what we had encountered, When reality had settled, and the confusion abated.

My vision – slowly returning (and our feet settling aground) – I saw a hint of a figure, Standing silently, about six-feet away. 

Then a coarse sounding voice – with melodic vibration, And a tone of eloquence, I clearly heard say: 

Hello there Li'l Jimmy, you have nothing to fear. You are here through Benevolence and Grace, 

In a timeless world, where the past meets the future, I welcome you to Jazz Land, where for music, this is the only Place.

As I looked around me, I felt a strong sensation, Of something creative, and intensely profound. 

Then what seemed to be coming, from an unreachable distance, Increasing in volume, the music of an unforgettable sound. 

An array of stars, were assembling up above me, And in orchestra fashion, they were playing, 

A song, which is a favorite of mine today, They were playing that classic, “Little Darlin'”. 

The man then said, in his harsh sounding voice: My name, is Louis, but what they call me, really matters not, 

Except for my friends, a many call me Satchmo, But you Lil Jimmy, why you can call me Pops. 

Then the man called Pops, stepped back a few feet. And, while moving his hands, upward, towards his smiling face, 

A Trumpet appeared, within the grasp of his spread-opened fingers. From where it came, I had no clue, there was no trace. 

Pressing the mouthpiece to his lips, he blew into the horn, Which emitted a magically and seemingly tangible sound, 

Like it painted a picture, of a covered, extremely large canvas. And the covering - as if moved by a trained wind - floated down, and onto the ground. 

The canvas gigantically stretched, enormously high and long, Had animated images of folks, who at the time, to me, didn’t matter, 

And I now - as an adult - have come to appreciate and recognize, In their own musical styles, individually, can claim the title of Jazz Master.

The magic of Jazz Land, seemed to add to my senses, Another awareness, which was so profound, it is hard to explain, 

But explain I will, but you may want to doubt, If whether then or now, I could be sane. 

There were hundreds of folks, and each was performing, On a stage, and each one, on their own. 

Each separate from the others, either play their insturments, Or the vocals, who were singing their songs. 

Now the magic I mentioned, I have not yet disclosed, I’m still thinking of a way how to say it, 

But each song that I heard, I heard all at once, But at the same time, heard them individually, is the best way to explain it.

I saw Sarah Vaughn, with her Devine, Sassy Self. She was singing “September In The Rain”. 

And as I gazed at other nearby stages, I saw Miles Davis playing a duet with John Coltrane. 

From somewhere came the sound of an intoxicating voice, Of someone I couldn’t see right away, 

It belonged to the unmistakable Nancy Wilson: She was singing, “Guess Who I Saw Today”. 

Singing “What A Difference a Day Makes, With a demanding presence was Dinah Washington; And Singing "Baby You Got What It Takes". On another stage, she was singing with Brook Benton. 

I saw Horace Silver, playing "Song For My Father". On another piano, was Ms. Carmen McRae. 

She was playing and singing songs, Either made famous by, or belonging to Billie Holiday.

Then Pops started pointing out people, Like Monk and Duke Ellington. 

And I also saw and heard Mr. Mose Allison, singing about the "Seventh Son".

 "Now Jazz is a lot more Little Jimmy, Than your yet-to-be experience self can fathom at this time, 'cause your enjoyment taste, just isn't quite there. 

You'll understand when you mature a bit, How it can induce the feeling, of a hawk that is flying in the air.

It has a way of taking you to places, That you have always wanted to see. 

It can heighten your spirit to a remarkable transcendental state. You can experience what it really means to be free. 

And one day my young Friend, you'll come to know, These experiences, and an unlimited more. 

Tho' different from my own and others, but yet the same; And even create your own music, when you learn to invent and explore".

It was at about this point, that his words began to soften, And I could no longer completely hear what he was sayingllAnd the canvas, which illustrated the performers on stage, Began do dematerialize, and was gradually fading, 

But before my odd visit to this strange place,  did have me then withdrew, 

I got a glimpse of Ella and Etta, and Wynton and peek at "Q", 

And the last words I heard from Pops, Was his fare-wel-ling me, by name. Then all of them, and Jazz Land, was erased from my view. 

Then my body became, it felt like it had become weightless. And I was consumed again, by the cushion of air and blue light. 

And to my surprise, there I was, with Butch, still running on Webster, Like we didn’t miss a beat, we were still moving in flight. 

What seemed to have been, at least 30 minutes or more, This experience, that I cannot deny, 

Somehow compressed itself, into a second or two, ‘Cause it occurred, as quick, as the blink of an eye. 

Spellbound and perplexingly confounded, My wondering thoughts, sought to doubt what just occurred. 

But confirmation did strike me, when I looked down, and witnessed, Butch’s facial expression and his whining showed he was just as perturbed. 

At the time, even if I had chosen to tell them, I lacked the maturity, to provide the words that would explain,

To my friends, this irreconcilable time and space experience, Of this mysterious visit, with Pops, in Jazz Land.