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letra de the idea of improvisation in dupont circle - joel dias-porter

he soloed from the soul of the circle
his solo didn’t sound like the fountain
like languid water randomly rippling
in the april wind, reflecting the sky
and yet his reflective blues seemed to splash
like a free jazz, a music not solely ours
although we alone understood its cause

the white fountain was not a metaphor
nor his dark solo simply a symbol
his song and the water were not tied by chords
even if what he played was what he heard
since what he played was also played by bird
pеrhaps his tarnished h-rn was spurred
by splashing water and whipping wind, but it
was him and not thе fountain we heard
if it was simplly the blue sound of the fountain
that stirred or stilled the green bills in his case
if only a ripple of overhead clouds
that rumbled darkly, no matter how deep
would it not have been still water?
just dark murmurs and mutters of water
rippling from the deep center of the circle
but it was deeper than that, darker even
than our low voices or splashing shadows
or circling blackbirds wings on the wind

yet, he wasn’t the sole arranger of the song
the white marble fountain ringed with blackbirds
not just spouting water where he came to play
what chords are these? what key? we thought to ask
thinking to unravel its natural roots
though in unraveling found only we could knot

his song made the sky darkest at its nadir
caused to the quarter note its deepening light
and as he blew, what was deep and moving
in the fountain became the soul that was his song
he was the sole controller of what song he blew
though not the solo controller of its blue soul
and when we heard him, we knew why the blues
would be eternal for him. why these chords
were the changes he chose, and in choosing, unchained
charlie parker, tell me, now that you’ve flown free
why when the song ended and we opened our eyes
tell me why the traffic lights, the street lights
the blinking lights in the still open stores
as night decrescendoed like an acoustic bass line
danced in the fountain, igniting its ripples
mimicking the night sky with freestyled stars
composing novas and new constellations
jazzing, swinging, sync-sync-syncopating heaven

oh! righteous rage of improvisation, black bird
the soloist’s rage to free notes of the fountain
dark notes of the sole source, deeply scarred
and of ourselves and of our ancestors
in more harmonic measures, melodic sounds

- joel dias porter

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