Dizzy At The Nice Jazz Festival
In the Cimeiz ruins where gladiators hacked one another, Imperial Rome is down for the count and Imperial USA sends only her best. I stand beside a memorial statue to Pops while Dizzy, magical cat, does battle with his age, coasting staccato, hitching a ride on the Riviera breeze over Illinois Jacquet honking en francais. And two lovers, unborn when Dizzy pointed to heaven, all brass, and made old Gabriel hip, embrace each other, double-timed; their shaggy dog pants canine hurrahs on Getz. On a tree nearby, wide as a thigh, ‘Yves, je t’aime, Brigitte’ … penknifed letters give blood to Eros comping for Diz. And Dizzy burst like a lover full of lover souvenirs. Nice, 1978 (from the book ‘Black’) Goodbye, Diz
Dizzy said, “Why don’t you stick around?” and we watched some tennis on TV and he blew his mouthpiece to keep his chops in order and he showed me a photo of Billie inside his trumpet case and he let me know that we knew something together and I showed him Niagara Falls. My life was something better that afternoon; and now he’s gone I hate death and I’m very very sad because he was something I wanted my life to be, not just facts but hip and wise and amazed, for he told me he’d walked on holy ground, “You feel different, you feel light, it’s something else, man." Love does not mean all is well in this world of black and white, but Dizzy was music itself, and that which is the heart remembers him. (from the book 'Echosystem') |
