Sunday, October 05, 2025

Say What Now?

An Explication of "THE COLTRANE IN YOU"

"THE COLTRANE IN YOU" is a masterful tribute from the speaker, poet Joel Dias-Porter, to his esteemed contemporary, the poet Terrance Hayes. The speaker dedicates the poem to Hayes as "il miglior fabbro" ("the better craftsman"), a reverent nod to T.S. Eliot's dedication to Ezra Pound. The poem analyzes the nature of Hayes's artistic genius through the primary metaphor of John Coltrane's spiritual and improvisational music, brilliantly embedding the titles of at least six of Hayes's own books as the ultimate homage.

Stanza 1

> By which I mean

> either the angel

> or lion

> that nightly probes

> the last oh

> of whatever emotion

> your dark matter

> splays open.

The poem defines the "Coltrane" in Hayes as a powerful duality: something divine and graceful ("angel") and something fierce and primal ("lion"). This creative force probes the deepest, most essential core of emotion—the final "oh" of awe or pain—that emerges from the vast, mysterious, and foundational "dark matter" of Hayes's inner world.

Stanza 2

> Meaning inky-haired

> & lightheaded,

> you begin to trace

> circles at your center

> pondering if

> in a reunion

> of broken things

> a portrait of the Beloved

> could be Euler’s Identity?

This stanza places Hayes in a state of contemplative creation. He is "lightheaded," a direct allusion to his National Book Award-winning collection, Lighthead. From this space, he poses a profound, hypothetical question: If one were to use the symbolic language of algebraic notation (from "a reunion of broken things," the literal meaning of al-jabr) to create a portrait of the Beloved (divine unity), would the resulting masterpiece be Euler’s Identity (e^{i\pi} + 1 = 0)? This is a metaphor for the artistic quest to render a perfect, transcendent truth through a chosen medium.

Stanza 3

> Meaning since the tint

> can serve at least half the sound

> and apostasy can loiter

> on the tongue as a lozenge,

> both of you—cartographers

> of a changing terrain—

> seek to phrase

> which shade of faith

> versus gothic of god

> moves past mere ode or elegy.

Here, the speaker observes a shared mission between Hayes and Coltrane ("both of you"). He sees them as fellow "cartographers" exploring the complex modern terrain of faith and art. They both seek a new creative language ("seek to phrase") to express nuanced, personal spirituality ("shade of faith") over rigid dogma ("gothic of god"), creating work that transcends simple forms.

Stanza 4

> Meaning at the wheel

> of the warship of worship

> you vie for the root of unity

> to unravel extended chords

> which move to maroon

> in the bluest mountains

> of duende.

This stanza describes the intensity of Hayes's creative drive as both a battle and an act of devotion ("warship of worship"). He seeks mathematical purity ("root of unity") to deconstruct musical and poetic forms ("unravel extended chords") and reach a state of deep, soulful, and dark creative power, which the poem identifies with Lorca's concept of duende.

Stanza 5

> Meaning certain starred charts

> —once incomplete—

> soon become guide

> in a bitter suite

> as incensed ropes of smoke

> muscle music from hunger

> ...

> or query the angel

> and lion of Evangelion.

The creative process is portrayed as a difficult musical journey ("bitter suite"). The verse itself is described with an allusion to Hayes's debut collection, Muscular Music, evoking a powerful and primal poetry born from creative desire. This desire leads the artist to engage with foundational spiritual texts. The "angel and lion of Evangelion" refers not to anime, but to the symbols of the New Testament evangelists Matthew (the angel) and Mark (the lion), showing Hayes's art directly questioning the Gospels.

Stanza 6

> Meaning the same L

> which links them—

> archaic name

> for god or

> vernacular for loss—

> may seek certain

> words in the world.

A moment of pure linguistic play that highlights Hayes's dexterity. The speaker notes that the "L" sound connects "angel" and "lion," while also being the root of the archaic name for God ("El") and modern slang for defeat ("loss"). It suggests Hayes's poetry finds profound meaning in these layered coincidences.

Stanza 7

> Meaning what if

> the “good news”

> also concludes

> the Beloved

> favors Apophenia?

> ...

> surely the second O

> of said emotion

> can become ensō

> in modulation,

This stanza identifies Apophenia—the ability to find meaningful patterns everywhere—as a key to Hayes's genius, suggesting the Divine favors this creative method. A simple sound, like the "o" in emotion, can be artistically transformed into an ensō: a Zen Buddhist circle representing a moment of enlightenment and completion.

Stanza 8

> meaning how

> to be drawn

> into a circle of fifths

> or to Picasso keys

> into a piano’s grand motif?

> Do we re-choir

> the Acknowledgement

> of our father?

This section contains another direct book title allusion: How to Be Drawn. It poses questions central to artistic creation: How does one enter formal structures ("circle of fifths") while also deconstructing them like a cubist ("to Picasso keys")? The clever pun on "require" ("re-choir") while referencing "Acknowledgement," the first part of Coltrane's A Love Supreme, links Hayes's artistic struggle to Coltrane's spiritual one.

Stanza 9

> Meaning a relative minor

> to greater absolve

> any resolve for Resolution

> or a full-hipped logic

> to Bearden the burden

> of our double basis

> until battered sticks shatter...

This stanza is a dense node of references. It alludes to Hayes's book Hip Logic through the phrase "full-hipped logic." It honors the collage artist Romare Bearden ("to Bearden the burden"), praising Hayes's ability to layer traditions. It also contains the mathematical/musical pun of "double basis" / "double bassist," linking abstract concepts to the jazz ensemble.

Stanza 10

> Meaning since a talent

> may also be a weight,

> your gift gives pause—

> before purpling

> in turbulent Pursuance

> of relief,

> wind from a box

> spilling uncertain bottled spirits

> —e pluribus unum—

> as if God is an American

> Sonnet massaged

> into Wanda’s hands.

This stanza explores the immense power of Hayes's gift. It references another part of A Love Supreme ("Pursuance") and two more of his book titles: Wind in a Box and American Sonnets. Crucially, the speaker acknowledges the lineage of this form. The "American Sonnet," as manifested by Hayes, was first shaped and "massaged" into existence by the pioneering hands of the poet Wanda Coleman, a beautiful tribute to a poetic ancestor.

Stanza 11

> Meaning what

> of his or your

> four enchanted

> or merely chanted

> syllables bobbing

> about a Brooks theory

> of the lyric between lines

> which nightly now—

> as the angel or lion

> conflates and conflicts

> —begin to twist

> towards wholly writ.

The final stanza places Hayes in the great lineage of the poet Gwendolyn Brooks. The core theme that animates both Coltrane's ("his") and Hayes's ("your") work is identified as the four chanted syllables of the mantra "A Love Su-preme." This spiritual phrase is the ultimate force that resolves the artist's inner "angel or lion" duality, pushing the work toward a sacred and complete status: "wholly writ," a final, perfect pun on "holy writ."


Friday, September 26, 2025

You Feel Me?

AN IDEA OF IMPROVISATION WITH THE UNCERTAINTY PRINCIPLETake X

bluesy notions of a freer jazz with ashes buried under some trees by a ¿bob? cat in a different key


These are amazing:

I quietly shrug and enter

what are not shrubs

but scratch and itch like 

a bramble of edged petals

that promise bluish fruit

which could perhaps 

—beloved—be

chromatic points 

but not a pentatonics

as in The Blackberries

singing of an ache

one might lapse

into and risk crimson.

I am still.

I am still seeking

not knowing

if a light blue note later

the hidden position 

of a thorn section

could pierce the i 

or for a time mitigate 

with a pound or

a hug once dug 

by Kearney from a pond 

in a Pointillist poem 

deep tidal desires 

which beg tailoring

by Cécile or Mackey 

or Cecil asking about

sounds being both elegy 

& ode to what they signify

as we try to scan

Le Front Cache

or even the knees 

of a more natural man

or Haitian woman.

And yet is our speech 

a mere performance

beyond the velocity

of lossy phrases—

to model or yodel emotions

or evoke Harryette mulling

over a syntax of velvet

deities that Apophenia—

our supposedly fun diva—

mimics to bray or splay

as wounds on walls 

around Gardens of Truth

but not as velour

as any crimson cry?

I am still.

I am still quieting

which I can’t explain

but this approaches

the mouth feel of a trio 

Moten leaves

to shade or abrade

my parakeet feathers 

—to color such loss

or what feels lost to elegy 

unless I begin to dig 

my berried desire

with a silence bladed 

nearly to the point 

of a sound science?

Friday, September 19, 2025

Another revision

AN IDEA OF IMPROVISATION 

AS A SEASCAPE WITH VESSEL

(for Cesaria Evora)

“She sang beyond the genius of the sea.”

 

I love how

what impresses

more than your swollen footprints

in the Saõ Vicente sand

is your ghost verses

appearing to ignite

a light from the tallest mast

and how your voice

rising or falling, becomes

a salty island breeze swirling

around the man-made reef 

of rusted hull which 

resembles my dreams.

Your genius—half mountain mist,

half cliff of crashing wave—

is somehow a migrating sun.

Cesaria, is that why 

the aria in your name

carries the whistle of 

those like me who—

with a star’s glint 

in one eye and a squint 

in the other—

track speckled fins 

of whale song?

Since even gliding gulls

fear a plunge,

I also often fear 

tumbling down

your ballad’s seaside cliff

as you measure

your sodade. She left me

only this record—

how do I balance 

on my head

the simple truth 

of how often the sea 

and the song of salt are

in the same skeleton 

key—which darkens

and enlightens

what one finds

inside your every word

by driftwood

word?

 

Cizé, I miss 

how the brown 

liquor of your voice

—dark voice of the sea—

now bottled 

on heaven’s higher shelf 

carried more Marlboro blaze 

than Coast Guard’s 

finger of searchlight.

Perhaps the barnacled hull

of my skull will never 

comprehend how

your contralto illuminated 

our dunes with so many waves 

of lunar light.

A constant cry

of yours—though

I don’t understand

its Kriolu signs—

becomes a medley

of whale spout

rising in Atlantic moonlight.

She left me 

only this record—

a mirror of my flaring vices

flaming as the sea

under your solar voice?

Since falling tears also 

reflect celestial shine, 

are the traces I still taste

drops of your faith 

on the cheeks of Sodade?

Tonight I watch 

Mindelo don

her ebony negligee 

and knot a sequined

scarf of stars 

around her head 

before mulling

in her Atlantic mirror 

what tariff of tide

you must’ve paid

for slipping

off your shoes

to pace a place

I still aim to go—

where the sea

of your song

rises beyond

every word

by barefoot

word.