I only have eyes for you
a corner bar smoky drink
reminding me of ‘Gaslight’
hard-liquor evenings catching
Dave Van Ronk, Richie Havens,
but this ain’t Greenwich Village
it ain’t nineteen seventy
a classy five-piece ripping
a re-cooked Coltrane classic
from ‘My Favorite Things’ the
soloist is pretty good
the bar guy is watching me
I mouth, ‘a double… no ice’
he nods – he pours another
a singer hobbles onstage
heavy on a walking stick
takes her place behind the mic
the jazz backing stands ready
she snaps her fingers, ‘three four’
the band clambakes a smoking
‘I only have eyes for you’
her reedy vocals grip me
pain-cracked, faltering, haunting,
she sounds like broken Billie
putting out her happy face…
but this is England, on a
drab Dalston weekday evening.
two thousand and seventeen
no one listening but me
the set closes. I buy drinks
ask how she can stand to sing
when she carries so much pain?
her double goes down in one
the barman pours another
she drinks, she shrugs, she coughs, grunts,
‘worse when you’re crippled inside.’
This paints a vivid picture reminds me of a place my neighbour took me to see Phil Seaman long ago
My neighbour was his friend making sure Phil pulled himself out of a heroin haze and went to play otherwise he would lose the only place left that booked him
I once wrote a story about an ageing jazz musician dying on stage but it’s not any point posting anything written in paragraphs rather than stanzas on here.
This poem could be the basis of a great short story actually
a good friend from Grimsby, not a poet, but one with a good eye for bollocks told me the closing couple of lines were too cheesy – I reworked them plus altered some weak lines 🙂
Ah Phil Seaman – saw him at Scott’s (old place) Cheers.
Yes it’s a good idea to get a non writer to glance over work providing you don’t mind being embarrassed
I think your Grim friend was right it’s better But I wonder if she might not just tell you to f*** off 🙂 or just smile down her drink and stagger off with the words “thanks for the whiskey” … in other words f*** off 😉
Never made it to Ronnie’s place
Phil Seaman died a couple of years after we saw him
I’m never embarrassed – she would never say owt like that – she’s a teetotal grandmother – always ends her comments, “but what do I know?” but she has such an eye – I’m fortunate to have her. I’ve just tweaked it all into the present tense. The tinkering is never ending – it’ll be right… in time. 🙂
Did you misunderstand me? I was referring to what the singer might reply in your poem. I’m sure your friend in Grimsby is very polite.
It’s always a problem, when you can think of so many ways to end a good poem or story. It’s the same when I paint (not often these days) you’re never sure when to put the brush down.
Putting the brush down? Like a boxer having ‘one last fight’ – sooner or later you just gotta cry, “Enough!”
this one will sit on the window sill to cool a while. I’ll maybe have another look in a month or so 🙂
well, I weakened – changed verse five – there will be more no doubt 🙂
From Greenwich Village to Dalston…50 years, and back then might just be nostalgia , Greenwich Village had something going on. And now? My uncle set up shop in 1968? I believe, closed down last year – I wonder, if it is less than it was, not just for me -his place was amazing…prob not as glum as 2017 Dalston. I wonder why used the word cripple and not broken…as broken was used and felt before and seems fine?
oH! der! My apologies! I’ve been locked in a spreadsheet for days and der. Ignore last comment -I read again!
you had me baffled 🙂
I hope unbaffled now sorry! I need a rest! I liked the poem!
don’t try to analyse the pome – just let the images rest in your mind.
I should not confess this but it is entirely imaginary. I never was in New York in my life. The year is chosen as it fits the 7 syllable requirement. Dalston was my 4th choice for venue – it is /was seedy enough – there is no band and the singer? Well this is a covert reference to my muse and she understands the references only too well 🙂