Poems by Steve Dalachinsky, NY

JOHN COLTRANE (for Amiri Baraka) – 9/99
Steve Dalachinsky

John Coltrane
A bitter wind blows thru A LOVE SUPREME
& people are still waiting for the Ascension
with their eyes closed teeth clenched & fingers crossed

John Coltrane
old news is still news
assasination integration racism large schism & Africa?
is it still in Interstellar Space?

John Coltrane
the cicadas were buried in my head
long before I ever heard them
Kennedy King X
Kennedy King X
looking at the moon does not seem so strange
you do, John Coltrane, cause me to go on
wandering the Sea of Japan in my Bare feet
does not seem so strange
my language a thing of the past
the star fish & crab in their own universe
my universe does not seem so strange
I want to talk about I want to talk about

John Coltrane John Coltrane John Coltrane
i have taken the leap with you though the impression I get
as the Countdown approaches is that things are still spiralling
downward & are not, John Coltrane, made up of 3 Little Words
Where is the Promise – is it on Mars Jupiter Alabama?
Things are not what they used to be & yet they are
John Coltrane
My grandmother
it was said
sang her own kind of spirituals
while working on some underground railroad in a faraway land
Dear Lord Dear John Coltrane where are our eyes?
Can we open them on a Moment’s Notice?
John Coltrane
it is not we who live this LUSH LIFE
but Life Itself
as Death & the Blues
wait impatiently to follow
John Coltrane
what are WE Waiting for?
The consequence of compassion can be nothing more than
3 Little Words
these 3 little words that too many find so easy to say
Europa – Hollywood – Apple
do you think we will ever give that space? Have that space?
insects serenity joy
Are the Offerings we make all the wrong kind?
John Coltrane
were you living in the crescent of the Void ?
can there really be Peace ON Earth?
do Dawn & Dusk truly intertwine?
the light’s way up now
the shadows too
so I guess they do
we do
somewhere down the line
John Coltrane
always exploring new territories
I am there with you
my voice was mumbling about beauty
long before my lips ever moved

the world is in revolution
has long been in revolution
we’ve only to ask
the SUN

oh John Coltrane
John Coltrane
I haven’t slept again
& I’m sure there are people out there
doing the same thing
barely breathing
waiting for the breakfast wagon to arrive
the air is electric with a new season
another drought has passed
another hurricane
I’m still here
though the cicada’s time has ended
John Coltrane
some creatures suffer so long
for what seems so little
is there really a “GRAND DESIGN” ?
what does a diamond prove ?
John Coltrane
the world is a dangerous place
full of windex cell phones
& fax machines
women washing windows on windy days
comrades serving coffee on clear mornings
with the movement thru the trees
the realist music there is – shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
John Coltrane
it’s all about good food & press passes
John Coltrane
let’s not talk of torture or birdsong
of bondage or passage booked
i’ll acknowledge there’s hope
if you play me another solo
just play me another solo
play me another solo
play me another solo

Joe Maneri Solo 7/30/05
stone 3

this shadow is a speaker
it’s crooked shape waking in the light
a keeper of form
(s)melting into it’s own reflection

it’s a hard-breathing day
this boy on the floor meditating
thru a language of heat & pain
reflection’s shadow

an inaudible breeze on my skin
reflection & shadow both born of light
containing themselves within it

little troubles still seem insurmountable
to a cluttered & troubled mind
i stop always at the corner for a moment
then cross at the
light again

JOY SPRING (riffin on Clifford)
for Bill Dixon

the moon makes its own music
music that seeks to constantly
interrupt itself
a piece of something already a part
of some thing
a grain of flavor
fading into grainless nerve endings
fractious parcels
sailing through the window
a view / a circumference
a broken piece of
in the magazine fill the bucket
a rebel walk
i give to you  / you give to me
whatever you give to me
tune yer ears
bowpie –ring oh the seem real
blue pink rose
this new street we’ll call it

nite displays itself like a slain lover
whose bench was once a tree
slain lover cries / exclaims
there beneath the awning

yawning light
water falls  –  grapes
crush in the stomach
wine is born
i’m not sure where i am or
for how long  (i’ll love you)
some rain in the once empty chambers
of my bowels
all weird & strictly romantic.
i’m a lucky guy
& can tenderly dream of
sunset eyes
knowing nothing about books or
prayers   negative values
the symmetry of youth
desired placement
optimum opacity & ghost images

i am in the middle of a straight line
puttering  away
exposed to the dark rocks
bright metal
dark trees
against an overcast sky
& the white-against-black mood
of the music
blind to color yet able to visualize
history’s vanishing letters while
beholding agitation.

the man from the forest
a clock of hammers
eggs tick the promise of how-good-it-re
ally-is aways
bell/wind of whispered flutters
echoessssssss plurallllls
a sense of patches
grand mar rocks the steepness
& you lie there
old & young / thinkers in a story of…
enjoyin yerselves
devoted to the limitations of the scale
& how to triumphantly overturn

steve dalachinsky   6/17/10

J.J.JOHNSON @ the V.V. 7-8-88
sweating in this place
in place everything
so gorgeous Oh
& this Music
like manna feeds me

& i am so fully ginned
i can close my eyes
& whisper to myself.

in the negev
there is one dry spot left
& here all the shepherds
to discuss


sweating in this place
in place everything
so gorgeous Oh
& this Music
like manna feeds me

& i am so fully ginned
i can close my eyes
& whisper to myself.

in the negev
there is one dry spot left
& here all the shepherds
to discuss