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Untitled blues May 22, 2010

Posted by The Typist in books, New Orleans, NOLA, poem, Poetry, Toulouse Street.
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Laying on the couch slowly recovering from my daughter’s 3 a.m. senior prom breakfast at our house, reading Yusef Komunyakaa’s Neon Vernacular, and came across one of the best New Orleans poems I have ever read, on a topic lately on my mind, and just had to share:

Untitled blues
after a photograph by Yevgeni Yevtuskenko
I catch myself trying
to look into the eyes
of the photo, at a black boy
behind a laughing white mask
he’s painted on. I
could’ve been that boy
year ago.
Sure I could say
everything’s copacetic,
listen to a Buddy Bolden cornet
cry from one of those coffin-
shaped houses called
shotgun. We could
meet in Storyville,
famous for quadroons,
with drunks discussing God
around a honky-tonk piano.
We could pretend we can’t
see the kitchen help
under a cloud of steam.
Other lurid snow jobs:
night & day, the city
clothed in her see-through
French lace, as pigeons
coo like a beggar chorus
among makeshift studios
on wheels–Vieux Carre
belles having portraits painted
twenty years younger.
We could hand jiv
down on Bourbon & Conti
where young tap dancers hold
to their last steps,
mammy dolls frozen
in glass cages. The boy
locked inside your camera,
perhaps he’s lucky–
he knows how to steal
laughs in a place
where your skin
is your passport.

— Yusef Komunyakaa.

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Comments»

1. slpmartin - May 22, 2010

Enjoyed reading your post and the poem…thanks for sharing both.

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