Electric Review

Culture & Criticism From the Far Distant Realms

“Saxophone Man”

I.

Van Morrison wailed

(his)

Lips in

To long

White flowers

(blew)

His saxophone

Into the

Electric lungs

Of song

(the)

Rippled feathers

Of echoes

(come)

Alive to talk

(the)

Metal comes alive

To resonate

New notes

(vital)

Dark electric being

(made)

Music for

(these)

Plastic masses

(gave)

Our souls

A chance

To feed

And weep

(until)

He grew tired

Of talking

(when)

He put down

His horn

(ambled)

Into the tongues

(of)

The invisible light

(rear)

Of the stage

II.

“Inspired tonight –

The Moon

Come alive

(living)

Inside the

Mystical tongues

(at)

The bottom mouth

Of his horn”

III.

Van Morrison

At the Masonic

(old)

Town San Francisco

(listened)

To the fog

Horns blow

At dusk

(until)

He answered

(the)

Milky webs

(of)

His own song

(said)

“The healing

Has begun”

(shared)

His stage

In the name

Of grace

(reborn)

In the

True mercy

Of beauty

(the seams)

Of his eyes

(tore)

Open and split

(in)

To soft

Satin pockets

(rivers)

Over-flowed

In velvet

(sparkled);

And again:

His eyes split

At the corners

(revealed)

The true

Heart motive

Of the sun

(the moon)

In her infancy

(splintered)

Into brave embers

(crazy)

Cool orange pools

(mid)

Night across

The holy roads

Of the sky

(drank)

Up the hour

(until)

Echoes shivered

(down)

The thirsty claws

Of our mouths

(shivering)

Down the

Wooden stairs

Of our spines

(crossing)

A long hallway

Of mountains

(and again):

IV.

Blew his saxophone

And sang

(the spit)

Hangs mid-air

In vacant clots

(spittle)

Through the

Holy canyons

Of his lips

In a burst

Of crackles

(and)

The threads

Of words hiss

(saxophone)

Howls at dawn

(came)

In a crash

(rubble)

And bones

(now)

No more

(and thus)

The stars

Were born

(burning)

To drown

(drowning)

In warm pools

Of God’s blood

(this)

Is the core

(electric)

Pure unbridled

(blood)

And meaning

Of the music

(Van)

Morrison at

The Masonic

(old)

Town San Francisco

(blew)

The saxophones

Of dawn

(in)

To this

Perfect shawl

Of moon beams.

April 3, 2004, San Francisco, California, following Morrison’s performance at The Masonic Auditorium

by John Aiello

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This entry was posted on July 1, 2004 by in 2004, July 2004, Poetry and tagged , , , .
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