POETRY CORNER

POETRY CORNER

On the 13th of July, 2001, Annie Ross became a US citizen. That evening, a gathering of music business elite gathered at her apartment in New York City to help her celibrate. The following poem was written by Dorothy L. Davis to commemorate the occasion.

ANNIE'S NIGHT

Friday the 13th, a clear tepid July night,
Annie Ross celebrates her first day as a US citizen,
Her apartment filled with friends, food, and wine.

Warren Vache has a towel over his horn to mute the sound,
Mike Longo is playing the blues,
And Annie sings her first song as an American.

A good-natured tiny Tea Cup Chihuahua,
reveling excitedly in the attention and commotion,
stares intently at the trumpeter.

As I sit by the open screenless window and gaze out on First Avenue,
a cool breeze provides welcome relief in the smoke-filled living room.
Cars are double parked in front of the Tal Bagel shop across the street,
their parking lights flashing.
The M15 bus comes to a grinding halt at the light.
Taxis fly by, their vacant lights beckoning.

Friends sitting, standing, laughing, drinking, smoking,
surrounded by photos of Bird, Billie, Count, and Diz.
Soupy Sales, eating and laughing,
oversees the evening's events with nodding approval.
Even Dave Usher sings the blues.

On nghts like tonight I realize there is only one place - New York,
And the life of an artist and Bohemian is the only thing that makes sense.
D. Davis 7/13/01

Classical pianist Alex Alexis, who passed away recently at the age of 97, willed his Stienway piano to Dorothy Davis who was his student as well as a gifted poet. The following is an original poem by her about this piano.

Ode to Alexis
(For Alex and Hiromi)

She stands regal, independent, and proud.

Silently, calmly, she waits,
blossoming under the touch of a true lover.

She sings for masters and novices
with passion or indifference -
a mirror of the soul who woos her

Gaining warmth and strength with age,
her strings become more supple and responsive
as the mysteries of the universe flow through her.

Rest easy, dear friend.
She will continue her song of life.
Her black and white keys bounce up and down,
Allowing us mere mortals to realize new bounds of joy, pain,
frivolity, melancholy, rapture, and awe.

I am honored to accompany her on the next leg of her journey.
Please God, she will whisper sweet melodies to me,
And I will hear and understand.

D. Davis
9/30/99

Reunion

Awakening from the womb and merging towards consciousness, the green-
blue hills of the Ohio Valley rose - soft, comforting, ever familiar - rounded
mounds of color amidst the gray smoke rising from the mills and the murky waters
of the Ohio.

At night from my bedroom window, spotted lights like fireflies on the hills
across the river assured me "All is well!".

Every night after praying and whispering goodnight to the lights, the river,
and the hills, I would sleep - snuggled safe and secure among dolls and pillows -
and awake to another hazy day of school, friends, mother and father.

The days of my childhood are gone, replaced by a journey my parents could
never have known or prepared me for. Happiness has followed pain, and peace has
followed fear and anxiety. But the longing remains for those days, those people,
and that place which have been branded into my soul forever.

D. Davis
7/96

The following is from the W.L. DAVIS COLLECTION:

You ask me now to say a last farewell,
Be brave and smile for I am strong? Dear God.
To watch them cover that low mound with sod
Wherein is hid my soul and not rebell?
Is there some secret path beyond the dell
That I may seek, by feet untrod,
Where mind is life and life is more than clod
To praise or blame, and die in fear of hell?
Why then, this brief untimely interlude
Of hope between the Whither and the Whence
When scarce we meet before we hurry hence
Where only flashes -----
To keep alight my lamp which burns unseen.

You ask me now to say farewell.
Is it that I am strong, Dear God,
You leave this task to me?
Well, then farewell.
Count not this waning hour the end
Of love but rather the beginning.
Though with it hope and joy may die.
Fear not that spark dims
Which burning bright, consumes us all,
Shall die and leave its embers cold.
For hidden it shall warm this Lent
And keep the chill of evening
And the fall of life aglow.

You ask me now to say words of farewell.
Is it that I am strong, Dear God,
You give this heavy task to me?
Well then, farewell.
But count not this short waning hour the end
Of love, but rather the beginning.
Though with it joy and hope may die,
The white flame which consumed us both
Has lit the lamp of understanding.
Tis better so, the passion of a night
Is spent and cold when breaks the dawn,
But this, my lamp, burns on unseen
Steady and warm it glows and will
Till evening come and with it bring my dusk.

W.L. Davis

*A complete collection of the poems of W.L. Davis has been compiled by his daughter Dorothy, herself a gifted poet, and can be obtained by sending a check or money order for $9.97 plus $1.50 S&H to:

Consolidated Artists Publishing
290 Riverside Dr. Suite 11-D
New York, NY 10025

"YES! THESE POEMS ARE LOVELY. PLEASE SEND ME THE ENTIRE COLLECTION.
ENCLOSED IS MY CHECK OR MONEY ORDER FOR $9.97 PLUS $1.50 S&H".

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