Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

Poetry Library Southbank Centre - The Poetry Library housing the Arts Council Collection at Southbank Centre

« Previous item
Contents of this issue
Next item »

John Lucas

print this page

Tales of the (English) Jazz Age

for Jim Burns

Spud Murphy, Preston’s first known jazzman,
stood by his feisty, green-stockinged wife
in your dad’s good-for-men-only local

ordering pints to a jaw-clenched
silent riff of “Poof, weirdo,
Red.” Your tale, Jim, but how about

Birmingham ‘52 and GO HOME DIRTY BOPPER,
that hooray banner slung against Bruce Turner
when Lyttleton’s band played City Hall

and found no place to eat after the show.
Still, it was 10 pm. and Jim -- remember? --,
Humph’s own 100 Club licensed “soft drinks only.”

There, I first heard Broonzy’s
tar-and-bourbon voice, heard more recently how,
delivered standard-fare for his Nottingham gig,

the owner of a chintz-infested hotel
came out to greet Big Bill with
“No coloureds, I’ve got my name to think of.”

Or Mansfield, “Sin City of the Midlands”.
With Ken Colyer due, of course
the local jazz club’s plea

for a late bar had no joy, though as
old growly bear told it,
“we stomped the night away

until the wee small hour of 10.30 pm.”
“Joyless” the O.E.D. says:
“having or causing neither joy nor pleasure.”

Jim, in my lexicon,
joyless means that heart-in-splints
bollock-brain state you scorn:

joyless means jazzless, right?

Page(s) 4

Back to top