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POETS OF THE NOW
Hoarding shards of perceptionless vibrations,
Smiling down tirelessly suffocating fears,
Crossing rivers on the backs of formless jealousies,
Climbing over the last dead, rotting insecurity.
There and then, the Now appears
Opening arms so as not to take them up,
Lifting the front end of strollers up subway stairs,
Listening to the silence of the void, before the first
note touches the air,
Gazing on the endless power and possibilities of the
present.
Witness this harvest of the Now from which such
sweet fruit is bared
Glint of night retreating from newly sown seeds of
breath,
From behind glass walls, fragile self-esteem steps
aside
As soul reaches out, knocking it all away --
Free to connect to the world again,
Sending isolation to its lonely grave.
Yet staying vigilant, listening for the next crowding
in of thoughts,
Unwittingly ready to erect new enclosures.
What’s it like to live in the past or future of your
mind, I’ve mostly forgot,
Confusing the Now with the fantasy of some other place
and time,
Some other experience, never resembling mine.
Maybe seeing where I am right now is not where I’d
hoped to be,
But being able to BE that NOW in THIS time and space
and KNOW
The transitoriness of a situation and NOT let it
determine who I am,
But to know the wholeness of it all
And not be swept away, lost, somehow, in the cluttered
musings of some illusion.
This is the lucidity of the immediate,
The arrival of living.
No more prisons of the mind, body or spirit,
No more how-it-is-your-supposed-to-be police,
Rambling, ramble
Slowing, slow
Center, centering
Now, now
The five skandas, both simultaneously present and
destroyed,
This is the challenge.
The rich, the poor,
The shuckster, the hustler,
The businessman, the homeless,
Those most proud of being gas guzzlers.
All in need of this Now,
Not simply a bunch of words,
But something once found,
The beauty of which paves a lush path to the infinite,
Transforming the victims of the swamp into the
Poets of the Now.
Steve Swell
July, 2002
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2. |
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competitive nature and Buddha nature are fine lines
only of value
when noticed
while crossing them and understanding why
7/1/13
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3. |
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Estuaries
Freshwater mingling with brine
Swirling with sounds and imagination
Incandescent transmissions released from time
Freely connecting with the open sea
Pulsing declarations brook the flood
Following the pull of infinity
Tectonically produced engulfments of air and spirit and sweat
Preventing erosion while nurturing the future
Where the great blue heron comes to nest
Pouring out their mellifluous being
Conjuring one surprise after another
Prompting fresh rivulets of seeing
The rich mud bottom grows hallucinatory dreams and more
The music breaking against ever distant shores
Audible cooperation assuring hope its destiny
Flickering capriccios caress this fantasy
Bubbling vibrations spinning round
Swimming visions quicken the sonorous heart
The soul churning quicker, at last unbound
12/29/12
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4. |
Caution Voyager
00:41
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Caution, voyager
Bridge the Bristol
River
Blue
With Bebop,
and Jersey City
and too much
time on your
hands to
know this is not
right and that
might be worse
but never knowing
the lesser of
two evils equals
The hot, Biblical Hell
of alternating spaces of
someone else's making
Forgetting the business
of here.
Steve Swell, November, 2003
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5. |
Circular Paths
01:42
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Circular paths,
the call of the unseen revealing its mysteries in the ancient rituals of curiosity and discovery
to see what’s in the cracks, to keep digging until a dream emerges and breathes on its own
Hiking through the Amazon, the uninhibited inquisitiveness pushing the brush aside
as playful apparitions come to tease me
Rattlesnakes make their way through my tympanic canal suggesting an underground route
Where dancing is preferred over words
Industrial size fans blow through enormous empty spaces,
decorating the walls with chameleons and brutal bug eye views that are distorted into the freshest of air that is suitable for drinking, acknowledging all aspects of living
There’s an ancient-future that reveals itself constantly
A modernity that grows and blooms from the rich soil of the recent, flowering into the next, to assure the winning of a hard scrabble evolution into humanness............
June 5, 2020
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6. |
Musical Chess
01:45
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Musical Chess
Don’t wait for their go ahead
Because more than likely you’ll never get it
They are working under certain presumptions
Of who to move ahead and who should
Never be allowed at the table
It’s got nothing to do with your work
It’s got nothing to do with who you are
It’s just what they are already prone
To look for, so they can have a sense
That they are doing something great that everybody wants
Giving them the power to make you think
this is what you want
Or maybe they wish to be compensated for moving you ahead
Either way they will always find a way to keep you back
Or move you ahead
Based entirely on their whim
They’ll say it’s the work
But that’s just another way to say
You’re not good enough or don’t fit their profile
Or you didn’t buy that ad or paid for that exorbitant
PR person
So, don’t wait for them to move you ahead,
they’re not interested
In you
Or your work
You are a conduit
Make yourself available at all times
For all things to flow to you from
The reaches beyond ourselves
That we can’t see but know are there
Without them clogging up the works
The wounded pigeon limps ever so skillfully
forward
January 26, 2019
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7. |
iCloud
01:47
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I Cloud
soft bright furry miraculous shapes
whispering tongue memory
pictures of assorted
rosewood interiors
shimmering tassels of breezes blown up against malleable fantasies
vibrating with things and time
the morning pleases with glistening vibrations,
breath blows its warm tones over quiet yet steady campfires
the ballet of sound
rhythms of happiness
the sky just out of reach, my arms, legs, eyes pulling and stretching to become part of it
falling upwards
a disintegration into dreamy experiences
a bubbling lightness of consciousness floating in loose formations transforming and breaking with this frame of vision into a realization of time and space belonging to everything
gazing into a world through mirrors reflecting other places, falling into it,
the racing, moving particles
melting into music
the warmth of smiles and deeply loved
glimmering eyes
it's folds of comfort enveloped in a longing
Steve Swell
9/26/12
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8. |
The View from 1962
05:27
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The View from 1962
We were all just boys then
7 to 10
careless and carefree
waiting for that dip in the pool
on a hot Newark summer day
Our crew bussed in from Union
(there was no pool at our Boys Club)
Orderly lines and good behavior were very much a part of our getting anywhere as a group
so we stood on line at the door in single file, waiting to enter
Another group of boys, same age as us having just finished their swim,
refreshed and cool
waited for their bus in single file
facing the opposite direction
Their group was different from ours
Our crew was mostly white
Theirs was all black
Both lines were quiet at first,
waiting for the next set of instructions
some boys could be heard murmuring amongst each other, anxious to get moving
The day was clear and bright and the air was still, even with our fidgeting
Suddenly there was a feeling of concentrated anxiety, a gathering force
drawing us away from our individual reveries
And then from somewhere behind me,
I heard it, all of us heard it, not very loud or angry, but rather matter of fact,
as if said before,
casually or heard from a trusted adult:
"Hey Hershey Bar!"
there was no escaping the understanding or the tone of this clearest of pronouncements
or where it came from
or for whom it was intended
All heads and eyes turned and looked up or around
Then again, more directed
sharper than the previous volley
I looked to my left where the kid to whom the reproach fell upon
as he stood facing in the direction of his tormentor
the words having reached the young boy's ears,
firing neurons as the offense was directly registered
generating its intended wounding effect
Our lines were so close to each other we could touch, or hug or kill
The taunting continued with other boys behind me chiming in
That kid looked straight up in the sky turning his face directly into the sun,
eyes wide open, as if to feel
the full warmth of its rays enveloping him
protecting him from the inglorious onslaught
I was close enough to see his tears forming, seeing his pain and shame as he looked skyward as if to escape somehow
managing to stem the flow of his gathering tears
looking quickly down again to avoid eye contact with this terror
That kid never cried, or said a word. The other boys in his line stood motionless and never said anything either
Then as quickly as it started it was over and we were moving again, in opposite directions,
the entire episode forgotten,
by us
But I will never forget that kid or his reaction and frustration
not being able to speak back to the taunts
as it was still too soon in our story as a country to push back on such slanders
I know now the only power he held was to deny his provocateurs any satisfaction in their crude mockeries
And in that moment
a small but honorable victory was undeniably his
2014
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9. |
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Peace Piece for Patricia Nicholson Parker
Countless rockets soaring at once fueled by a pure heart and unwavering determination
In all directions
Lighting darkened corners of many minds, unstoppable
taking every cosmic attack in stride
Unlocking doors and opportunities for others
selflessly, persistently
All in the name of hope and peace
and remembrance of where this music started, its legacy
demanding its respect and recognition
A remarkable energy flowing with ideas shot from the hip, head and heart
burnishing irons in her fire until they become reality
Support—acknowledgement—standards
All in the assurance that love will win the day
Steve Swell 11/1/2019
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10. |
Schizoid Normals
01:23
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Schizoid normals
and other unrelated scenarios
fire off sheets of
Patchens and Kerouacs
Falling from inside with
sonic blueprints grabbing
streaming, rushing
bursting
the brain traveling at
Mach 1,000
like pinballs bouncing
bumping against rubber
cushions
smoothing the ride as
ideas ideate
creations resulting
on the downstream shores
of calm warm lakes
4/19/2019
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11. |
The Human Condition!
04:03
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The human condition!
The human condition!
Oh what a position…..
……to be in
Sound the bells!
Ring the alarms!
Raise the ramparts!
Call out the national guard!
The slalom of life goes uphill
With scrambled brains served on Saturday
Artificially sweetened drinks on Sunday
Packing yourself back into storage on Monday
The human condition!
Oh what a position…..
Racing around to calm down
Skyrocketing to happiness land
in duct taped vehicles that have no center
of gravity shaking out of control
veering into unconscious consciousness
in a narcotic stupor that passes for living
Oh what a condition
This continuous perdition
This unrelenting schism
This American edition
Stagnant wages, rising debt
Propaganda that wildly demands your love of car, country, cash, credit, cookies, corn, cops, clover, criminals, clowns, creeps, comedy, cow pies and a clearly capitalist consumer collectivist consciousness that takes you
Deeper into the unsympathetic
Ass kicking brass knuckled grip
of more
Oh what a condition
Our human condition
The slime and stench of greed and the
Tangled reasoning that makes it good and holy
Standing on truths that only Hollywood could convince you exists
Without any sense of a shared experience or continuity of spirit
Blunted hearts soaring with a million ways to take lunch
Or to get rich
or famous
or ahead
or elected
or laid
or dead
The human condition
Oh what a position
This latest edition
Evolving at the rate of snails
While the tentacles of money and power and thoughtlessness
Squeeze our souls to the tune of a higher tax rate
As we squeal for more, screw our neighbor and end up with less than we deserve
The bellowing, bewildered anxiety
of it all
Just when the handle of certainty manages to wrap it’s warped
little fingers around your mind
The deeper self throws a knuckle ball your way to remind you to wake up
but our blunted instincts swing wildly
and miss
Twisted dead dry hollowed out shells
Supported and backed up by other twisted shells
Perceiving faint shadows of the real
fighting to remember
to break out
Ineptly attempted and too tired to try again
Yet its there,
the poet, the painter
the possible
Popping up its head looking out over the woeful landscape
Crying amongst the underbrush of confusion and directionless
Clearing a path to travel even if for a bit
Singing bravely into the face of torpor and lethargy
Switching on the lights in longing hearts and eyes
Hearing the music, reading the books, igniting the soul
So that we may know that there are options
and breath, and space, and time
and each other
July 22, 2012
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Steve Swell New York, New York
Born in Newark, NJ, Trombonist/Composer Steve Swell has been an active member of the NYC music community since 1975. He has toured and recorded with diverse jazz personalities from Lionel Hampton and Buddy Rich to "outsiders" Anthony Braxton and Cecil Taylor. Steve has received numerous awards and grants. ... more
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