the last kind…
*Beverly Kenney was a jazz singer who rose to prominence in the late 1950s…critics felt there was finally a voice to rival Billie Holiday, Sarah Vaughan, and Ella Fitzgerald…Kenney committed suicide in 1960, she was 28.
Men, women, and girl singers –
of the three kinds of humans
you were the last. You loved jazz
and the smoky little rooms
where the tunes got played. They
took note of your crusade, your
scat without scatting, your
vibrato-less gee-whizzy Fifties cool,
plus this pluperfect female shape
even George Shearing could see.
But they kept listening because
of your uninhibited phrasing,
your mad human offerings
of punctuation: semicolons where
men could breathe, commas to
put women at ease, parentheses
that gave girl singers courage.
That you always sang haunted
was widely-felt, but the ghosts were
only known by a few. Born to
be blue was always more than
a song. Then rock-n-roll invaded
our land and the loud was too
much, so you made yourself silent,
an esoteric casualty of war.
There will never be another you
is more than a song.
Men, women, and girl singers –
of the three kinds of humans
you were the last. You loved jazz
and the smoky little rooms
where the tunes got played. They
took note of your crusade, your
scat without scatting, your
vibrato-less gee-whizzy Fifties cool,
plus this pluperfect female shape
even George Shearing could see.
But they kept listening because
of your uninhibited phrasing,
your mad human offerings
of punctuation: semicolons where
men could breathe, commas to
put women at ease, parentheses
that gave girl singers courage.
That you always sang haunted
was widely-felt, but the ghosts were
only known by a few. Born to
be blue was always more than
a song. Then rock-n-roll invaded
our land and the loud was too
much, so you made yourself silent,
an esoteric casualty of war.
There will never be another you
is more than a song.
I hear something lost here. And so important.
Me too, Matthew…I just discovered her voice and story…it has cast somewhat of a spell on me…thanks for stopping by.
There’s so much to learn, and to listen to, in the rhythms of jazz. I’m drawn to them, too. You should consider writing more from those rhythms. I’d listen.
oh, I am drawn into your words, her life… thank you for this.
Tara, thanks for taking the time to comment…stop in again sometime.
I remember how, for a scant moment in time, she filled my childhood home. It’s a good memory, John.
Laure, that’s very cool…do you have any old albums? And so very good to hear from you…
Sad to say, no. But my father did. The mingling of jazz and pipe tobacco are among my most treasured memories.
Thank you, John. It’s good to be heard.
I really like your poem. It captures the experience of listening to Kenney’s phrasing. My wife and I were also inspired to create something in tribute to Kenney. You can check out our song (we are amateurs!) at my music blog, if you might be interested. Again, nice work.