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388

CHARLIE PARKER : Out of Nowhere

The curtain rises on a rocky coastline

And a swelling tide. At the headland

Gulls wheel in great loose clouds.

There is a man in a mustard fedora

Walking the shore,

With a bunch of flowers in his hand.

The wind blows out his overcoat

And the wind blows out a veil

Of thoughts, and the wind lifts brine

From the ocean and throws it over

The houses and the seawall.

A dark comes down and the scene

Shifts, quietly, and the curtains fall.

A man, another man, or the same,

Draws honey-liquid from a spoon,

His shirtsleeve from the wrist over the elbow,

And a length of rubber hose about.

The same man in all obscurity

Of who is who and does what and how,

Drawing honey into a blinking sleep.

A cadence murmurs in the darkness,

Rising softly and brightly from the deep :

A slow rumour, slow, breaks mightily

The world and its darker harness,

Breaks the last barrier—for this man, shame—

Making of him a hunger, only living

To be assuaged. Les flambeaux vacillent,

A travers la fête confuse. Life a movement

Out of nowhere, into nothing.

He puts the flowers on the nightstand.