POEMS BY BILL BERKSON
(Timor Mortis Conturbat Me)
for Bernadette Mayer
What's it going to be?
What're you gonna do about it?
What'll it be?
Roy Eldridge, Little Jazz
A hard look and a fake I.D. won't get you
That epithetical "little" must've
brevity. Eldridge was his own quintessence:
His playing contains no stunts or slurs.
Each bitten phrase meted out with compact dignity.
zigguratic high notes, chomps
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