Hey, Doug, I had a similar 'haibun' thought myself - so I shall give it a
shot.
Patrick - some parts colourful, some parts stupid and some parts sad. My
life story could be interesting if I had the energy left to write it!
Thanks, Bill - a touching moment for sure! I still know that girl/woman.
Any further comments?
Andrew
On 31 May 2017 at 22:45, Douglas Barbour <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> The memories emerge, the stories you recall about what happened to you
> then, & they’re good ones (making clear how memory is a form of
> story-telling to the self), Andrew.
>
> I think you come close to making a kind of haibun with the first one
> ending with those song phrases, & perhaps attempting something along those
> lines would tighten the memories even further?
>
> (also, that stand by the bandstand?)
>
> Doug
> > On May 31, 2017, at 6:51 AM, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]>
> wrote:
> >
> > Like particularly the realisation of head on shoulder, Andrew.
> >
> > Bill
> >
> > On Wed, 31 May 2017 at 9:49 pm, Patrick McManus <
> > [log in to unmask]> wrote:
> >
> >> Andrew thanks for those glimpses your youth seems to be more colourful
> >> than mine!!!
> >>
> >>
> >> On 31/05/2017 11:23, Andrew Burke wrote:
> >>> ~
> >>>
> >>> Someone back then called her my ‘jazz chick’ – I was in the last year
> of
> >>> school and she worked at some clerical job, studying Italian at night
> >>> school to advance herself. We met at *Dixie for Dancing *at the
> Claremont
> >>> Football Club where the Riverside Jazz Band played Dixieland and
> quieter
> >>> dance tunes. St Louis Blues was always a favourite, trumpet in Joshua
> Fit
> >>> the Battle of Jericho, the growling trombone on Tiger Rag, and Mama
> Don’t
> >>> Allow where all the band members played a short solo. I’d buy my ticket
> >> off
> >>> Heidi at the door (the pianist’s wife), stand at the side of the band
> >>> stand, listening to the band and watching the drummer, until the last
> >>> couple of numbers for the night when I would suddenly realise what I
> was
> >>> there for – and go to ask - shyly and awkwardly – a girl to dance. A
> >> turn
> >>> down would finish the night for me! But an acceptance would mean
> holding
> >> a
> >>> girl in my arms, making small talk, telling lies (who’s going to admit
> >>> still being at school) and, palm sweating, trying to move my feet in an
> >>> acceptable dance-like fashion. Ah, the nerves were at fever pitch!
> >>>
> >>> I don’t remember the first dance with my Jazz Chick. I remember we met
> >>> again the second week, and at last she rested her head on my shoulder
> as
> >> we
> >>> danced under dim light at the end of the night. Oh such small steps to
> a
> >>> passionate romance! The music soon faded into the background and Friday
> >>> nights became a red hot date with long kisses and much groping and
> >>> passionate expressions of love on the back seat of my mother’s car. I
> >>> learnt the intricacies of bra backs and suspender belts clipping on to
> >>> stocking tops more than paradiddles and trading eights!
> >>>
> >>> *Mama don't 'low no shimmy-shakin' here.*
> >>>
> >>> *You can't shake your shimmy, shake some'n' else.*
> >>>
> >>> -
> >>>
> >>> *Washboard Sam*
> >>>
> >>> ~
> >>>
> >>> Language keeps changing and growing. As does jazz. As do we. I wandered
> >> to
> >>> Sydney and back over a couple of years, frequented El Rocco when I was
> >>> there – and then returned to Perth, looking for a jazz club. I found
> The
> >>> Hole in the Wall Jazz Club which was linked to the theatre of the same
> >>> name. It was a key club which played recorded jazz during the week and
> >> live
> >>> jazz on weekends. I found it and stayed! Each night I was there,
> drinking
> >>> booze and listening to a rich assortment of jazz styles – MJQ, Miles
> >> Davis,
> >>> Bill Evans, Mose Allison, Coltrane … on Friday nights it was mainly a
> >> solo
> >>> pianist; Saturday a house trio with sit-ins from all the clubs around
> >> town
> >>> as the musos finished work and looked for somewhere to jam; Sunday
> night
> >>> developed into home night for the Keith Stirling Quintet or Sextet
> >> playing
> >>> the latest developments in jazz. It was home away from home for me and
> I
> >>> spent every night there until they closed in the wee small hours of the
> >>> morning.
> >>>
> >>> One night the owners of the club asked me to meet them the following
> >> night,
> >>> alone, earlier than usual. I turned up, a little nervous – alone
> (without
> >>> my girlfriend who I had met there). The guys sat me down, put on some
> >> cool
> >>> jazz, and faced me. “Do you want some tea?’ One of them asked, and I
> >>> swiftly replied, ‘No thanks, I’ll have coffee.’ ‘Not that kind of tea,
> >> you
> >>> idiot - *tea* you smoke.’ Ah, marijuana. I had read enough jazz
> magazines
> >>> and poetry and novels to know exactly want they meant. And it was cool
> to
> >>> be offered some tea – so I accepted. So I was accepted into a little
> >> clique
> >>> who imported weed and hash – plus some cheap lines of watches, perfumes
> >> etc
> >>> – from Asia. We had our in-group secrets and our own jokes and lingo. I
> >> was
> >>> home *further* away from home in what I believed was a true jazz world.
> >>>
> >>>
> >>>
> >>> Andrew
> >>> http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
> >>> Books available through Walleah Press
> >>> http://walleahpress.com.au
> >>
>
> Douglas Barbour
> [log in to unmask]
> https://eclecticruckus.wordpress.com/
>
> Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuations
> 2 (UofAPress).
> Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
> Listen. If (UofAPress):
>
> I go down to the Twilight Arcade
> and watch the Martian invaders,
> already appalled by our language,
> pointing at what they want.
>
> Bill Manhire
>
--
Andrew
http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
Books available through Walleah Press
http://walleahpress.com.au
|