Fitzgerald.
F. Scott,
dead at 43.
. . . and on his gravestone,
are these etched words,
below the date
of December 21, 1940:
"So we beat on,
boats against the current,
borne back ceaselessly
into the past."
The last few lines
from his masterpiece,
" The Great Gatsby" -
... and now like Gatsby, or perhaps
more like Jimmy Gatz, i too, feel the
reflections of:
" The expressions of bewilderment
had come back into Gatsby's face, as though
a faint doubt had occurred to him
as to the quality of
his present happiness." - F.Scott Fitzgerald
Yep. My boat has been borne back.
My ship in the stormy billows of life -
Never having caught up with white whales,
Nor Victorian romances
Tho steady the winds
Still a-blowin' strong and full
Against her schooner sails.
Many levels of Gatsby -
A good story for a fourteen year old;
and as much as a PhD. can handle as well.
- almost as much so, as Moby Dick,
Methinks and sometimes wonder...
Regards,
Rudy Valentino
( As told to Jay Licata )
- J.Licata21may09
A Jazzy Age mindset -
A Roaring Twenties Deco
Speakin' Easy, Speakin' low
Easy Sax, zigzag ziggy,
Lips upon the horn a-blowin'
Ziegfeld notes all in tow.
Fell into the bluest eyes,
Silk sheets a-waitin' in the morning
1920's Champagne, sunrise glow,
Still my Flapper and me a-dancin'
Right into the Thirties and
The Great Depression's dust
Of not so long ago.
Faint and faded notes
From a sweet Clarinet
An old man's memory,
Playing on winds and time,
Jazzman, Rudy and F. Scott bestow.
Against the Merry, Merry we did go,
Never turned off the lights
Never stopped the show,
Against the Merry, Merry we did go,
Sweet and soft nostalgia,
Ragtime, Charleston
Giddy was me and Giddy was you,
Giddy up the Carousel
Riding the Merry, Merry go-round
Against the Merry, Merry we did go.
Jazzin' man on Trumpet
Saxophone on a Piano bench
Bangles and feathers,
Gold baubles and diamonds and beads,
Legs and tuxedos
Crossing stages and the flow
Against the Merry, Merry we did go,
To forget the Great War
The Doughboys and the Tommies
That you loved
Or the ones you'll never know
Sleeping forever in France,
At the Somme, 1916, on the first day,
Twenty Thousand, they fell,
Soft love stories in the night
They never will tell
From Gallipoli, from Salonika
And Mesopotamia,
Far, far from there
And long and long away,
Only blue jazz in the night
Let us forget the day
For all we pray
And wish not to know,
We tipped our glasses
And drank Holy Water
And then and once again
Against the Merry, Merry we did go...
- j.licata21may09
