POETRY |
Tunes stone skipped to us,
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Niggun Trio on Stage
by Corey Weinstein
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A groan, a chesty bellow jarringly wailed my left ear
in the middle of Tumbalalyka, my clarinet noodling around Jack’s bass-tinged baritone, a Fink in name only, Eighty-eight himself, we three doing the Alte Kaker* circuit, Set up is easy, Jack on house mic and me and Fred acoustic, Harder for the gathered who roll in, limp in, clack and clang in on every assistive device accompanied by the low murmurs of attendants, settling their charges, fluffing pillows, locking wheels. All to hear the sweet music of an interrupted people, my people, Yiddish Music Tunes stone skipped to us like glittered flat-flaked mica flipped across a black blood pond, sending ripples to the edge of this time and this hall to a moan, not quite howl from a rolling bed. Head thrust back, mouth open wide, lips groping, yearning for words, struggling through the muck of apoplexy. Bed-man without vocals for three years, not a word, nor weep. Jack with grace effortlessly figures the mic cord and springs bedside for an ugly and transcendent duet. Fifty-three excruciating seconds, me irritated ‘til vocal magic, alchemy of memory and melody that casts aside walkers and canes for dancers’ new legs, Joints greased, ears twitched, brain sleepers jolted awake, And Jack embracing the grotesque, waltzing with Bed-man, Tumbala, Tumbala, Tumbalalyka, 1-2-3, 1-2-3, finding Harmony in tragedy Joy in Memory Love in spontaneous compassion * Yiddish for Old Timer Author's Note: The formal name of the trio was Niggun Folk Song Trio,
and niggun meant a tune or song, often wordless, usually sung to help create a mood appropriate for the moment in a service or a celebration. |
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