"AND THEN HE WROTE...MEDITATIONS"

BY THE LATE GIL SCOTT-HERON:

"(This poem is specifically for the master of the Tenor Saxophone , the immortal John Coltrane, and there have been a lot of poems written mentioning Coltrane and the contributions he made to Black Music, but none specifically about him that I know of , and none that go into what I consider his greatest piece 'A Love Supreme' - and I wrote this with 'A Love Supreme' in mind , it's called 'And the he wrote Meditations')

Straddling The Darkness, he controlled the bucking thrusts and rode on,

Into the emptIness that he alone would try to fill
Into the middle to try and be the bridge between spirits
"Expand!" , he screamed, the vacuum was aroused, suspicious and alarmed
Who would dare?, but on he rode
The tailwinds were from Africa,
The base and force were timeless rhythms that restructured beat and consciousness
The chasms between seconds were made real and whole,
New targets imploded within the void,
Holes were punctured through ebony nothingness, and resistance increased
Walls appeared, "Rise up 'Trane!" , the answer is just beyond the next wall
"Rise up 'Trane", the answer is just beyond the next wall,
The 'Trane rose up,
No one had ever so thoroughly defied the night
The crosswinds were from the East,
lyrical assessments, harmonic sirens that called, gut deep into never seen yet half-remembered desires
Is there a re-incarnation, Oh Lord?
Do I recongnize a part of me that is dying, in the crevices of all these bleached skulls lying conceptionless here?
Non-Existence attacked the man - "Go back intruder! You are NOT welcome here!"
"We have no need for your emotion here, we have no emotion here!"
But obscurity was losing it's grip, the inky blackness gave way to grey shadows,
The canvas of limbo became a veil, porous and smoking from the heat
As rays of light touched upon never-illuminated concern
The screams grew louder, the once placid nightmare of soundlessness was crumbling, giving way to cries,
Go Back! , Go Back! , Go Back! and screams of pain and anger;
"In this place you seek, Black Traveller", he was asked,
"In this place we will tear the flesh from your body, here we will gladly crush your skull and pour acid on your exposed and rotting brain, but we never let you die - we hold you here alone and worst of all aware of all that we do to you, we hold you captive here in Hell"
"But come", said The Wind
The threats were not the only sound, the faint throb of warmth that lay vibrating just beyond the horror of Hell,
was a magnet , pulling and reaching , drawing him on,
"Come, Hell is passed for you" said The Wind,
and the Rythms of Heaven absorbed him,

A Love Supreme, A Love Supreme, A Love Supreme, A Love Supreme...

... And then John Coltrane wrote, 'Meditations' "

Canada.Ontario. T dot O.
Brookhaven.Queensborough.Boylen.
Maple Creek.Falstaff.Chalkfarm.Jane and Finch.Mississauga.
Street hockey, touques with face masks, yelling 'CAR!', moving the net.
Black, White, Asian, Indian
TVO. CFTO. Center Island. Commodore 64. Bell bottoms. Afros. Freezing cold Portables.Yorkdale. Skipping school. Eaton Centre. School trips. Class photo day. PD days. Red ass. Wall-ball.Love Boat. Fantasy Island. Diffrent Strokes. Six Million Dollar Man. Saturday Morning cartoons. A-Team. Knight Rider. Miami Vice
Growing up in the70's and 80's, priceless.

Dont get it twisted.