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The Frail Genius
(for Joe Henderson)
Weathered and calm,
A slight, gray haired saxophonist,
Peers out at the world around him,
He steps forward,
and begins a conversational discourse,
A bursting spray of ideas,
A steady flow of brilliance,
Like an outdoor fountain,
lit up at night,
The layered streams of water,
Criss-cross through the colored lights,
Creating a quiet enchantment.
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by Freddington
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Freddington works as a shipper/receiver in Toronto, Canada, and has been a lifelong jazz fan ever since he was “corrupted” as a teenager by Charles Mingus’ “Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting”eting.”
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Joe Henderson, 1987
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A good poem about a remarkable musician. The more often I read the poem, the better I like it. It grows on a reader, much as Henderson’s music repays repeated listening.
Freddington-
That’s a nice poem about a great player who died too soon. I’m a great admirer of Joe – only Dexter and Trane are his tenor equals in my mind. I like the way he ended phrases, his breath moving past the obvious ending sequence – in as you say a thoughtful “spray of ideas”. Complex, but beautiful. Plus he could fit in everywhere. He always brought his full palette as a sideman and leader, it didn’t matter. Thanks again for the poem.
John