2 March 2004 | Vol. 4, No. 1
Al Jolson in The Jazz Singer
At first there was nothing:
just audiences whacked mouth-dumb
at talking pictures, Jolson singing.
His face put black in black and white:
white around eyes, near lips, white
gloves. Blackening for effect
the black filmstrip before its white
light. The blacks of his eyes
widening, inching toward
the delicate cream. And the voice:
colorless, odorless. No more black
than silence, no more white.
Between scenes Jolson nabs
another tradition by the balls,
twists, puts the balls in his mouth
and sings. Stealing the tradition
proper from its black hands.
And later, when every man in Hollywood
was eager to bend forward
for the camera, who complained?
Who said, You're stealing our hips,
the only good music we've got left,
our clothes? We were so camp.
We were so camp we were left out
of our own party, grasping
the cool handle of the broom
that sweeps the floor of the stage
that darkens when they leave.
About the author:
Charles Jensen grew up in Wisconsin and lived in Minnesota for six years. He has held jobs in architecture marketing and as a residence hall director at two large state universities. He currently lives in Tempe, Arizona, where he teaches at Arizona State University and serves as co-poetry editor for Hayden's Ferry Review. His work has appeared in or is forthcoming from Colorado Review, Brooklyn Review, Poetry Motel, and Full Circle. He can be reached at doubleplusgood@mac.com.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Charles Jensen at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 4, No. 1, where "Al Jolson in The Jazz Singer" ran on March 2, 2004. List other work with these same labels: poetry.
