Variations on a Jazz Theme and Other

Written by Touria Nakkouch

(Dizzy Gillespie)

Flowing

Slid'ng,

Swaying in rhythms

The sound of the flute

Unravel the longing and

All the grief in all the ditties of old time.

The beats of the drum

Tapping,

Pounding,

Insistently score the unutterable frontiers of the wild.

Erring

Pulling,

The shrill sound of the trumpet

Disturbs the dormant, exotic appeal of the two fellow sounds;

Search'ng

Weaving new

Sound

Patterns

Its tunes daring out of limits

Rising,

Falling and

Rising again in

A crescendo of sundry emotions

Which

Fuses the triad in an oriental deliverance of love.

(Ella Fitzgerald)

A friend to befriend at night

In the day a much feared foe,

The ocean never sung in Tunisia

As it does, tonight, for us two.

The luminous waves speak in rhymes

Their music a splashing treat to the ear;

Never did they hug the shore so sweetly,

And sweeter are their sounds flowing near.

The stars parade in the heavens

But only lovers can understand

That their glowing tonight in Tunisia,

Cannot a lover's embrace outstand.

The Mediterranean breeze lulls to rest

The coast and its tenants in kind release

But the wind winces tonight in Tunisia

As you cover me with kindness and peace.

The azure and white world behind us

Loud afore with its towers, food and ale;

Is shamed by this wonderful night in Tunisia,

And vanishes, giving way to the lover's tale.

Tale and teller stood there again, you see,

To recall love's enchanted moments

But neither sky nor earth answered their plea

Only the waves shed tears in torrents.

African Serenade

(Inspired by Anouar Brahem's "Conte de l'Incroyable Amour 8")

A troubadour, now selling dreams,

Now selling love for a little company

I fall back on things familiar:

Toddling my way home,

Worn out and all tattooed from

The roads, living, and too much love.

I come down, an unborn Christ

Filling the cradles of Bethlehem

With the larva of unfinished joy.

I thought I had touched the moon,

And drunk from the cup of the gods;

But my hand,

As it fell back on my body,

Was all black, from the soot of the daily,

And red-swollen,

From the fire of my own flesh.

Heading towards the sun,

A braveless, purposeless Icarus,

I fall back on my dreams,

And since these, too, let me down,

I land, servile, on my knees

Unable to stand up and

Walk ahead to meet my doom.

Like a fallen Magus, I eye the last star.

While distant drums echo my wailings

I hum, in incantations, my love song

Before I crawl back to the bleak retreat

Of my silent, immeasurable solitude.

©Touria Nakkouch