In the early 1990’s, two artistic notions captured my attention: poetry and Charlie Parker. I was living in Boston at the time, immersed in an arts scene that was wide ranging and expansive. Poets, slam poets, musicians, actors, writers of all kinds, were flowing like the Nile. Small press periodicals contained articles ranging from art to social issues and everything in between. Poets who could afford to would print up chapbooks at Kinkos, the pre-cursor to FedEx. Musicians would offer their work on cassette tapes. Open mikes allowed freedom of expression and a showcase for the potentially talented.

Contiguous with all of this was my discovery of Charlie Parker and be-bop. I came across a four-disc set of Parker’s complete work on Dial Records, including the classic rendition of “Lover Man”. I bought other music, ran down to the Boston Public Library and checked out Celebrating Bird by Gary Giddens, and printed up articles from newspapers and magazines.

To me, the notion of spontaneous creation, musical improvisation, was the epitome of creativity. Yet, behind it was constant practice as Bird tried to reach beyond the notes, beyond the chords. My mind tried to grasp the notion of something within music that was beyond it. Similarly, was there a way to achieve something within poetry that was beyond words?

That notion, that concept, eventually became the longest sustained poetic work I have ever created, “Ornithology.” The concept was simple: three characters, three voices. There were direct quotes from Parker as it related to the music he created and what it meant to him. There was the Documentarian, the one reciting the litany of Parker’s journey with names of venues and cities and dates. And, finally, there was the voice of the Poet, the one who was fascinated by the work of the musician.

Don’t tell me about a life crammed

into thirty-four years

or how I should separate the man

from the music.

I know all about that.

I want to know about the legend,

the myths, the tales,

even the fabrications.

The complete work runs sixteen pages. It was a prodigious effort for a poet struggling to find his own voice. Perhaps that was my peak because in the years to come I would venture away from poetry and embrace fiction, a different and more elaborate form of story-telling.

The work was recited in parts as a Work in Progress on a college radio station, performed live in front of an audience at a poetry venue, and finally recorded on analog four-track (eventually converted to CD). It is a unique work in that the vibe of the pieces differs between reading, listening to a recitation, and listening to a performance of one kind or another.

The live performance was on July 17, 1994. Over thirty years have passed and it still retains fond memories for me. I don’t know too many writers that can consider the works of their past with any degree of relevance or praise. While I am no longer at that stage to be able to create something of poetic importance, it is gratifying to know I did at one time.