NYU Black Renaissance Noire Spring 2015 - Page 72

By ANTHONY WALTON HOMAGE TO SONNY ROLLINS You cannot bend the horn to your will — it was bent upon invention — leaving you to give in and go with the curves, the stops, the valves, the reeds that are already therethere, along with solitude: solitude and blisters — solitude and doubt — sore and chapped-lipped mistakes, doubt, blistered exhaustion, solitude, and the mistakes one makes while asse mbling the intricate mosaics of the minor scales, making habitat of the Dorian and the Lydian modes, inhabiting scales on the roof of the building while the neighbors eat and watch tv, scaling the epic and elongated bridge while looking at the night sky, a star chart of harmony, honking to Manhattan and back so they can sleep while you walk, stalked by the noisy great angels of melody and pitch, at a fever pitch — all this to flee demons of the mediocre self, insistent, discordant, in darkness, asking you if the mind, lungs, fingers and will can be made into one thing, a thing that can bend the horn to your will, the horn that bends you back and forth, side to side, and to your 70 knees as you wrestle, think through, master what you must and accept is already there BRN-SPRING-2015.indb 70 3/29/15 11:41 AM