}} Ode to the Banjo |

Poetry at Sangam

SangamHouse

 










Ode to the Banjo

Not the cold night howl of the cello,
not the soul-rolling scold
of the sax—no flashfire frenzy
of flamenco guitar, nor
the oboe’s hypnotic threnody.

We all know your call, Brother Banjo:
your sweet choirs of glee, the giggle
of children spritzing your frets, that
touch of puppy-love: ecstatic
and blue, each note quick, complete

as if your pot belly were already
almost too full to speak.  Where
did you get that savory tang? How far
have you traveled?  What oceans,
what ancient music still

stashed in your magic bones?  The ngoni,
the lute-like xalam, the long-necked
akonting: your African ancestors.
The music is proof: the people
who brought you here were more,

always more than slaves.
Your friendly notes: a gaggle
of drunken bells, songbirds,
small stars the lonely bring
to light the coming dark.

If a heartful song could unspill
all the blood lost in this world
it would be yours—your plucky laugh,
your aria, so often misunderstood.
How many centuries have you sprung

into music?—all the years a single melody
mapped in your grin.  Who would dare
mock your wise and supple ways?
Only those who do not know

that they    do not know the truth
for which you play: five fingers,
five strings, five secrets
forever told

but never given away.
 
 
 
← Tim Seibles