Bob Holman 

      last update 13 November 2001

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  David Amram Praise Poem..., 2000  


Bob Holman was born at high noon on the quite balmy spring day of March 10, 1948, in the quaint (the baseball field was covered with four-leaf clover) Southern town of LaFollette, Tennessee. He's not dead yet.
He's considered as one of the most active poets from the United States, where he is known as 'King of New York'. He has written numerous books. He toured many times through Europe: he performend at the Crossing Border Festival in The Hague and in the famous Vera Club in Groningen (both in 1998), as well at the London LIPS Festival in 2001.
Even though he wears a hat, this doesn't mean he's bald. In fact, he's not.

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Back in 1957 I was a French horn and little did I know I’d end up being blown by my Man Amram in the first ever conjoining of poetry and jazz except of course for those
Other times when lips couldn’t be stripped off frozen in the heat passion of connections
The way the Kora does it in Africa when they all Praise that Guy he’s the one the Selfless one he is so full de music don stop at all it is a way of seeing the way of his neck Fetish rattling making rhythm as he walks nods nonstop the words that roll like a piano Roll I mean once there was just him the Amram who he am and then there was Kerouac Did I mention next a whole gang of ems humans all or at least they looked that way
On the outside on the inside another story they are we are sure like Thelonious Sphere They are all a bunch of aliens artists all aliens and Beings of Otherness donchaknow but Also mention Lord Buckley Lenny Bruce Ginsberg and Corso various Beats and Losers Sore and otherwise winners I doubt it but givers great givers and maniacs and race car Drivers without race cars of course but there was still this goddamn piano I mentioned
I was trying to tell you tell you about piano and poem stick to the piano it was the Piano that was rolling the way that Amram the Manram by the damn dam I mean Maybe the poem will stop long enough for David Amram to hear his own name like a Rest a spacer between notes not leave room for but it’s the way he is his outgoing on Going way making it happen on a roll the collaboration of the lungs with the air get it Why sure it was rilling down the trill and rolling down the hill with a huge pail a pail That pales by all comparison horizon X cannot hold Mr. Amram a message on the piano Roll the holes of the rolls they are out of control and they are flying so fast that the cool Words work overtime underdone The Land of Lingo Lango where you Once begun Upon an Amram where the Praise Poem solidifies so you can wear it round your neck And the musician gave birth to the poet no it’s the other way round they were green And they were blue and they were sort of cannot tell what hue because it seems so
Dark where they live and they got the light that goes on from the inside and the music Did I mention it was a song they were playing but it was the words that were the Melody and the story they were telling it was a story without words a story that makes
Itself up as it rolls everybody push it everybody roll the piano down to the man at the Bottom who is that man at the bottom of the hill yak yakking could it be it couldn’t be it Is the leading figure of this Praise Poem -- Amram David Mr.! -- and suddenly piano Crashes into a million notes’ symphonies compose as he dances them into place and He’s singing gravel and snort barks no he’s listening that is us we’re singing song Praise praises Amram love gift praise more birthdays to give it all Amramwise all Praise to sound of music the taste of the feel sight smell of music that makes itself up Walking music the piano rolling rocks but not to sleep rock me to wake the rock the
All together now birthday clock never was before the French horn tasted lip and what We can say is poem all that is the name the sound luscious musicality the life song of David Amram which is name of rolling piano poet bard of musical art David Amram
All Praise Poem David Amram Birthday Numero Seventy 11/12/00 Knitting Factory

© Bob Holman, 2000
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Bob Holman:
173 Duane Street #2, New York, NY 10013, USA
tel: 212-334-6414
fax: 212-334-6415

This page is part of the daily poetry newspaper: Rottend Staal Online

© Bob Holman/Rottend Staal Online 2000/2001. Auteursrecht berust bij de auteurs op basis van de Auteurswet 1912. Er mag niets uit deze website worden overgenomen, opgeslagen op media ter verspreiding onder derden, gepubliceerd of anderszins verveelvuldigd zonder uitdrukkelijke, voorafgaande schriftelijke toestemming van de auteurs.