But a lot of folks disliked the second book of Miles Davis, so much that they completely missed the publication of works by Eric Dolphy and Ornette Coleman,Charles Mingus and Andrew Hill. These books bound a pan-syntactical text that, isolated from its lineage, seemed to baffle the eager along with the meager. Today, in the timeless land of hyper-documentation, we can travel back and forth along the swing line time without missing a word. The collegiate white poet can hitch a ride on a vehicle of the past and hop off in 1998, with a constant momentum. A new text with old gas is better than an old text with new gas.
Poetry starts from music.
The music isn't what makes poetry sing. Words sing when they swing. The melodies are in the subtext. Consonants slap out the rhythm. Words snap into place, not because they sound good together, but because they mean what they mean in the swing of things textual.