Smooth Jazz

Jazz Fantasia by Carl Sandburg

Drum on your drums, batter on your banjoes,
sob on the long cool winding saxophones.
Go to it, O jazzmen.

Sling your knuckles on the bottoms of the happy
tin pans, let your trombones ooze, and go husha-
husha-hush with the slippery sand-paper.

Moan like an autumn wind high in the lonesome treetops,
moan soft like you wanted somebody terrible, cry like a
racing car slipping away from a motorcycle cop,
bang-bang! you jazzmen, bang altogether drums, traps,
banjoes, horns, tin cans -- make two people fight on the
top of a stairway and scratch each other's eyes in a
clinch tumbling down the stairs.

Can the rough stuff... now a Mississippi steamboat
pushes up the night river with a hoo-hoo-hoo-oo... and
the green lanterns calling to the high softs stars... a red
moon rides on the humps of the low river hills.. go to it,
O jazzmen.