Between The Lines

Jimi Hendrix
had huge hands,
his vast natural reach
explaining his gift.

Andres Segovia, though,
was a genius.

Michael Jordan,
some kind of freak, some animal
bent from birth for basketball, was laden
with natural talent.

Larry Bird, though,
was a genius.

They say that Robert Johnson
was a bad player, disappeared
for a while, came back
astonishing.  They said back then
he must have sold
his soul to a devil
who gave him his music.
They still say that.

They said the same thing
about Nicolo Paganini, in his day.
No one ever says that now.

But they do say that someone
built the Great Pyramid
for the Egyptians. 
Someone
from Sirius gave the calendar
to the Aztecs. 
Someone
in a flying saucer
drew the Nazca lines for the ignorant Indians
down in poor old Peru.

Stonehenge, though,
that ring of stone
to mark the passage of the year —
now, that was a work of pure genius,

with the emphasis usually
placed most definitely
on
“pure.”

Tags: poems, poetry, race