Robert Lietz

Doowop Diner

    A signal starts then darkened-down
construction. And     near
to the heart of it    / to the songs
kids made hearts on
and promises     : I'm     ( earlier ) out --
in rain     -- about
as heavy as rain gets     -- bringing
some     branches
down     / blades down
on
one man's rolling
meditation.

    And     -- if it's 1958     -- if I believe
there's more
in tunes than schooling     -- in hoops
/ lined floors
and Kiwanis-sponsored hardball --
there will be stools
to spin     -- tables and booths
/ pinball and chrome
where    the kids    are
/ and
kids    commit
to listen

    with formica to tap     / booth jukes
till     the taps     locate
a knowledge to prepare for     : sneaking
to     fames    some nights --
from     homework     traded     away
imagining     -- creating
some other place     -- where     moonlight
spills     on     spiral-bound
and loose-leaf scribbles     -- taking
a kid toward dreams --
and     taking     dreams away
from Latin --
to     Sheaffer's     on Court
or Uncle Jim's
on     North Kirkpatrick
/ to     five-
for-a-quarter     plays
on
chrome-accented
lurid
Wurlitzers.

*
 

    If there's darkness yet     -- and voices
call me out     -- there's
music     -- pleased as love     -- finding its way
till smokes and pills
have lost their power. I     think     how
we missed sixteen     / how
light would inflect      the ways we looked
and stood and counted --
examining     / profane     -- attracted
by     lines     of sax
and by abstractions of desire --
/ and     amused
maybe     -- when an arm
and     gears
laid     wax down
as     boys
counted.

*
 

    But who would have thought the lusts
and more ecstatic solitudes
/ the surprise could last well into the next century?
And who is it doubts that now --
mornings the songs and light displace
the early thunder     -- how
all that the kids     -- made glad by stages --
knew of contracts     -- could     be
changed by distances     / by this humor say
/ by this diner     and     mixed crowd
who could picture in the Fifties?    -- finally
simplified     -- kids on their ways
to grades     -- amused by some old cats'
memories     -- and by the bravado now --
as timeless still as bills     -- as     roadsters
and recordings     -- as this music
played through half a century of breakfasts --
striking them comically at first     -- and
again     ( on second-thought )     as comedy --
bringing these black and brown
and paler cats together     -- in touch let's say
/ in     places     they had not ever
dreamt to be     -- when tunes like these
were cues to their first dreaming --
and     dreamlives     spent themselves --
with adventures ahead     -- ever
and    ever     ahead     -- in '57 / '58 --
2020 may be     -- at     the edge
of space     / and at the ends
of missile crises.

*
 

    Antrel's :     cash     impetus     show
and     storytime --
two sets     or three     as     friends
come by
and     take direction     -- parents
of children now
and     even     older statesmen
/ playing
themselves     the flux
and     ( always )
shifting con-
stants.

*
 

    Love and bells. Wheels and the music.
Once upon a time. We're
part     of the loveliness     / the conscripted
or     galactic     tours of duty --
lifted from Chi     or     say     from southern
California     -- from
Cleveland     or     "da Burgh"     -- where
regional counts    -- and    regional's
the source of our good humor    -- source
of these sounds
they match to moods in their own corners --
1956    / 2002 --
when Harlem    The Bronx    and Huff
and    Syracuse    / when
Cortland Avenue and North Salina
run together
/ Power    Memorial
/ Assumption
Catholic    / North Hills
and
   El Monte.

*
 

   Blind    -- or legally --    and    opening
the womb    before
you'd    heard    pinballs or Wurlitzers --
doesn't he love
the sounds    -- the pause    when
arms and gears
go at their business    -- and    the voices
begin    -- the odysseys
refiguring    space    until he's seeing --
as old as he is
when asked    -- older and patient
as he tells it --
thinking    how    one young doc
and he
had prayed he'd keep his vision
and    -- more
than he maybe    -- enjoyed
the light
/ street songs    -- and
the
hours    listening
kept    two
occupied.

*
 

   "No wonder    the two jukes    -- one
stacked with 45s --
and    the genius    in morning brews    / in
evening booths    pondering
their endgames    -- one fitted with CDs --
bring all of them    -- as if
I could say    what life had been    -- B.C.
and earlier    -- as if    -- blind
and black    -- I'm    Ray    or    Stevie
/ Lemon Jefferson    -- I'm
anyone to ask    -- if days were more
than ration points --
stranger to Dave    than kids
with gizmos
in their pockets    / than
this century    their
layering
accents    mean
to tell..."

*
 

   "Remembering the corners and school stoops
/ the courts    where    worlds
could begin    to our surprising    -- and
strangers materialize from sounds --
changed by the camps    / transfers    -- by
breakfast plates    and one man's
sense of being many    -- by this doctoring
let's say    / these    scribbled
sheets in east Ohio    -- condensing
to notes    no one
conceived in Fifty-Seven    -- from which
the kids go on    / Antrel
goes on    -- in lines    / in    feeling
almost local    -- and
feeling well almost    -- some days
in the late Eighties    --
when    nobody    thought
they'd ever write them
like the old days    -- or
carry lines
by heart    / across
the cusp
of
centuries."

*
 

    A little like the old days    after all --
invited    to mind again
and several Thanksgivings    -- Antrel
/ Holmes    -- and    these
who refuse    / will not be fictionalized --
lip-syncing groups
and live    -- perfecting    their work
for    this
and every other contest    -- until     it's
local    -- all of it --
the locations bridged    -- and histories
of travel just to get here --
a blind man    / poet    / massive
veteran -- measured
by the songs    coins called
and every    current sense
/ and finding
what    race    had been
/ what
the    beginnings
of     light
and     habits
always
were.

*
 

    "Some morning's it's lamp to lamp    -- getting
up and packed
and dressed for the day's matters --
from shadows
to darkness    / light    -- then    up
three steps     -- key
slipped    / turned    -- then    steps
into the Diner    -- with
a dime maybe   -- three bills --
and thinking
joe bean for my sidekick --
getting to some place
safe
/ to    breakfast
listening."

*
 

    Then Antrel    / Holmes    -- and somebody
new     ( he thinks )
a    foil     for the blind man     -- lifetimes
from     blocks
where all that music started.  But
what    should    a voice --
then    several voices     -- be to them --
to their ears --
raised now    -- to    streets
where
witness    means
    a     costly
expertise

    as the hungry show themselves     / the hungry
/ face up to their breakfasts --
and the music's enough     / too     much
sometimes     -- the     samplings
or pastiche     -- that     might     have
struck     us     once
as science-fiction     -- preferring
the     head     to     heart
    / a     mind
to    these    naifs
that     still
appeal

    relieving     hearts     made up     on love
and love's corrections --
speaking     for     fifty     say     / sixty
and     more years
/ maybe     twenty     -- married     for years
and once     -- or     blessed
to     be mistaken     -- convinced
or     divorced     or     single
still     -- recalling     the     first
or     wrong --
and     kids     like     these
/ kids
            tugged in
by
their     mothers
for     first
meals.

*
 

    So     what     would     the music
say     to     them?
And     what     will     this     orange glow
be     -- burning
the    dark     away     -- will     voices
like    these     decide --
grounded     -- and     -- head
over     heels     -- sure
with     tricks     for
getting     them
to vinyl?

*
 

    A music that now distracts     or calls to mind
our comforts     filters the hours burned
/ billed away or lost in time and the kids' troubles --
with overtime     / and     overtime
the plant cuts back just when it's needed     -- until
we are far beyond     -- and Antrel /     Holmes --
with bells announcing each     --have visited     -- until
we are tough or numb     and     something else
thereafter     -- recalling how tough    / how young
/ how moved we were by Paragons and Jesters --
and changed     : by Beirut     / Saigon     -- by Seoul
and peacetime streets     -- sages in training --
by motorpools     / classrooms     -- nights     when
hits    / when     newly married     seemed
more strange again than numbers     -- 1960
/ '62     -- and just about     retired --
beyond the bothers     minds were
moved for first times by.

*
 

    And     tough?  And     Paragons?  Black
and Hispanic kids?  And
maybe     this Pittsburgh     kind of guy --
here when the day dries out --
waiting for light     he prays     to spill down
on the car show?  It's all an Impala
asks of him     -- his     since     the days
when Jesters     / when     Crows
and     Chords     and     Paragons     -- that
Chedwick     kind of stuff
defined the airways     -- called
up     his old man's
pleas     -- some     choices
besides the silence
/ listening.

*
 

    But     -- in the Diner now --     steady
or nimble enough     -- how tough --
    if not acquainted with the keyboards --
these thirty or so     -- who     take
    their being here     for granted     -- while
this blind man     / vet
    remember    times besides     -- when
kids like these     claimed blocks --
    alleys mid-block     and     display-ways in
where voices echoed     / lamp-posts
    and     "turf"     we'd said     were ours
and     really meant it     -- while
    darkest     and     island accents     mixed
/ and     "the turf"     was ours --
    so long as     codes and     cops allowed --
as gains     and losses were
    / bars     emptying     -- and     blocks --
underscoring cultures     -- and
    everywhere the distances     -- lessened
a little     by     the music --
    voices     that rocked     -- and     love
/ love     lost /     and     love --
    as     clear     as     lyrics     seemed
in their unfolding     / as
    minds     -- so long     as coffee
comes around     -- warms
    what's     left     / or     on
the edge     / or     just
    beginning.

*
 

    Poignant     / paramount     -- carried for years
in lives     drawn     from street corners
to airtimes     -- even     this ageless     Holmes --
recalling     that     first scotch --
that     girl group     and their lead-singer     -- then
some     bad hair     rubber-shoed
rain-mused     white kid     with his note-pad --
joining     her radiance     to start
a second set     with his own lyrics
/ off-key     -- and so     -- as
several     voices clarify
/ cuminate     in sweet
and sweeter still
epiphanies

    : iced slopes     / plateaus     -- that personal
once     -- begun    in conversations
with the music     - begun     in some thoughts --
some complications     / and the lyrics     --
embellishedor dimmed     -- as the right story
indicates     -- and     so many deaths
you'd think the songs could not be possible --
these several voices speaking light
since there's a juke-box --
until we applaud ourselves    -- we
pay     our homage
to the rhythms     / beating
that     one thing
sensible.

*
 

    Five     / five-thirty     -- dragging     some days
or pumped     -- pouring     some old stuff
out     -- starting new grounds     / then     slicing
the peppers and onion cuts     -- setting up
pies     for these     -- a half     / a quarter hour later
tipping in     -- deciding fortunes
with some jokes     -- egg sandwiches Holmes
already has in mind     -- thinking     "Once
upon a Love"     -- when     we     believed
ourselves     -- and     ( always )
in sweet chances     -- the ways     we do
when     voices     count on
one another     -- well     enough
to guess
the thought     another's
working on.

    Then there were detours     / round-trip bills
and babies still to pay on     -- cats
urged to pack     -- hurried away     / hurried back --
taking on themselves     and     crafting
certain versions     -- Gerald and Holmes     -- Arlene
and Lilian     -- Earl and Marge and Cleve --
Vito and Herb since dawn     -- among new cats
and regulars     -- remembering
the rifts / the dark     / the windows ruined
by thrown stuff     -- worlds splurged on
and lost     -- while     the kids     snuck out
to hear the locals charm block dances --
sharing their old man's pain --
but only just so much     -- since
there were stars     for them
/ and     lyrics     -- even
there     -- for them
to     count
on.

    So     where     should we look     besides
the "Moonlight"     for our angels?
And     what     should the stories be     -- behind
the chrome and glass and cracks
protesting     breakfasts     -- poured out upon
the urge to concetrate?     Whatever
became of forty-fives     / became     of the steps
the Catholic kids called Uncle Willie --
became of the sought and discovered parts --
divorced     -- and     ( three times )
bitterly     -- removed     from     the kids
since     she     could not abide
his transfer     -- as if he had asked
for all of it     -- this
far from air     where     figures
stood     -- where
the walls     were     once --
and     walls     were
soon
to follow?

*
 

    If they had been better listeners     -- better
readers after all! But
now it's steps and stitch. And     voices
( she thinks )     mean Holmes
followed     by the Gulf vets     -- healings
central     to     every story
told     -- explaining     the pick-ups
/ summer     leagues
/ the third-shift    stints
and
kids    imploding
on
narcotics

    / these blackest and brown and paler kids
in sync     -- better
than     riches     / risks     -- treatment
in extremes    -- the     bitter
and     better parts     -- when    jobs
and cash     -- when
every breath fell short     of homes
you might believe in
/ the     looks     of careers
( you think )
ripped     short
and
clarified.

*
 

    No wonder the songs engage     / occasion
meditation     -- and     every
breath     -- when     quarters     drop --
when genius colors bloom --
choreographing breakfasts! And so
he's     ( earlier )     come
to think of it     -- gathering     the cups
the night staff
left for gathering     -- and     getting out
pies     in time
( or just about )     for regulars --
the     earliest     voices
earlier     -- arriving     with nods
and moods
/ day jobs    to put behind
and     provocations
/ bowling     and     always
bowling
scores to count on
and    night
classes!

    No     wonder     then     -- as     close
as heart     / and     near
as love idealized     -- leaving     these     cups
to clear away     / stories
of streets     he's     felt     for     weeks
were     due
for changes     -- from     the first words
that    made
the     awful distance     bearable --
the     daybright
and animated briefs     -- nursed
news     / triple    shots
of     juice
( he thinks )    -- minded
to
cut the slippery
back.

*
 

    Imagine that garden nest     -- the rabbit
young     a large dog     plundered --
dying one by one     -- as the last May chance
of frost invited telling     : then
powder blue lost summertimes     -- even
as dreams     -- as     skills
( hard-worked )     / the     sharpening
and same discouragements
haunt some     -- who     leave
behind their breakfasts --
or     half-plates
anyway

    / with futures ahead     -- hands     full
of songs and help yourself
/ riffs the darkness mused by streetlamps
seemed to sponsor     -- proving
again     that     what you came through
left you whole     -- whole --
or     close enough     -- the way
you see yourself --
waiting     for     summer stars
/ inspecting
the tailpipes     / the     under
-the-hood     hardware
/ and     turquoise
panels     and
interior.

*
 

    Then it's another quarter joe     / another     side
of fries     / of century --
springtime     and     phlox     -- and     thoughts
of     summer leagues     and improvs --
of this     ( green backed )     violet     at the edges
of turned fields     -- and     hearing
his old man's     voice     again     -- "nobody     sleeping
( soundly )     -- with     all     that     racket
at the lamp-posts"     -- stuff     that     was     almost
something once     worth taking bets on --
counted     in quarters     out     -- coaxing     a man
( as old as fathers were )     through dreams --
another midnight or half-past     -- stuff     you would
bet your life on once     -- after     the laced
and stupid boots    -- and     four years     anywhere --
moved by some needs     you never thought
you would come home to     -- that     leave you
slobbering some nights     -- unable
to say     / explain     -- to hear     in ticking time --
unless     this is Holmes     come in
from every street   where it was heading --
tapping in     from blocks
/ maps     -- from     any     and every
place     -- where
blinding     walked     before
/ and
then     behind
    you.

*
 

    "Say that I'm minding mine. But who else
would     own this place    -- and
why?     -- observed behind    -- as    real
as grease-mapped wrap-arounds
allow for     -- bringing    the morning world
to form     -- the mind
at its loss     -- chipped cup     -- the news
from Kandahar     -- or     steelie
/ or     cat's eye     -- quarter     plays
that     let     omebody
think he's fixture     -- adding
a breakfast tab     -- or
scripting the May dawn
and
    late     May
clarity.

    No wonder     these Penguins     Satins
Saints! And     shift-work --
who'd have thought     / thought     otherwise --
or these barrels now     -- slowing
a man    in lanes     the city's     widening --
Bonnevilles     and     pools
/ day-ending     balloon rides     / barbecues?
Who     would     have thought?
And     how?  And     how     would you
like yours     Ray?
And     how     shall     the breakfasts
heal     -- if     you
find a way to name it     -- beyond
the range
of     innocent     / and
the range     of
    doctored
lines?

    Coaching us     nonetheless     -- through
blues     and     mutual celebrations --
Antrel's    the tune-man     still     -- bringing
the day     / the dark
its shapes     -- as even     a few lines will --
or     moving     points
that     on their own     cooperate     -- Antrel --
Doctor Dave     -- self-medicated --
marred by his needs     -- when medicine's
unable     -- and     Holmes --
and     vets     -- these kids     -- too     young
and     veteran     -- agreeing
to words that meant their parts     -- until
the mind     and     heart
/ the schoolgrounds     seem     altogether
now     -- that
serious stuff     you spent     so many
afternoons on --
imagining     a lifetime's loves --
while     texts
and classes     waned     -- to
sheer
and     ( then! )     more
    sheer
irrelevance.