had a language
and a life, like,
all his own,
but in the teeming whole of us he lived
toooting on his sideways horn
translating frankie trumbauer into
Tranes sinewy tracks
the slickster walking through the crowd
surviving on a terrifying wit
its the jungle the jungle the jungle
we living in
and cats like pres cd make it because they were clear they,
to do anything else.
Save all that comrades, we need it.
Amiri Baraka has died today at seventy-nine. Read his poem from our Spring 1981 issue here.