Pelican Tracks

Elegy for Clifton Chenier

 Elegy for Clifton Chenier Sometimes it just be that way. —Buckwheat Zydeco, in concert Big Hohner hotwired to the amps, he could Kick back the darkness, Pushme-pullyou of the blues, his brother Thumbing down the steel ribs Of a washboard, making the music dirty. Gold gleam where the knuckles bend and the duct tape Silvers half a handstrap, sweatshine In the rampageous pitch of his curls, A three-piece suit irradiant As an oilpatch rainbow on a rutpool— O zydeco, the beans ain’t salty, the squeezebox Don’t miss a lick from Pig squeal to purr to alligator growl; From Mamou to Opelousas, It’s Hot Tamale Baby with the Highway Blues, Ma Negresse in a two-step with Jolie Blonde, Fiddles outfoxed by the saxophones, Frottoir rubbing out the triangle’s chime, All boneslip and buttslap, fastfingered Chanky-chank of his Red Hot Louisiana Band. Now there’s no breath left in the pleats, Collapse of the last accordion: no more Tous les Temps en Temps at the Bamboo Club, No more Parti de Paris honking down The dance floor of the Blue Goose Lounge.  We’re holding a fais-dodo he’ll never play Or wake from. But even here, Where snow sticks in the dark hollows And weeds glint in the wind, We can hear him laugh: Mais oui, cher. Where I come from, the crawfish got soul. And we can feel the swamp steam Rising out of the tape reels, no bayou gloom But the ghost of a black man, Downhome ruckus pumped out from an upbeat heart. ...