No music,
not reggae, not punk and certainly not rap,
is more hip, more with it,
than the blues
And no blues musician
was more profound
than John Lee Hooker
Born long, long ago
way down in the state
of Mississippi
He grew up poor
on the Big Muddy
on the delta
amongst other poor negros
amongst poor white folks
amongst segregation, amongst racism
amongst hatred
But he and his guitar
would rise above
to play the rhythm
of an oppressed people
And brother, could he jam!
He dug
Big Legs, Tight Skirts
He drank
One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer
He'd
Boom Boom, Greg Corso music
all night long
And as for his
guitar pickin', huh
He was the Hendrix of the blues
Ain't nobody better'n Johnny Lee!
The King of the Blues!
And even though maybe
you can't hear it,
Somewhere,
Somewhere,
John Lee is still playin' that boogie
Good tribute! I like this and Hooker too, an excellent musician, a style all his own.
i'm not sure what song it is & it's bugging me but its a line about sometimes when the wind blows you can still hear Johnny playing. this is what this poem made me think of, thanks, enjoyed it. keep them coming, Sus.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hi Paul, I know this guy, my late husband loved his tunes, but the blues always reduced me to tears. I didn't know his lifestyle until I read this, but it all makes sense now. It is amazing what wonderful art can come for poverty and repression. The best infact. 10 from Tai