Карл Сэндберг. Джаз Фантазия

Jazz Fantasia 

Drum on your drums, batter on 
your banjoes, 
sob on the long cool winding 
saxophones,
Go to it, O jazzmen. 

Sling your knuckles on the 
bottoms of the happy tin pans,
let your trombones ooze, and go
husha-husha with the slippery 
sand-paper.

Moan like an autumn wind high
in the lonesome treetops, 
moan soft like you wanted 
somebody terrible,  cry like 

a racing  car slipping away from 
a motorcycle cop, bang-bang!
you jazzmen, bang altogether 
drums, traps, banjoes, horns, 
tin cans - make two people 
fight on the top of a stairway 
and stratch each other's eyes
in a clinch trumbling down 
the stairs. 

Can the rough stuff...now
a Mississippi steamboat pushes
up the night river with a 
hoo-hoo-oo....
and the green lanterns calling 
to the high soft stars...a red moon
rides on the humps of the low
river hills....go to it,
O, jazzmen