by Sterling Plumpp © <psterlin@uic.edu> (July 23, 1994)
Sterling Plumpp was born in Mississippi and came in Chicago in his teens. He is a Professor of African-American Studies at University of Illinois at Chicago. He is a poet, was a frequent visitor to Maxwell Street, and was a principal interviewee in the Discovery Channel series on the Great Migration, The Promised Land. Professor Plumpp read this poem in the Chicago Voices Interview Series: A Tribute to Maxwell Street at the Chicago Historical Society, January 11, 1998. This poem is presented here with permission from the author.
Nate Duncan, for whom this poem is dedicated, owned Nate's Deli, a prominent Maxwell Street hangout.
This
is a palimpset/of
traveled roads. Here.
Dreams/open
their arms/wide.
This
is where shadows/hold
national assemblies.
--
You
can/still
get/a good memory
at/bargain prices.
--
People/of:
--
The Talmud.
The Bible.
The Koran.
--
Got
their/names sown
beneath concrete.
Here.
You
can get
the/best short
order morality
in America.
--
This
is the place/where
you get/your naturalized
papers/of
feelings.
Hope
is the/ruling
party/here. In this/city
state of make-a-way-some
how citizens.
--
Max
Well/Street gathers
voices. While A
merica/is a land
where/strangers meander.
To greet.
Vote
on/a contingency.
Separate. Max
Well/Street gathers
voices.
Citizens
get in/as much life
as possible/before
Saturday/night=s
clouds/of dripping
acid/rise.
--
Poets/of
wandering memory.
Wear songs/like
long coats. Rise/from
silence. Like/a river
during droughts.
Flashfloods of thirst.
--
Max
Well Street/is
the Last Name/of Dreamers.
Max
Well Street/is
the/Mississippi vintage
dream. You can
drink it.
It/opens and
winds. It/whispers and
calls. It/shouts and
calls. It/shouts and
screams. Avenues for
the spirit. Git
on board/little children.
Git/on board.
--
My
business
is/language
naming
and naming
using and
re/using.
You
can/purchase a quart of
myth/from my
tongue/for a hand
shake/and a pinch of
loneliness.
I/own the readiness of
tongues. Use them/to
enter the/laboratory of
silence. Where/I
explore nuances. But/blues
rush/out palavering
guarantees/with a
memory/of blood.
Blues.
--
The morning
house/for the spirit.
Lyric=s/used clothes
for/only
singers/of The Confined Cell.
Who
patch/up or
enlarge. Or down
size.
--
Wash
them/in pleas.
Rinse/them. In/shadow
boxing/dew
drops/from
memory.
--
Here.
--
You
can
not/play with jump
shots. You/gotta
take/the shit to
the hoop.
--
Here.
--
Hard
times/is the organist in
my church.
Max
Well/Street is
layered/small
talk. Confessions/of a
dethroned/imagination.
I/consult.
--
Max
Well/
street/is an
accordion/hugging
air/I breathe in and
out/> ASippi
legends. Max
Well/Street is
numismatic/emblems
crafted/by lungs.
Max
Well/Street.
Britches/for
indigent spirits.
Max
Well/Street.
Skirts/for
orphaned souls.
Max
Well/Street.
Heidi/Heidi Heidi
Hos/on loan
from/good
times.
--
This
poem/is a classified ad
venture.
Max
Well/Street.
--
Where
the confluence/of bloods.
In/a heart. Got/one beat.
One rhythm. One music/offering
dances/on credit.
--
What you gonna do
when justice/turns
its/back on you?
--
Wake
up early/in the mourning.
Let
Muddy Waters/make
your sorrows/blue?
--
Max
Well/Street.
--
Where
will/The Walker find
Mustang Sally/to hitch
hike/over to the/Delta
Fish Market. Or/Fannie Mae=s
Cafe?
If
you ever/been
mistreated.
You know
just/what I a talking
about.
--
I/worked fifty long
years/for one wonder.
It
had the nerves
to put me out.
--
Where
will/Max
Well/Street Jimmy
get his two pistols. To
inject forty-four/pellets of
wolf/serum on
to/the crowd of pilgrims?
What happens when they/close
a stations/in dreams?
--
Max
Well/Street.
--
Where
umbilical
declarations/of roots
huddle caresses/for
branches.
--
Where
laughter is
like/totems/of
angels/singing.
Or/like second
handed/dande
lions/on parade.
In/a storm.
I/breathe.
Max
Well/Street.
--
This
kitchenette universe
with/boundaries/at
jazz=s expanding/in
novations. Trane=s
solos tracking/Elvin=s
galaxy of/thunder.
--
Max
Well/Street.
Where/a blind
man/gave me
diet/rations.
For/my journey.
--
His/ward
robe/of knots and
scars/told a Mississippi saga.
I/feel.
--
His
last/nights
are/head
lines/in The Flat Foot
Boogie/Journal.
And/Willie
James/offered Saint
Peter/a beer. For/gate
privileges.
A
merica/supports
culture. (Believe me.)
If/it is an
excavation site.
--
But.
The/space. Memory.
Geography/of
metaphysical/skits
got/ta
go.
--
They
tear/down
signs of/my faith.
What
I/believe to over
come/this place.
--
I/hear that
possession/of one=s
history/is a
felony.
Max
Well/Street.
--
Where
delicatessen essences/of
that old time
living.
Resides
in/Nate=s decoding
eyes.
--
This
poem/is
classified.
--
I/am the Rememberer of
Memory.
--
I/sing.
Click here to read Sterling Plumpp's comments about Maxwell Street from the Chicago Tribune, April 13, 1993.
return to Preserve Maxwell Street
