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(*) Financially, Peter (Pyotr) Tchaikovsky, the famous Russian composer, was
supported by Nadezhda von Meck, a wealthy widow, for thirteen years. Without
a romantic attachment involved, they exchanged a torrid correspondence
throughout that period, and Tchaikovsky was deeply wounded when Madame
von Meck withdrew her sustenance, possibly due to financial set-backs, perhaps
because she found out about his homosexuality. Despite her reasons, one
version of the story about Tchaikovsky’s death says that he repeatedly spoke her
name while in a delirium during his final illness.
- Prince Kiyama boiling up
stirring the featherless soup,
liquid brimstone black cat-bone stew
seething omens of steam
acrid Big Easy incense dervishing above the bayous,
fangs of the city
time blue
inoculation of sorrow clinging to the street car of Desire racing to the
Cemetery and churches beyond with windows of dripping crystal,
altars of Russian-consecrated delirium and sweet Pyotr
Tchaikovsky’s murmuring rending the veil of white requiem:
“Nadezhda, Nadezhda!”voodoo Nadezhda come back to me!
voodoo Nadezhda!
I want to see the hem of your skirt flirting with your flashing ankles
in your venom dance
to a da-whomp, da-whomp yammering orchestra of owls, hyenas,
jackals, cats, wolverines, coyotes, frogs, dogs and cathedral raccoons
Nadezhda!
voodoo siren! screaming the *B-Street tango along the barren ribs of
night
through the bleeding noon,
chaotic twitching of feline tail sweeping the roof,
nadezhda-eyes staring at the *Union Depot across the street,
yes! – yes! – want to see the hem of your skirt flirting with your
ankles flashing like fangs in your venom dance,
pearl flesh – and clack your heels on the marble floor of the White
Nights palace!
chickity chickity chickity tickity tick tock time glaring back at the
Bstreet
roof-top cat ready to spring to the roof of the street car Desire
cruising madly, careening sweetly toward collision with the street car
adorned with announcement of Cemetery,
death warrant translucently glaring in dripping crystal – Nadezhda,
Nadezhda, come back to me!
lest the yammering be choked by essence of brimstone,
Can you feel the veins of it?
halaboo-boo bobbidy creesh crash crickity crockity doo-whomp
whompity oola dingidee donga bonga hola slappidy slippidy
whippidy clickity click clack chickity tick tock booma bangada
bangada bong – bong – bong
*tar-pants Madman with coal-blazing eyes teetering atop his conga
drum with feet too mercurial to punch through its head: Bangada
bangada bong bong bong
B-Street blues hypnotized, baptized by dripping crystal enlivening
Prince Kiyama’s fingers
stripping, ripping feathers from the chicken, maniacal struts of
demonic flight for coronation on his head,
caressing the coon-dick realms of beyond,
stroking the feathers with one hand,
stirring the soup with the other,
tilting his ear toward the city chanting his name: Prince Kiyama,
Chicken Man, King Of New Orleans Bayou Voodoo Magic!
while a roar ripples along Union Avenue: Give us The Blues Mojo
Okie Snake-Oil Madman!
the people of the city gave him that name!
reverberations quivering away in thunder rising to a wail: Nadezhda,
Nadezhda!
I want to see your ankles flashing like the fangs of love igniting
Bourbon Street!
rattle the stones!
shatter the silence!
rapturous rupture through The Garden Of Bones!
while above the bangada bong bong bong all that can be heard is
chickity clickity click clack clack, chickity clickity click clack clack
yeah, oh, yeah, such stinging music,
ringing assault of rhythm!
for white-haired Peter, sweet Peter is King of the Parade
his magnificent head resting in the arms of The Nutcracker knighted
Clown of Fat Tuesday
striding down Bourbon Street
his tears coming to rest in Peter’s hair
silence
white
a coiling
the roof-top cat launching herself midst the clanging of bells atop the
street car of Desire reeling past the wreckage,
destination – Cemetery! mocked by fangs of love: Chickity clickity
click clack clack
haunted by the frenzied flailing of Madman hands: Bangada bangada
bong bong bong
bathed in ecstatic sighs
Prince Kiyama, Chicken Man, The King of the Bayou New Orleans
Voodoo Magic quaffing the limpid essence of black cat bones,
simmering omens above the bayous
dervishing above the fangs of love,
a yearning whisper: ”Don’t stop, Nadezhda! Nadezhda, I’m getting
close,
the silence is ravishing like your lips, your eyes, your face and your
ankles,
thrust the bitter fangs even deeper and I shall rest,
and… now… now you can rest your weary feet until the dance’s final
call,
but listen, Nadezhda, for one last time to my voice,
to the clickity click of black cat bones, to the Chicken Man voodoo
beat,
to the blues rhythms of my lilting music,
the speaking thunder of my drum: Bangada bangada bong bong bong
bangada bongada bangada bongada
bong… bong… bong”…
***
* Prince Kiyama Chicken Man: a colorful figure, now deceased, on the New
Orleans voodoo scene
*The Union Depot: former train station in Pueblo, Colorado
*B-street; Union Ave: streets in Pueblo
*tar-pants Madman: blues poet Tony Moffeit of Pueblo
* * *
(*) By the time Madame Von Meck declined any more financial help for him,
Tchaikovsky had become famous enough to sustain himself until he died in 1893,
seven days before which he conducted the Moscow premiere of his 6th.
symphony, The Pathetique, quoting the Russian Requiem and receiving a mixedreaction. According to a story propagated by his family and/or doctor, his death
was a result of him treating indigestion by mixing soda bicarbonate with a glass
of unboiled water during a cholera epidemic. Scholars, however, think there’s
good reason to believe that he committed suicide, perhaps with a gun, for
reasons that remain unclear but possibly relating to his sexual orientation. Due
to his being a beloved figure throughout his Motherland, the audience was
reduced to tears when a repeat performance of The Pathetique was given ninedays after he died – and the work is still considered a masterpiece.
