Billie Holliday
1915-1959
by Norma West Linder
Arms outflung like wings of
fluttering bird you sing on fading film, Lady Day raise your ravaged
face and for a moment you're beautiful again.
Little Eleanora Fagan born in
Baltimore raped at eleven prostitute at fourteen yet you became
the Queen of Le Jazz Hot on 52nd Street.
Slow and sexy just behind the
beat your raw and soulful sound more torch than blues you never
learned to read a note of music.
You had no need to read to record
Strange Fruit All you had to do was look around Those lynchings
in the thirties led to your signature song--your need for solace.
You sang with all the greats Lester
Young on sax Goodman on clarinet Count Basie, Teddy Wilson, Artie
Shaw but the wrong men (starting with Jimmy Monroe) made the blues
real for you.
Even for radio you dressed
the part indigo hair agleam sad smile ever near Billie, you always
looked like you were singing just for yourself.
This piece is copyright by the author.
It may be forwarded electronically, provided this notice is kept with
it, but may not be otherwise reproduced without permission. Thanks.
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