Jay Jii

~Calendar of Events~
September 4 through 7, 8:00PM:
ARTMOSPHERE
Tilles Center for the Performing Arts
C.W. Post campus of Long Island University
Brookville, NY
(Tickets on sale May 1 through Ticketmaster.com)
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Saturday, September 27, 2:00PM
Locust Valley Poetry Series features Jay Jii
Locust Valley Library
170 Buckram Rd.
Locust Valley, NY 11560
H ello, my friends. My name is Jay Jii. I'm an avid writer/performance poet in the New York area. I recently published my first book, Solar Tapestry, a collection of poetry, prose and art. You can find it here: www.trafford.com/06-1934. I'm currently working on my second book (a novel this time, if I have the patience to finish it), but the details of it are secret. ;)
"Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster, and fling him to the public."
~Sir Winston Churchill
I've also been a musician for most of my life. From 1988 to 1990, I attended Five Towns College where I majored in Jazz/Commercial Music. These days, I primarily work out of my home studio, The Avatar Lounge. I play a wide variety of instruments and I've written and recorded hundreds of compositions. My instrument of choice right now is the classical guitar (for the pure romance of it).
"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who matter don't mind, and those that mind, don't matter."
~Dr. Seuss
Travel is another one of my passions. This world is too exotic and strange to be missed; I intend to see as much of it as I can before I check out, hopefully life will give me a long ride. The most beautiful place that I've yet been is Alaska. Unparalleled majesty!
"No pessimist ever discovered the secret of the stars, or sailed to an uncharted land, or opened a new doorway for the human spirit."
~Helen Keller
Magic!
The masked magician
Takes the stage
A thousand words
Running through his brain.
The cloak, the tambourine, the mask,
The tambourine is thrown from behind the screen
Into the audience
Who audibly gasp!
Then one hand, gloved and jewelled appears,
With sleight of hand
Taking wrist watches,
Stealing valuables
From underneath their very noses,
Before their unbelieving eyes,
Opening their shuttered minds.
Then the cards, the fateful cards, appear,
Bringing deception, wonder, fear.
How on earth could he have known
Their innermost thoughts that way,
As he reveals his mind-reading display.
The women tremble at the thought
Of what may have been at the back of their minds,
As the sorcerer unravels their waking dreams,
Their naked eyes gaze into his.
Now the fire, the blazing heat,
Comes closer to the fretful crowd.
They scream!
The piercing eyes through the haunting mask
Settle on a hapless victim.
All the while the words of poetry and power,
Seething sexuality spill from the mystic's mouth.
The beauty and glory of a thousand words
Fired at the wilting crowd.
The thunder bolt,
The crashing fields of scorching light,
Make the audience screech with excited terror,
As the platform becomes a burning cauldron,
Blazing at the wizard's insistence.
The magician utters the ancient words,
The room glows red,
The doors are locked,
Yet the enchanter has escaped.
Some cards, some glitter, a diamond ring,
Lay scattered on the empty stage . . . . .
~Francoise
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Man with Dragonfly Hands
For Jay
Not nearly as ambiguous
As he appears, his facial curls
A peppered abstraction to distract—
Dissertations of slick silvered verbs
To allure, propose, conject, yet
Not merely entertain.
Pocket reservoirs of presta—
Red bulbs snap-crackle-flame
Into visions conjured from dust bunny
Havens beneath beds of dead hyacinths
Magicianed in digitations to blossom
In oohs and ahhhs of profound
Confoundment.
Blustery pronouncements
Camouflaged in burl grains of classic
Strings framed in cinnamon-scented
Catastrophic elegance, he the leader,
Museum curator guiding us, prodding us
On paths of molten wax, over bricked walls
Of blocked metaphors, through tangled vines
Of carnivorous lines that peck at our limbs,
Feast on our flesh to devour our doubts,
Feed our hunger for dramatic decadence,
Tap on our minds, worm into our heartwood,
Linger long after
His soliloquy
Has ended.
~Judy Turek
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Interlude
To Jay Jii-- Who makes music that causes poetry
He missed a beat there
Or was it a space in the middle of his song
A haunting soft sweet air
His hands
Flying up and down the melody
Talking to me
Of love
~Joan Marg
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