Losing August In Memoriam: August Wilson 1945-2005

I'm going to say Frank Frank, bring your silver flute to the crossroads where the living haunt the dead and be a jazzed-up Orpheus with a dozen riffs on the standards 'Bringing back the Dead' and 'Making the Dogs Howl In Harmony.' Look in every direction before you play, you're free to turn in a complete circle. The young woman with sad eyes standing under the willow tree - over there - will guide you across every threshold and she will place in your hands cool fruits which grow sweeter with every song you play. Play your highest notes in all the tempos you know, play your softest tones with absolute breath control, because tonight we're losing August. I'm going to say Katie come into this make-shift parlor and sit on the blue-patterned couch. You don't have to do anything, you don't have to say anything. A warm yellow light glows from within you and spreads in a radiant pool. Soon a woman named Roberta will arrive with a shy girl who is her sixteen-year-old daughter. They're here now, standing in your light, holding hands, smiling at each other, almost laughing they're so proud. Roberta remembers when she was her daughter's age you taught her how a daughter shows gratitude, how a mother shows love. And now Roberta, her daughter, and you, Katie, and all of us are here in the yellow light you spread past the edges of the street, because tonight we're losing August. I'm going to say J. Otis you arrived without a summoning. You know what you have to do: Build a pyramid in record time, with a point that touches heaven and a base wide enough to cover all the precincts of hell. I can hear you building the most beautiful black pyramid with sound blocks only you can heave. You're standing on a stage of your own design, there's a pile of poetry books nearby, and you're heaving sound blocks: trumpets blaring, sliding trombones, sharp saxophones, even drums drumming in a wild syncopation of jazz fury. And suddenly it's you and Youssef, and Langston, Amiri, Bob, and just to the left, come Lucille, Nikki and Rita, all of you crowding together in the shadow of a perfectly shaped pyramid, because tonight we're losing August. I'm going to say Louis Louis Alemayehu come singing and dancing with Ancestor Energy down the street named Grief Street and make it forget its name. Turn your ebony songs into a racket, change your carnival dance into a riot. Conjure the rivers that only flow when your left hand touches their headwaters, and your right hand holds their deltas: Black River, Red River, White River, Brown River - Louis, make them converge here, because tonight we're losing August. I'm going to say Quincy you're so far away, the distance makes me dizzy, and I'm reeling. You're far away, but you're listening. I know you're listening: Griot-man, you tell our stories, you listen to our stories. Griot-man, Quincy, only you are brave enough to carry this sorrow-load. I can see you getting ready, your mind as clear as a singularity, you stretch your back, you flex your muscles, then quicker than a thought, lift the load straight up, over your shoulders. You adjust the weight, it's almost out of sight. Quincy, you carry the sorrow-load, your heart expands, and you carry the sorrow-load, because tonight we're losing August. And I'm going to say Maya, simply Maya, you're here. Come into the warm yellow light, join our circle. Here's Frank. This is Katie, and that girl turning her head and waving to you is Roberta's daughter, Gina. J. Otis is at your side, Alemayehu is getting you some water. And Quincy is listening to you over there in that pool of light. Maya, you're here with us, and it's like a bird who has just learned how to sing, and he's singing and trilling, racing through all the notes he knows, and suddenly he realizes he's flying! Maya, you showed us singing and flying are the same, and we need to do both, because tonight we're losing August.