Everything We Always Knew Was True. James Galvin

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      Bringing Down the House

      When they tore down the auditorium

      The facade went first, rebar snarling out like a

      Nest of centipedes. When they tore down

      The auditorium, excavators

      And backhoes roamed like sci-fi mantises,

      Munching with hydraulic jaws as they

      Hunted and gathered and devoured. When they

      Tore down the auditorium, percussive

      Wrecking balls kept time

      As I thought of years of arts performing magics.

      I saw Baryshnikov twice. Heard Pavarotti,

      Marsalis, and Ma, heard Bobby McFerrin, Bernstein,

      The Kronos Quartet. The stage was a realm of light,

      Sound, and dance. Applause came in tsunamis.

      All in Iowa City, Iowa.

      Then came the real flood. Mud took the stage,

      Mold took a curtain call. They tore down the

      Auditorium, but I remember.

      Wynton Marsalis gave a master class

      To three or four Iowa high school white-bread

      Jazz combos. When Marsalis walked in they throttled

      Their horns and saxophones, and who could blame them?

      They jammed. He taught them to listen to one another

      And respond. “Did you hear that B-flat I played?

      Well why didn’t you do something about it?”

      And, “You can’t get up on a stage then act

      Like you don’t belong there.” He took questions. They had

      A few shy ones. Then one girl, whose parents

      Probably couldn’t afford that night’s performance,

      Asked the best question ever: “Will you

      Play something for us?” By way of answer

      He laid down an impossible Dizzy Gillespie

      Riff. A stunned silence forestalled the applause,

      A silence such as that which overawes

      The din of tearing down the auditorium.