The Artisan

A Jazz Poem by Dan Robinson
performed at the Cherry Street Artisan, May 4, 2007
(Italicized portions are sung; the rest is spoken.)

There’s little place I know
on Cherry Street.
It’s a place where people like to go,
where people like me like to meet.

I’m partial to this particular place.
You might even say I’m partisan.
It always brings a smile to my face.
It’s the Cherry Street Artisan.

The Cherry Street Artisan:
it’s a place that reminds you
that walls exist to hang art on,
that a stage just a foot off the floor
can consecrate a space
and create a place
where something magical happens.

Live music at lunch?
Too much of a luxury?
It makes you feel like you live
in a civilized country.

Cherry Street
is where people meet
and it’s very sweet
and you can even eat there.

They make the most amazing hummus
Better get you summus.
I like the green machine
if you know what I mean.
And I’m a big fanada
O Canada
pizza, but my favorite is
the turkey apple and brie
got to get that sandwich inside of me
at the Artisan

Students hyped up on caffeine
devouring their books
they’re flirting, they’re blogging,
they’re surfing the web
they’re planning how to change the world.

Artists and philosophers make coffee behind the counter
and future mathematicians sweep the floor.
There’s a huge ungainly object attached to every key
that you need to unlock the restroom door.

Who’s the boss at the Artisan?
It’s not a person. It’s a sandwich.
At the Artisan, you eat the boss.
That’s what we think of hierarchy here.
There are bearded revolutionaries at every table
plotting the overthrow of capitalism.

Don’t you know,
we’re talking about a revolution
that starts at the Artisan
Finally the tables are starting to turn
Talkin’ ’bout a revolution...

I’ll always remember
that night I walked in from the rain
and it was a jazz jam,
musicians of all ages onstage,
people smiling at every table
and I felt like I was home.
It’s that kind of place.

You’ll always find a friendly face at the Artisan.
You say, there’s Jeremy
he’ll take care of me
he’ll make me feel at home.

There’s Andrew, and Alex, and that cute girl
who always makes me laugh.
When you come and see those familiar faces,
you feel like all’s right in the world.

At the Artisan, there’s a bronze tiger
you can drape your scarf over.
There’s a clock on the wall
that always says it’s later
than you want it to be, because
when you’re here
with the people
you love to be with,
you want now
to last forever.
And my favorite time of all
is when the little chalk board says
“Poetry Jam Tonight!”

I love to see the poets step up to the mike:
Steven and Carmen
and Amy and Seth
and Shane and JaKeitha
and Korey and Beth
and Barret the gentle giant
with his tales of lost love
and yearning
and breakups done by text message.
And when I step up on the stage,
my friends are looking back at me,
and there’s no place on earth I’d rather be.

That’s right, it’s the Artisan...

Where all the poets
wear their souls on their sleeve
and make you laugh with them and make you grieve
and break your heart with beauty
then it’s time for a little break:
Alex puts on some Death Cab For Cutie,

The musicians go outside to smoke their cigarettes.
You step out with them,
the cold is delicious,
the sky is a shiver of stars.
and you suddenly realize how exciting
it is to be alive.

The other night, I came in from the cold and damp,
sat down, and the couch was already warm.
I thought, “That’s just like the Artisan.”
You can go away for a day, you can go away for a year.
They’re going to keep it warm for you.

Now it’s time to say good-bye.
I won’t cry if you won’t cry.
Good-bye to every poet—
you’re beautiful, I hope you know it

When I get down from this stage,
I’ll wipe the tear from my eye,
hug my friends,
I’ll divide tips with the musicians,
I’ll say “see you later” to the cool bass player
and Alex the light & sound man
(coolest guy around, man).
I’ll say “hasta la vista”
to the barista
and I’ll slip into the night.

Good-bye is hard to say,
wish I could stay,
but I’ll be back someday.
Good night,
Cherry
Street
Artisan.
Good night.

(link)