Billie Holiday

The first time I heard Billie Holiday's voice, I was sitting in a high school history class. That year, I'd taken three elective history classes, but this one was my favorite. We were studying the history of the U.S. from 1945 to present day.

We'd been given an assignment: bring in a song that reflected what was going on in the world during the song's time.

"I know this is from before the fourties," our teacher said, "but I'd like you to watch it."

 

There is a children's book in Eva K. Bowlby library called Becoming Billie Holiday. It is a biography of Billie Holiday's life written all in poems.

 

I found a poignant one on the ninety-fourth page:

 

      "I Got It Bad (And That Ain't Good)"

      While my heart healed, I

      pinned gardenias in my hair

      to hide the bruises.

 

I met with a friend in a small coffee shop last Tuesday. We sat on stools by the coat rack, talking poems. He told me he saw the beauty in my poems, but he wanted them to bite.

 

In one of my poems, I wrote about baby birds chirping in winter time.

 

"I want to see the baby birds dying," he said to me earnestly, laughing a little.

 

I understand what he means. In so many of Bille Holiday's songs, you have the beauty of an soulful voice tied up with pain. These are not things that can be separated and still be counted as real and truthful. Together they bring a texture they cannot provide solo.