Strange Fruit: International Jazz Day
Strange Fruit By Abel Meeropol Pen Name Lewis Allan Southern trees bear strange fruit, Blood on the leaves and blood at the root, Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze, Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees. Pastoral scene of the gallant south, The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth, Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh, Then the sudden smell of burning flesh. Here is fruit for the crows to pluck, For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck, For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop, Here is a strange and bitter crop. I was reflecting on how far expanded and removed International Jazz Day is from the roots of Jazz and its role in Black culture. My mind has been on one song and particularly all the women of color who sang it in protest of acts of violence against our people. Jazz day keeps colliding with my thoughts about the Equal Justice Initiative's Lynching in America project and the memorial museum dedicated to its victims. Strange Fruit