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Open-Ended Autobiography

December 15, 2009

 

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Arlene Corwin’s Poetry

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Archive for the ‘biography’ Category

Arlene Corwin’s Open-Ended Biography

January 14, 2009

Arlene Corwin’s Open-Ended Biography

(10.3.2007 updated 10.24.2007 updated 1.3.2008; updated December 15, 2009)

Arlene Corwin (born Arlene Faith Nover) is an American jazz singer and pianist, poet, teacher and practitioner of Yoga. Born November 8, 1934 in the Williamsburg Maternity Hospital, Brooklyn, New York. She has two children. Jonathan Eric Corwin (born July 24. 1956 and) Jennifer Nover Council (born February 2, 1964). Mother Margy Lillian (born Brown). Father Albert S. Nover. Both were hairdressers, owning a beauty salon together. Everyone was musical on both sides of the family. Mother sang, could play some piano. Father was a gifted sculptor and wood carver, played a little harmonica and mandolin.

Early Life

Started studying piano age 8. Studied voice at the famous 1650 Broadway with ‘coach’ Matty Levine. Did a little recording at aged 10 in Nola Studios. (The record has since disappeared) At 12 she started studying harp with Meyer Rosen (Julliard and NBC Orchestra) and the occasional piano lesson with an NBC pianist who taught her how to read chord changes, seeing at once that she was not interested in learning classical piano.

As a child she had already sung at weddings, bar mitzvahs and for the USO, raising bonds for the war effort. At 13, having a boyfriend who played the saxophone and who listened to Symphony Sid, jazz disc jockey whose late night show originated from Birdland, she awakened to jazz, listening to the late night show “under my blanket”. “A turning point”, she says. (Well before “Lullaby of Birdland” was put to words Arlene had written a lyric of her own – a lyric she still sings today) At 14,she was playing for a dancing school once a week. Then she got an accidental job (“slipping in on a banana peel when the singer got sick”) in a Brooklyn nightclub singing with a group. “Mom and dad chaperoned, of course”.

1950s 

She began to sing regularly when again, out of the blue, an agent rang offering a job for a hundred dollars a week to play at the Mayflower Hotel in Manhattan. It was a restaurant owned by Bob Olin, a former light heavyweight world champion. “I was so naïve I played the whole evening without ever taking a break. Who knew about breaks? Why they kept me I’ve no idea.” But they did and the steady salary of $100.00 a week (which she gave directly to her mother, any other choice never occurring to her) and the experience of having to make a varied program led to her singing to the piano, and eventually to playing to the singing. At this time she was still in high school as attending the prestigious High School of Music & Art as a harpist.She graduated from Music & Art getting a scholarship to Hofstra College as a music major.

Then in 1952, while still at Hofstra College (now university), she was playing on the weekends in a Hempstead, Long Island nightclub-restaurant when Slim Gaillard, who’d come to see Jack Teagarden (also working there) began to take notice of her. He started showing up regularly. There he met Arlene’s mother Margy, and the two eventually opened a jazz nightclub, the first to cater to blacks and whites. It was called The Turf and it, like Birdland had its own radio show, for which Arlene wrote the theme song “The Slim Gaillard Show”. Now she was standing as well as sitting, getting a chance to sit in and sing as often as she chose. The die was cast. It was jazz, cool jazz.

Early Influences

In 1954, on the day she ought to have been attending her college graduation, she married Bob Corwin, a 21-year-old jazz pianist with the Don Elliot Quartet. Because Bob toured, Arlene began her new stage of education: listening to Don’s group while they played on the same bill as the jazz greats of the 50’s. There was Helen Merrill at George Wein’s Storyville in Boston, Terry Gibbs and Illinois Jacquet in Detroit, Bill Evans, Cy Coleman, Bernard Peiffer, Tal Farlowe,Johnny Smith John Mehagan and Billy Taylor (who had also performed at the Turf) at the sophisticated Composer in Manhattan. ” It was also a chance to see and listen to other singers of the day. New York was marvelous in those days. I saw Peggy Lee at Basin Street, Blossom Dearie at Trudy’s in the village, Oscar Peterson, Marian McPartland at the Hickory House, Sheila Jordan, Morgana King. It was THE university for me. I was introduced to Tony Fruscella, the tragic, unsung genius of the trumpet, ‘who I took on my gigs, but to whom I was actually the apprentice’ – and through Tony to Morgana King and Beverly Getz, the talented [and equally tragic] wife of Stan Getz. I feel blessed to have experienced jazz at that time. The guys would gossip about who played ‘behind’ or ‘ahead’ of the beat, bass lines, good changes, bad changes. No Music & Art or Hofstra did that. I learned almost the whole of what is now called The American Songbook. And I, I was sounding like Sarah Vaughn with a little voice.”

Hanging Around Manhattan; Not This, Not That…

Living in New York, and looking for a niche she spent time, as other musicians did, at the Musicians Union Local 802 or Charlie’s Tavern where jobs could show up. In this way, there were weeks and weekends away with big bands: Tommy Dorsey’s Orchestra under the leadership of Warren Covington, Claude Thornhill and Larry Sonn.

“When you hang around New York all kinds of opportunities show up”. And so, she got a leading role in a B film called “Jukebox Racket’, wrote the score for another B film called, at the time “She Should Have Stayed In Bed”, later to be called ‘1,000 Shapes Of A Female: see IDMB (the company, called Exploit Films was owned by Errol Flynn “tall, big in every way, veins on his face, but exuding old world charm” He was quite, quite overwhelming.”

Then there was a bit part in John Cassavetes “Shadows”, followed by the lead in what has become a cult ‘beat’ musical called “The Nervous Set” by Fran and Jay Landesman where she introduced the now-standards “Spring Can Really Hang You Up The Most and “Ballad Of The Sad Young Men”, both subsequently recorded by Ella Fitzgerald, Shirley Bassey and numberless major artists. She studied acting with Joshua Shelley. “It was a time to find out who and what I was. “I was definitely not an actress. I was too introverted and none of those clothes fit” she says.

More Influences and more Not This, Not That…

In 1959 she met Johnny Burke (Burke & Van Heusen) who took her under his wing, taking her to Hollywood to demonstrate his show “Donnybrook” for Rosalind Russell and husband, producer Frederick Brisson “It was a glitzy time. I stayed at Bob Hope’s house in Palm Springs, met Frank Sinatra and his then fiancee Juliet Prowse, Jerry Lewis, Marlene Deitrich, had my own suite in Las Vegas , traveled first class, but was so introverted I always kept to myself, never saying much, definitely not participating in any of these scenes. Those clothes didn’t fit either.”

All the while she returned to the intimacy of New York supper clubs. They were the bottom line, singing and playing.

It was during the supper club period, she met Al Weissman who became her manager. She was signed to the Joe Glazer Agency and began to tour with her own trio. “Wherever I went they’d say, “You know, there’s just been a girl here who sounds like you. Her name was Barbra something. I suppose we had Brooklyn Jewishness in common. ” (She too was signed with Glazer.)

Although published by Frank Publishing (owned by composer Frank Loesser) years later she asked for the songs back because “nothing happened.” “It was a period of promise, a period I was not equipped to fulfill”.

1960s-1970s

In 1962 it was back to Hollywood with Al Weissman and high hopes. “I had some jobs, but never in my genre.” Back to New York. A little jaunt of songwriting with singer Dick Haymes. A short marriage of four months to Richard Robin Palmer.

Greece, Lebanon, Greece, Oxford – Yoga & Jazz

In 1966, by way of Paris, Greece (where she and husband Jim Council were neighbors with Leonard Cohen and Marianne) and Lebanon, “where I actually managed to do some television, singing jazz”, she settled in Oxford, England for the next 18 years, teaching yoga,(“lectured and demonstrated in what must have been a hundred Women’s Insitutes, posed for one of the very first health magazines called Health & Fitness, wrote articles on nutrition, had a weekly radio spot on a little radio show for BBB Oxford actually doing Yoga on radio while describing each pose with a microphone up my nose, did a tape on meditation – it was a lot of Yoga”) and singing and playing, being voted Best Jazz Singer in the Midlands 1972, appearing at Ronnie Scott’s three times. She did 3 television shows; a late night BBC jazz show called “In The Cool Of The Evening”, radio for BBC overseas, was invited over to Amsterdam to do Dutch radio, sang at universities around England, (“one night opposite Pink Floyd, “who were just starting out, I suppose”), the American air bases.

She appeared several times at The Stables in Wavendon (run by John Dankworth – now Sir John Dankworth – and Cleo Laine -now Dame Cleo Laine – while at the same time giving weekly yoga lessons to a group there, (which included Dame Cleo – “a wonderful

yogin”). The Wavendon All-Music Plan, later known simply as WAP “was the most stimulating and original enterprise I’ve ever encountered, pairing all kinds of musical genre. I even played on the same bill as Vladimir Ashkenazy.”

Starting in 1969 and all during the 70’s fate gave a push to the yoga side of things and Arlene was teaching yoga classes in doctor’s offices for hyper-tense, cardiac and overweight men. teaching regularly at conferences for IBM. She gave demonstrations, lectured all over for the Women’s Institute, posed and wrote for Health and Fitness Magazine (summer issue 1982) a book called The New Manual Of Yoga by Karen Ross (1973) wrote articles on nutrition, made a cassette called This Is Meditation. It was a full double life with Yoga taking half the time and singing the other half.

1980s to now.

In 1983 she once again ran into Slim Gaillard – this time in London. He asked her to appear on a television show he was producing that was to star himself, Kai Winding and Wayne Shorter. It was the last appearance she ever made in England.In 1984, finding Sweden fertile ground for singer/pianists, and meeting and falling in love with Kent Anderson, she moved to Sweden where she lives until today, performing, and writing regularly for “Live With Good Intentions” an online magazine.

Still growing, still changing

The latest news – 2009 and 25 years later, aged 75: a cd of her own songs for Imogen Records produced by George Reece, a concert of Johnny Mercer to commemorate his 100th birthday, poetry grown to 2000 poems (see Arlene Corwin Poetry).

2009 finds her favorite project on Google called Arlene Corwin’s Poetry, a project that started in 1949 or about 2,000 poems ago.

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Don Quixote Didn’t Drown 1995

September 27, 2009

          Don Quixote Didn’t DrownDon Quixote Didn’t Drown 95.3.21The Processes:Creative,Thinking,Meditative;To The Child Mystic;A Sense Of The Ridiculous:Arlene Corwin

Set a picture.

Climb into it.

Do not move and hold it.

You enfold it

And the feeling that ensues;

Concentrated focus,

Mind and body in repose,

Sitting underneath a vortex.

Whirlpools, danger, vertigos,

Chasms, fears – letting go;

Pits, abysses’ inner flow

Lets self be suckled under

In the wonder tumbled-tossed.

In the jet of letting self go down

With jellied heart.

Don Quixote didn’t drown,

The maelstrom buoyant borne

Elysium.

©

Amazing Albert 2009

September 16, 2009

Amazing Albert

 Furry skull

That fits into my hand,

Fine tuned,

Brain housing an IQ for mousing.

Daily and already killing feet, legs, toes,

Crumpled paper. Figures out…God knows,

He thinks.

I plan to teach him Plato

When his needle teeth fall out,

The blunter ones come through,

He’s learned to

Use the cat door,

Spend more

Tranquil time

Upon my knees,

Because,

That brain has untapped genius.

(I have plans to teach him Mencius).

It’s that skull, each synapse honed,

An effervescence in my hand

That leaves me speechless and,

Oh yes,

He plays piano too.

 

©Amazing Albert 8.17.2009 Cat Book; Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

The Long, Long Sundays Facing Time 1997

January 11, 2009

                The Long, Long Sundays Facing Time

“Sundays are so long!”

It’s time again.

It’s Time again.

My mother in-law loathes that time;

Unsolvable and cloudy time;

Time shrouded in ennui so deep

She weeps; a stagnant dynamo.

Helplessness so stamped upon

Her soul that all the day is drab,

And that, no matter what the sun.

What is this time if not translation,

Reason’s weak interpretation

Straight from cell to day, the stab

At self-enjoyment and employment

Dulled to waking,

Cooking, eating, sitting making

Number one and number two;

Viewing, phoning: things to do.

The Sundays are so long,

Street that stands outside the house

Stands for six days in the week.

Families, drunks are sights that that dose

Existence bleak

With meaning that eludes her.

Mother in-law, eighty three

Could be me.

To hide from time-which-lies outside,

Which-lies-inside, not baring breast

To morning, joining ripples in the stream,

Where standing still you never feel

The river’s ripple twice the same,

Infinity within that frame,

Makes automizing the Lord’s Prayer

Bare, pale,

A jail of long, long Sundays doing time.

©The Long, Long Sundays Facing Time 97.8.24/03.11.23

Our Times, Our Culture; Special People, Special Occasions; Swedish Book;

Small Stories Book;

Arlene Corwin

 

Thank God Those Love Affairs Are Over 1996

December 1, 2008

       Thank God Those Love Affairs Are Over

Oh God, I’m glad those love affairs are over;

The sneaking and the open,

The Siamese twins of pain and pleasure,

Pain and passion, lashing of despair.

Oh my God, how did I stand it – them?

Them! how many dare I count

When now at last it doesn’t count?

I think I count a hundred:

Can it really be a hundred?

Well, I’m counting from age six,

So it depends on what you call,

How one depicts

Love that was there.

(Can one have had a love affair

Before there was one pubic hair?)

It all depends on what you dare

Admit, how complicated, deep,

Intense it was, they were – what type

Of joining you perceived. It’s not

A reminiscence I enjoy. Hot!

To conjure up a word

To measure love’s disturbing, stirred-

Up state, I’d say, Ephemeral! Hot! Pleasure!

Oh, I’m glad the time for love affairs

Is over and my eyes no longer search around

Like swooping prison spotlights

When an inmate’s gone to ground.

Now it’s shanti all the way. Calm

Fidelity no less intense or ardent than before.

Now andante is the day’s sweet balm;

Creative, ordered, yea, concordant.

Bye, bye, lady Casanova.

Thank God those affairs are over.

©Thank God Those Love Affairs Are Over 96.2.12

Love Relationships;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

I Wonder How Someone Writes A Novel (b) 1996

November 27, 2008

     I Wonder How Someone Writes A Novel

I wonder how you write a novel:

Long descriptions; working out the plot,

Relationships, the dialogue; devices literary: such a lot

To conjure up.

But poetry – there’s a joy to waken with the morning cup.

No characters to imitate,

No family intrigues to create.

No, only lovely verbs to drape

Some searching of the soul; to bind

Some suffering while form takes shape,

While finding what is on my mind –

Or amplifying what’s already

Seeded in the title

Or a phrase, a rhythm, an unsteady

Flash.

Why, one can crash

The noun against the verbs,

Invent a sound that sounds absurbs,

Jot down a daft idea at nightle,

Making sure it rhymes with title.

Writing novels takes so long.

And while a poem may take a week,

A novel can’t become a song,

Sustain the whole with tongue in cheek.

Not easily.

How do the Pushkins, Dostoevskys

Write their Alexander Nevskys?

How well read these men must be.

And look at Hammett, Poe and Christie:

Corpses spread around like sand;

Machinations, schemes so twisty,

I have never guessed an end.

How do people write a novel

With no couplets to rely on,

Years of preparation, research,

And the human race to spy on?

Maybe living in a hovel,

Waiting for some damned approval.

Think of all the paper and the ink

(Before computers)! Think!

Backbreaking, thorny.

On the other hand, there’s Cartland,

Filling banks with heaps of money

As she steeps a silver teaspoon

In her royal jell and honey,

While dictating reams of umpteen dreams:

Nineteen kinds of virgin.

Still, a novel; I could never face the challenge

And I haven’t got the gift.

I would rather find the rhyme to orange -

(Swifter).

While they ricochet around the skull -

Lines of thought’s unwilling cull,

Killing ego-near, dear phrases

One is loath to crop or drop,

Rhymes whose flavors ego savors:

Such is ego’s strength in art:

Pixie in the poet’s heart.

Back to how one writes a novel:

Poignant, layered, sunburst, graced -

I do not have one suggestion!

Why did Arlene ask the question

In the first place?

©I Wonder How Someone Writes A Novel 96.6.12

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

Free To Be Free 1996

November 25, 2008

 

     Free To Be Free

Freedom, what? Not

To do a this or that,

But freedom to create

In every moment,

Unconstrained by moment’s pre-

Determinative chain;

Not a thing that wears you out

Pursuing every want and place;

Not a freedom to break rules,

Unless, of course, you’ve got the grace.

Till something gives its mute permission,

One should live as one inept.

When that happens something lives

That had no life and no volition;

Or perhaps it only slept.

When you sense that load and freight

That wore you down, now bear you up,

Then you sense in mind and non-sense

Freedom as a daily choice

Pragmatically expressing voice.

Then it’s easy.

©

Free To Be Free 96.6.21Definitely Didactic; Nature Of & In Reality;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

Continuing The Birthday Dance 2008

November 18, 2008

    Continuing The Birthday Dance

The one and only June

When you were seven-

ty

We

Celebrated for a week,

Not only duty bound

But more because you are our friend,

And we have found

That seventy is special.

Flying on your birthday wings

The real deal

Lies somewhere where the music swings,

The wine is perfect,

And the things

That stamp us old

Turn into gold,

Continuing the birthday dance.

© Continuing The Birthday Dance 6.27.2008

Birthday Book; Special People, Special Occasions; (Barbro)

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

November 16, 2008

I Am (Comma Or Not)

I am(,)
(Comma or not)
Sure(,)
I am
That, the what
For which there is
No more.
I am will,
The h in trust.
I don’t have to justify
Or satisfy;
For I am just.
Moreover, I am Sat.

©I Am (Comma Or Not) 60.11.31
To The Child Mystic;
Arlene Corwin

The American Way Of Life 1952

November 15, 2008

 

            The American Way Of Life

She walked along the cliff of good;

Below her was the sea of sin.

She stopped and wondered if she would,

Then swayed, and paused, and dove right in.

Her name was, well, it hardly mattered;

She looked like, well, like you

Or me, or all the other scattered

Friendless peoples in this stew.

Voltaire made bulbs and Locke made keys,

While morals were confined to fable.

Yes, she’d heard of Socrates,

But life was really mink and sable.

Poor girl!

- Please, don’t fight

-I simply had to have that hat.

-No, not Ed Sullivan tonight.

-Please dear, yes dear, oh no, not that.

-Now dear, why do you grump and gripe?

-Your bills? I know. I can’t construe it.

-Of course I’ll go and fill your pipe.

-That poor, poor girl, why did she do it?

Home was normal, (or as normal

As we think normal to be),

Life as formal or informal

As we think a life should be.

Above are words she might have heard.

Her folks were average man and wife.

Seems normal, but it lacked the girder

That holds bridges up in strife.

“That’s no problem”, you may claim.

“Bad blood, so she deserves her stigma.”

Ah, my friends, you are to blame.

With that I end this small enigma.

©

The American Way Of Life 1952Definitely Didactic; Our Times, Our Culture;

Arlene Corwin