#five a.m

[mote-historie]

Josephine Baker (30) in New York to promote appearance in the Ziegfeld Follies, Photo by Murray Korman, 1936.

National Portrait Galley, London.

The photo session dates from 1936 and was taken in New York to promote Bakers appearance in the Ziegfeld Follies - the first and last black star ever to do so. Josephine appeared in three segments, dancing and then singing. This photo illustrates the third segment of her appearance where she performed the song “Five a.m.” by Vernon Duke and Ira Gershwin and was choreographed by Georges Balanchine. The outfits were designed by Vincent Minelli, and this dress was gold in colour. Baker is depicted here with her dancers in the “Five a.m.” segment. (ref p100 Josephine Baker, by Hammond & O’Connor 1988 and p168 Jazz Cleopatra by Phyllis Rose). 

[acanthocyte]

FIVE A.M by Allen Ginsberg

Elan that lifts me above the clouds into pure space, timeless, yea eternal Breath transmuted into words Transmuted back to breath in one hundred two hundred years nearly Immortal, Sappho's 26 centuries of cadenced breathing -- beyond time, clocks, empires, bodies, cars, chariots, rocket ships skyscrapers, Nation empires brass walls, polished marble, Inca Artwork of the mind -- but where's it come from? Inspiration? The muses drawing breath for you? God? Nah, don't believe it, you'll get entangled in Heaven or Hell -- Guilt power, that makes the heart beat wake all night flooding mind with space, echoing through future cities, Megalopolis or Cretan village, Zeus' birth cave Lassithi Plains -- Otsego County farmhouse, Kansas front porch? Buddha's a help, promises ordinary mind no nirvana -- coffee, alcohol, cocaine, mushrooms, marijuana, laughing gas? Nope, too heavy for this lightness lifts the brain into blue sky at May dawn when birds start singing on East 12th street -- Where does it come from, where does it go forever? 

[thefactory--blog]

Five A.M

Elan that lifts me above the clouds into pure space, timeless, yea eternal Breath transmuted into words Transmuted back to breath in one hundred two hundred years nearly Immortal, Sappho’s 26 centuries of cadenced breathing — beyond time, clocks, empires, bodies, cars, chariots, rocket ships skyscrapers, Nation empires brass walls, polished marble, Inca Artwork of the mind — but where’s it come from? Inspiration? The muses drawing breath for you? God? Nah, don’t believe it, you’ll get entangled in Heaven or Hell — Guilt power, that makes the heart beat wake all night flooding mind with space, echoing through future cities, Megalopolis or Cretan village, Zeus’ birth cave Lassithi Plains — Otsego County farmhouse, Kansas front porch? Buddha’s a help, promises ordinary mind no nirvana — coffee, alcohol, cocaine, mushrooms, marijuana, laughing gas? Nope, too heavy for this lightness lifts the brain into blue sky at May dawn when birds start singing on East 12th street — Where does it come from, where does it go forever?

- Allen Ginsberg