Hopefully you'll have a received a message asking for your details so I can send you lovely things.  If you haven't and you know I definitely don't have your address then send me a message via Kickstarter or to management@abramwilson.com. Even if you didn't ask for a reward I'd still like to write and say thank you so please send me your address. 

It would seem that you have to answer all the questions on the survey, so if there's a box that needs filling in, in order for you to complete it just write 'thank you' or something similar. 

I'm aware that some of you didn't make it to the memorial service on 25th July, and I thought it would be nice to share one of the readings from the day.  It was read by the theatre director for the Philippa Project, Pia Furtado.  It's called Poem by Helene Johnson, an African-American poet who was writing during the Harlem Renaissance. As that's where I'm headed very soon I thought you might like to have a copy, even if you made it to the service. 

The day I chose it, I was sitting at home with one of my best friends going through the different ideas I had for the readings.  I already had two that I was sure about, both had strong connections to Abram.  The poem had been sent by a lovely lady from Louisiana called Roselyn, and I loved it but I was struggling with the fact that there wasn't a strong enough link to Abram i.e. it's not a poem we were aware of when he was here.  

I suddenly remembered that our friend Sophie had given us a book of jazz poems as a wedding gift, so off I went to find it saying out loud how Abram and me had such different ways of working.  I said "if Abram was here, he'd just say 'Great! that's the one' and move on to the next thing.  But I like to cover my bases and make sure I haven't missed anything.  It would drive him crazy sometimes, I always wanted to do more research and he always wanted to make the decision and move on".  Anyway, I found the book.  It was brand new and untouched.  I sat down and flicked it open onto a random page.  And there is was, staring right back at me Poem, by Helene Johnson.  I just looked up and said, "okay man, you win, we're going with this one". 

Little brown boy,
Slim, dark, big-eyed,
Crooning love songs to your banjo
Down at the Lafayerre--
Gee, boy, I love the way you hold your head,
High sort of and a bit to one side,
Like a prince, a jazz prince. And I love
Your eyes flashing, and your hands,
And your patent-leathered feet,
And your shoulders jerking the jig-wa.
And I love your teeth flashing,
And the way your hair shines in the spotlight
Like it was the real stuff.
Gee, brown boy, I loves you all over.
I'm glad I'm a jig. I'm glad I can
Understand your dancin' and your
Singin', and feel all the happiness
And joy and don't care in you.
Gee, boy, when you sing, I can close my ears
And hear tom-toms just as plain.
Listen to me, will you, what do I know
About tom-toms? But I like the word, sort of,
Don't you? It belongs to us.
Gee, boy, I love the way you hold your head,
And the way you sing, and dance,
And everything.
Say, I think you're wonderful. You're
Allright with me,
You are.

After the service, when I collected all the beautiful messages that people had left, I finally understood why the poem had struck a chord with me. Someone had quoted Abram from a gig that I had also attended in March this year "I may no be a King of Jazz - yet. But I'm definitely a prince"

And that is the story of Abram and the Jazz Prince.  Thank you to Dylan Bate for sending me this wonderful image of Abram which was taken in Harare, Zimbabwe in 2004. 

My next update will be from New York, I'm excited and nervous.  Wish me luck!

Till soon! 


Jennie x