Buddha Man Blues

[alonso ramoran]

Hey RC,

Good read, some comments below

On the Mississippi bottoms
West African griot rhythms
pulse through Spanish moss A good image but I'm not sure of its significance. 
that sways over the river bank,
as lovers find their own cadence, Lovers finding their cadence is a difficult movement to draw similarities to moss swaying over a river bank, imo. Maybe it's the vagueness of "lovers find their cadence"; I'd be a little more specific in how. 
hands move like songs on skin. I want to get this simile because of how good it sounds, but I cannot picture songs moving on skin. The best I can do is the pulsing bass you'd feel in your throat or the chills you'd get from a good song. I'd flip "hands" and "song" and find a more appropriate verb than "move" afterwards.  

At night, in the juke joint,
his face possesses the stage,
nods, beams, a calm center,
statue still, stone ready.

I'd rephrase the stanza above as this, do with it as you like:

At night, in the juke joint,
his face possesses the stage;
it nods, beams, is calmly-centered,
statue-still and stone-ready.

He cradles the guitar in huge hands,
calloused from field work; Great image, but I'd go just a little more in detail. What is it he does in the fields? I'd use that instead of just "field work"
the slide on his little finger cries,
moans up and down honky-tonk strings. I like these two lines.

Hidden knives of men are at the ready,
streets are steamy, women scheme, I like "streets are steamy".
as they walk in from sweltering fields at dusk. This stanza seems to be setting up something bad to happen, but there's never any payoff. What happened to the men with the knives and scheming women? 

Maybe you could rephrase the stanza as follows. Again, do with it as you like:

On steamy streets, the knives of men
are sheathed and thirsty as the scheming women
who walk in from sweltering fields at dusk. This last line reads kind of awkwardly bc of "sweltering". If you decide to go this route, I'd find a different adjective.

An aristocrat where he sits,
he’s the clown on demand, I'd omit "he's"
moves his hands in memory over maps
of a new land forbidden to tyranny, maybe "forbidding tyranny"?
where exuberant sounds untangle
the Gordian knot fashioned of chains. Nice finish.

Best, Alex