193. The Congo By Vachel Lindsay A Study of the Negro Race I—THEIR BASIC SAVAGERYFAT black bucks in a wine-barrel room,Barrel-house kings, with feet unstable,Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table,A deep rolling bassPounded on the table,Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom, 5Hard as they were able,Boom, boom, BOOM,With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom,Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.THEN I had religion, THEN I had a vision. 10I could not turn from their revel in derision.THEN I SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK,More deliberate. Solemnly chantedCUTTING THROUGH THE JUNGLE WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.Then along that riverbankA thousand miles 15Tattooed cannibals danced in files;Then I heard the boom of the blood-lust songAnd a thigh-bone beating on a tin-pan gong. And “BLOOD!” screamed the whistles and the fifes of the warriors,A rapidly piling climax of speed and racket“BLOOD!” screamed the skull-faced, lean witch-doctors; 20“Whirl ye the deadly voo-doo rattle,Harry the uplands,Steal all the cattle,Rattle-rattle, rattle-rattle,Bing! 25Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM!”A roaring, epic, rag-time tuneWith a philosophic pauseFrom the mouth of the CongoTo the Mountains of the Moon.Death is an Elephant, 30Torch-eyed and horrible,Shrilly and with a heavily accented metreFoam-flanked and terrible.BOOM, steal the pygmies,BOOM, kill the Arabs,BOOM, kill the white men, 35HOO, HOO, HOO.Listen to the yell of Leopold’s ghostLike the wind in the chimneyBurning in Hell for his hand-maimed host.Hear how the demons chuckle and yellCutting his hands off, down in Hell. 40Listen to the creepy proclamation,Blown through the lairs of the forest-nation,Blown past the white-ants’ hill of clay,Blown past the marsh where the butterflies play:—“Be careful what you do,All the O sounds very golden. Heavy accents very heavy. Light accents very light. Last line whispered 45Or Mumbo-Jumbo, God of the Congo,And all of the otherGods of the Congo,Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you,Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you, 50Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you.” II—THEIR IRREPRESSIBLE HIGH SPIRITSWild crap-shooters with a whoop and a callRather shrill and highDanced the juba in their gambling-hallAnd laughed fit to kill, and shook the town,And guyed the policemen and laughed them down 55With a boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.THEN I SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK,Read exactly as in first section. Lay emphasis on the delicate ideas. Keep as light-footed as possibleCUTTING THROUGH THE JUNGLE WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.A negro fairyland swung into view,A minstrel river 60Where dreams come true.The ebony palace soared on highThrough the blossoming trees to the evening sky.The inlaid porches and casements shoneWith gold and ivory and elephant-bone. 65And the black crowd laughed till their sides were soreAt the baboon butler in the agate door,And the well-known tunes of the parrot bandThat trilled on the bushes of that magic land. A troupe of skull-faced witch-men cameWith pomposity 70Through the agate doorway in suits of flame,Yea, long-tailed coats with a gold-leaf crustAnd hats that were covered with diamond-dust.And the crowd in the court gave a whoop and a callAnd danced the juba from wall to wall. 75But the witch-men suddenly stilled the throngWith a great deliberation and ghostlinessWith a stern cold glare, and a stern old song:“Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you.”…Just then from the doorway, as fat as shotesWith overwhelming assurance, good cheer, and pompCame the cake-walk princes in their long red coats, 80Canes with a brilliant lacquer shine,And tall silk hats that were red as wine.And they pranced with their butterfly partners there,With growing speed and sharply marked dance-rhythmCoal-black maidens with pearls in their hair,Knee-skirts trimmed with the jassamine sweet, 85And bells on their ankles and little black feet.And the couples railed at the chant and the frownOf the witch-men lean, and laughed them down.(Oh, rare was the revel, and well worth whileThat made those glowering witch-men smile.) 90 The cake-walk royalty then beganTo walk for a cake that was tall as a manTo the tune of “Boomlay, boomlay, BOOM,”While the witch-men laughed, with a sinister air,With a touch of negro dialect, and as rapidly as possible toward the endAnd sang with the scalawags prancing there: 95“Walk with care, walk with care,Or Mumbo-Jumbo, God of the Congo,And all of the otherGods of the Congo,Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you. 100Beware, beware, walk with care,Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, boom.Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, boom,Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, boom,Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, 105BOOM.”Oh, rare was the revel, and well worth whileSlow philosophic calmThat made those glowering witch-men smile. III—THE HOPE OF THEIR RELIGIONA good old negro in the slums of the townHeavy bass. With a literal imitation of camp-meeting racket, and trancePreached at a sister for her velvet gown. 110Howled at a brother for his low-down ways,His prowling, guzzling, sneak-thief days.Beat on the Bible till he wore it outStarting the jubilee revival shout.And some had visions, as they stood on chairs, 115And sang of Jacob, and the golden stairs.And they all repented, a thousand strong,From their stupor and savagery and sin and wrong,And slammed with their hymn-books till they shook the roomWith “Glory, glory, glory,” 120And “Boom, boom, BOOM.”THEN I SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK,CUTTING THROUGH THE JUNGLE WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.And the gray sky opened like a new-rent veilExactly as in the first section. Begin with terror and power, end with joyAnd showed the apostles with their coats of mail. 125In bright white steel they were seated round,And their fire-eyes watched where the Congo wound.And the twelve Apostles, from their thrones on high,Thrilled all the forest with their heavenly cry:Sung to the tune of “Hark, ten thousand harps and voices”“Mumbo-Jumbo will die in the jungle; 130Never again will he hoo-doo you,Never again will he hoo-doo you.” Then along that river, a thousand milesWith growing deliberation and joyThe vine-snared trees fell down in files.Pioneer angels cleared the way 135For a Congo paradise, for babes at play,For sacred capitals, for temples clean.Gone were the skull-faced witch-men lean.There, where the wild ghost-gods had wailed,In a rather high key—as delicately as possibleA million boats of the angels sailed 140With oars of silver, and prows of blueAnd silken pennants that the sun shone through.’Twas a land transfigured, ’twas a new creation.Oh, a singing wind swept the negro nation,And on through the backwoods clearing flew:—To the tune of “Hark, ten thousand harps and voices” 145“Mumbo-Jumbo is dead in the jungle.Never again will he hoo-doo you.Never again will he hoo-doo you.” Redeemed were the forests, the beasts and theAnd only the vulture dared again 150By the far, lone mountains of the moonTo cry, in the silence, the Congo tune:Dying down into a penetrating, terrified whisper“Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you,Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you.Mumbo … Jumbo … will … hoo-doo … you.” Sabti lng sa. :)
Posted on: Tue, 08 Jul 2014 14:39:04 +0000
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