James Weldon Johnson, ed. (1871–1938). The Book of American Negro Poetry. 1922. COMPLIMENTS OF BARTLEBY.COM To the White Fiends Claude McKay (1890–1948) THINK you I am not fiend and savage too? Think you I could not arm me with a gun And shoot down ten of you for every one Of my black brothers murdered, burnt by you? Be not deceived, for every deed you do 5 I could match—out-match: am I not Africa’s son, Black of that black land where black deeds are done? But the Almighty from the darkness drew My soul and said: Even thou shaft be a light Awhile to burn on the benighted earth, 10 Thy dusky face I set among the white For thee to prove thyself of highest worth; Before the world is swallowed up in night, To show thy little lamp: go forth, go forth! To Our Friends Lucian B. Watkins WE’VE kept the faith. Our souls’ high dreams Untouched by bondage and its rod, Burn on! and on! and on! It seems We shall have FRIENDS—while God is God! Translation Anne Spencer WE trekked into a far country, My friend and I. Our deeper content was never spoken, But each knew all the other said. He told me how calm his soul was laid 5 By the lack of anvil and strife. “The wooing kestrel,” I said, “mutes his mating-note To please the harmony of this sweet silence.” And when at the day’s end We laid tired bodies ’gainst 10 The loose warm sands, And the air fleeced its particles for a coverlet; When star after star came out To guard their lovers in oblivion— My soul so leapt that my evening prayer 15 Stole my morning song! Turn Me to My Yellow Leaves William Stanley Braithwaite TURN me to my yellow leaves, I am better satisfied; There is something in me grieves— That was never born, and died. Let me be a scarlet flame 5 On a windy autumn morn, I who never had a name, Nor from breathing image born. From the margin let me fall Where the farthest stars sink down, 10 And the void consumes me,—all In nothingness to drown. Let me dream my dream entire, Withered as an autumn leaf— Let me have my vain desire, 15 Vain—as it is brief. Two-an’-Six Claude McKay (1890–1948) MERRY voices chatterin’, Nimble feet dem patterin’, Big an’ little, faces gay, Happy day dis market day. Sateday, de marnin’ break, 5 Soon, soon market-people wake; An’ de light shine from de moon While dem boy, wid pantaloon Roll up obey dem knee-pan, ’Tep across de buccra lan’ 10 To de pastur whe’ de harse Feed along wid de jackass, An’ de mule cant’ in de track Wid him tail up in him back, All de ketchin’ to defy, 15 No ca’ how dem boy might try. In de early marnin’-tide, When de cocks crow on de hill An’ de stars are shinin’ still, Mirrie by de fireside 20 Hots de coffee for de lads Comin’ ridin’ on de pads T’rown across dem animul— Donkey, harse too, an’ de mule, Which at last had come do’n cool. 25 On de bit dem hol’ dem full: Racin’ ober pastur’ lan’, See dem comin’ ebery man, Comin’ fe de steamin’ tea Ober hilly track an’ lea. 30 Hard-wuk’d donkey on de road Trottin’ wid him ushal load, Hamper pack’ wi’ yam an’ grain, Sour-sop, and Gub’nor cane. Cous’ Sun sits in hired dray, 35 Drivin’ ’long de market way; Whole week grindin’ sugar cane Trough de boilin’ sun an’ rain, Now, a’ter de toilin’ hard, He goes seekin’ his reward, 40 While he’s thinkin’ in him min’ Of de dear ones lef’ behin’, Of de loved though ailin’ wife, Darlin’ treasure of his life, An’ de picknies, six in all, 45 Whose ’nuff burdens ’pon him fall: Seben lovin’ ones in need, Seben hungry mouths fe feed; On deir wants he thinks alone, Neber dreamin’ of his own, 50 But gwin’ on wid joyful face Till him re’ch de market-place. Sugar bears no price to-day, Though it is de mont’ o’ May, When de time is hellish hot, 55 An’ de water cocoanut An’ de cane bebridge is nice, Mix’ up wid a filly ice. Big an’ little, great an’ small, Afou yam is all de call; 60 Sugar tup an’ gill a quart, Yet de people hab de heart Wantin’ brater top o’ i’, Want de sweatin’ higgler fe Ram de pan an’ pile i’ up, 65 Yet sell i’ fe so-so tup. Cousin Sun is lookin’ sad, As de market is so bad; ’Pon him han’ him res’ him chin, Quietly sit do’n thinkin’ 70 Of de loved wife sick in bed, An’ de children to be fed— What de laborers would say When dem know him couldn’ pay; Also what about de mill 75 Whe’ him hire from ole Bill; So him think, an’ think on so, Till him t’oughts no more could go. Then he got up an’ began Pickin’ up him sugar-pan: 80 In his ears rang trough de din “Only two-an’-six a tin’.” What a tale he’d got to tell, How bad, bad de sugar sell! Tekin’ out de lee amount, 85 Him set do’n an’ begin count All de time him min’ deh doubt How expenses would pay out; Ah, it gnawed him like de ticks, Sugar sell fe two-an’-six! 90 So he journeys on de way, Feelin’ sad dis market day; No e’en buy a little cake To gi’e baby when she wake,— Passin’ ’long de candy-shop 95 ’Douten eben mek a stop To buy drops fe las’y son, For de filly cash nea’ done. So him re’ch him own a groun’, An’ de children scamper roun’, 100 Each one stretchin’ out him han’, Lookin’ to de poor sad man. Oh, how much he felt de blow, As he watched dem face fall low, When dem wait an’ nuttin’ came 105 An’ drew back deir han’s wid shame! But de sick wife kissed his brow: “Sun, don’t get down-hearted now; Ef we only pay expense We mus’ wuk we common-sense, 110 Cut an’ carve, an’ carve an’ cut, Mek gill sarbe fe quattiewut; We mus’ try mek two ends meet Neber mind how hard be it. We won’t mind de haul an’ pull, 115 While dem pickny belly full.” An’ de shadow lef’ him face, An’ him felt an inward peace, As he blessed his better part For her sweet an’ gentle heart: 120 “Dear one o’ my heart, my breat’, Won’t I lub you to de deat’? When my heart is weak an’ sad, Who but you can mek it glad?” So dey kissed an’ kissed again, 125 An’ deir t’oughts were not on pain, But was ’way down in de sout’ Where dey’d wedded in deir yout’, In de marnin’ of deir life Free from all de grief an’ strife, 130 Happy in de marnin’ light, Never thinkin’ of de night. So dey k’lated eberyt’ing; An’ de profit it could bring, A’ter all de business fix’, 135 Was a princely two-an’-six.
Posted on: Wed, 03 Dec 2014 17:12:56 +0000
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