Chapter 7

And eyes obsessed with vacant stare, Looked over heads to empty air, As though they sought to find therein Redemption for a maiden sin.

'Twas thus, amid force driven grace, We found the lost look on her face; And then, to us, did it occur That, though we saw--we saw not her.

SPRIN' FEVAH

Dar's a lazy, sortah hazy Feelin' grips me, thoo an' thoo; An' I feels lak doin' less dan enythin'; Dough de saw is sharp an' greasy, Dough de task et han' is easy, An' de day am fair an' breezy, Dar's a thief dat steals embition in de win'.

Kaint defy it, kaint deny it, Kaze it jes won't be denied; Its a mos' pursistin' stubbern sortah thin'; Anti Tox' doan neutrolize it; Doctahs fail to analyze it; So I yiel's (dough I despise it) To dat res'less, wretchit fevah evah Sprin'.

DE DRUM MAJAH

He's struttin' sho ernuff, Wearin' a lady's muff En' ways erpon his head, Red coat ob reddest red, Purtty white satin ves', Gole braid ercross de ches'; Goo'ness! he cuts a stunt, Prancin' out dar in frunt, Leadin' his ban'.

Wen dat ah whistle blows, Each man behine him knows 'Zacklee whut he mus' do; You bet! he dues it, too. W'en dat brass stick he twirls, Ole maids an' lub-sick gurls Looks on wid longin' eyes, Dey simpley idolize Dat han'sum man.

Sweet fife an' piccalo, Bofe warblin' sof an' lo' Slide ho'n an' saxophones, Jazz syncopated tones, Snare drum an' lead cornet, Alto an' clarinet, Las', but not least, dar cum Cymbals an' big bass drum-- O! whut a ban'!

Cose, we all undahstan' Each piece he'ps maik de ban', But dey all mus' be led, Sum one mus' be de head: No doubt, de centipede Has all de laigs he need, But take erway de head, Po' centipede am dead; So am de ban'.

Fenton Johnson

CHILDREN OF THE SUN

We are children of the sun, Rising sun! Weaving Southern destiny, Waiting for the mighty hour When our Shiloh shall appear With the flaming sword of right, With the steel of brotherhood, And emboss in crimson die Liberty! Fraternity!

We are the star-dust folk, Striving folk! Sorrow songs have lulled to rest; Seething passions wrought through wrongs, Led us where the moon rays dip In the night of dull despair, Showed us where the star gleams shine, And the mystic symbols glow-- Liberty! Fraternity!

We have come through cloud and mist, Mighty men! Dusk has kissed our sleep-born eyes, Reared for us a mystic throne In the splendor of the skies, That shall always be for us, Children of the Nazarene, Children who shall ever sing Liberty! Fraternity!

THE NEW DAY

From a vision red with war I awoke and saw the Prince of Peace hovering over No Man's Land. Loud the whistles blew and the thunder of cannon was drowned by the happy shouting of the people. From the Sinai that faces Armageddon I heard this chant from the throats of white-robed angels:

Blow your trumpets, little children! From the East and from the West, From the cities in the valley, From God's dwelling on the mountain, Blow your blast that Peace might know She is Queen of God's great army. With the crying blood of millions We have written deep her name In the Book of all the Ages; With the lilies in the valley, With the roses by the Mersey, With the golden flower of Jersey We have crowned her smooth young temples. Where her footsteps cease to falter Golden grain will greet the morning, Where her chariot descends Shall be broken down the altars Of the gods of dark disturbance. Nevermore shall men know suffering, Nevermore shall women wailing Shake to grief the God of Heaven. From the East and from the West, From the cities in the valley, From God's dwelling on the mountain, Little children, blow your trumpets!

From Ethiopia, groaning 'neath her heavy burdens, I heard the music of the old slave songs. I heard the wail of warriors, dusk brown, who grimly fought the fight of others in the trenches of Mars. I heard the plea of blood-stained men of dusk and the crimson in my veins leapt furiously.

Forget not, O my brothers, how we fought In No Man's Land that peace might come again! Forget not, O my brothers, how we gave Red blood to save the freedom of the world! We were not free, our tawny hands were tied; But Belgium's plight and Serbia's woes we shared Each rise of sun or setting of the moon. So when the bugle blast had called us forth We went not like the surly brute of yore But, as the Spartan, proud to give the world The freedom that we never knew nor shared. These chains, O brothers mine, have weighed us down As Samson in the temple of the gods; Unloosen them and let us breathe the air That makes the goldenrod the flower of Christ. For we have been with thee in No Man's Land, Through lake of fire and down to Hell itself; And now we ask of thee our liberty, Our freedom in the land of Stars and Stripes.

I am glad that the Prince of Peace is hovering over No Man's Land.

TIRED

I am tired of work; I am tired of building up somebody else's civilization.

Let us take a rest, M'Lissy Jane.

I will go down to the Last Chance Saloon, drink a gallon or two of gin, shoot a game or two of dice and sleep the rest of the night on one of Mike's barrels.

You will let the old shanty go to rot, the white people's clothes turn to dust, and the Calvary Baptist Church sink to the bottomless pit.

You will spend your days forgetting you married me and your nights hunting the warm gin Mike serves the ladies in the rear of the Last Chance Saloon.

Throw the children into the river; civilization has given us too many. It is better to die than it is to grow up and find out that you are colored.

Pluck the stars out of the heavens. The stars mark our destiny. The stars marked my destiny.

I am tired of civilization.

THE BANJO PLAYER

There is music in me, the music of a peasant people. I wander through the levee, picking my banjo and singing my songs of the cabin and the field. At the Last Chance Saloon I am as welcome as the violets in March; there is always food and drink for me there, and the dimes of those who love honest music. Behind the railroad tracks the little children clap their hands and love me as they love Kris Kringle.

But I fear that I am a failure. Last night a woman called me a troubadour. What is a troubadour?

THE SCARLET WOMAN

Once I was good like the Virgin Mary and the Minister's wife.

My father worked for Mr. Pullman and white people's tips; but he died two days after his insurance expired.

I had nothing, so I had to go to work.

All the stock I had was a white girl's education and a face that enchanted the men of both races.

Starvation danced with me.

So when Big Lizzie, who kept a house for white men, came to me with tales of fortune that I could reap from the sale of my virtue I bowed my head to Vice.

Now I can drink more gin than any man for miles around.

Gin is better than all the water in Lethe.

R. Nathaniel Dett

THE RUBINSTEIN STACCATO ETUDE

Staccato! Staccato! Leggier agitato! In and out does the melody twist-- Unique proposition Is this composition. (Alas! for the player who hasn't the wrist!) Now in the dominant Theme ringing prominent, Bass still repeating its one monotone, Double notes crying, Up keyboard go flying, The change to the minor comes in like a groan. Without a cessation A chaste modulation Hastens adown to subdominant key, Where melody mellow-like Singing so 'cello-like Rises and falls in a wild ecstasy. Scarce is this finished When chords all diminished Break loose in a patter that comes down like rain, A pedal-point wonder Rivaling thunder. Now all is mad agitation again. Like laughter jolly Begins the finale; Again does the 'cello its tones seem to lend Diminuendo ad molto crescendo. Ah! Rubinstein only could make such an end!

Georgia Douglas Johnson

THE HEART OF A WOMAN

The heart of a woman goes forth with the dawn, As a lone bird, soft winging, so restlessly on, Afar o'er life's turrets and vales does it roam In the wake of those echoes the heart calls home.

The heart of a woman falls back with the night, And enters some alien cage in its plight, And tries to forget it has dreamed of the stars While it breaks, breaks, breaks on the sheltering bars.

YOUTH

The dew is on the grasses, dear, The blush is on the rose, And swift across our dial-youth, A shifting shadow goes.

The primrose moments, lush with bliss, Exhale and fade away, Life may renew the Autumn time, But nevermore the May!

LOST ILLUSIONS

Oh, for the veils of my far away youth, Shielding my heart from the blaze of the truth, Why did I stray from their shelter and grow Into the sadness that follows--to know!

Impotent atom with desolate gaze Threading the tumult of hazardous ways-- Oh, for the veils, for the veils of my youth Veils that hung low o'er the blaze of the truth!

I WANT TO DIE WHILE YOU LOVE ME

I want to die while you love me, While yet you hold me fair, While laughter lies upon my lips And lights are in my hair.

I want to die while you love me, And bear to that still bed, Your kisses turbulent, unspent To warm me when I'm dead.

I want to die while you love me Oh, who would care to live Till love has nothing more to ask And nothing more to give!

I want to die while you love me And never, never see The glory of this perfect day Grow dim or cease to be.

WELT

Would I might mend the fabric of my youth That daily flaunts its tatters to my eyes, Would I might compromise awhile with truth Until our moon now waxing, wanes and dies.

For I would go a further while with you, And drain this cup so tantalant and fair Which meets my parched lips like cooling dew, Ere time has brushed cold fingers thru my hair!

MY LITTLE DREAMS

I'm folding up my little dreams Within my heart to-night, And praying I may soon forget The torture of their sight.

For Time's deft fingers scroll my brow With fell relentless art-- I'm folding up my little dreams To-night, within my heart!

Claude McKay

THE LYNCHING

His spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven. His father, by the crudest way of pain, Had bidden him to his bosom once again; The awful sin remained still unforgiven. All night a bright and solitary star (Perchance the one that ever guided him, Yet gave him up at last to Fate's wild whim) Hung pitifully o'er the swinging char. Day dawned, and soon the mixed crowds came to view The ghastly body swaying in the sun: The women thronged to look, but never a one Showed sorrow in her eyes of steely blue; And little lads, lynchers that were to be, Danced round the dreadful thing in fiendish glee.

IF WE MUST DIE

If we must die--let it not be like hogs Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs, Making their mock at our accursed lot. If we must die--oh, let us nobly die, So that our precious blood may not be shed In vain; then even the monsters we defy Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!

Oh, Kinsmen! We must meet the common foe; Though far outnumbered, let us still be brave, And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow! What though before us lies the open grave? Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack, Pressed to the wall, dying, but--fighting back!

TO THE WHITE FIENDS

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 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 shalt be a light Awhile to burn on the benighted earth, 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!

THE HARLEM DANCER

Applauding youths laughed with young prostitutes And watched her perfect, half-clothed body sway; Her voice was like the sound of blended flutes Blown by black players upon a picnic day. She sang and danced on gracefully and calm, The light gauze hanging loose about her form; To me she seemed a proudly-swaying palm Grown lovelier for passing through a storm. Upon her swarthy neck black, shiny curls Profusely fell; and, tossing coins in praise, The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls, Devoured her with their eager, passionate gaze; But, looking at her falsely-smiling face I knew her self was not in that strange place.

HARLEM SHADOWS

I hear the halting footsteps of a lass In Negro Harlem when the night lets fall Its veil. I see the shapes of girls who pass Eager to heed desire's insistent call: Ah, little dark girls, who in slippered feet Go prowling through the night from street to street.

Through the long night until the silver break Of day the little gray feet know no rest, Through the lone night until the last snow-flake Has dropped from heaven upon the earth's white breast, The dusky, half-clad girls of tired feet Are trudging, thinly shod, from street to street.

Ah, stern harsh world, that in the wretched way Of poverty, dishonor and disgrace, Has pushed the timid little feet of clay. The sacred brown feet of my fallen race! Ah, heart of me, the weary, weary feet In Harlem wandering from street to street.

AFTER THE WINTER

Some day, when trees have shed their leaves, And against the morning's white The shivering birds beneath the eaves Have sheltered for the night, We'll turn our faces southward, love, Toward the summer isle Where bamboos spire the shafted grove And wide-mouthed orchids smile.

And we will seek the quiet hill Where towers the cotton tree, And leaps the laughing crystal rill, And works the droning bee. And we will build a lonely nest Beside an open glade, And there forever will we rest, O love--O nut-brown maid!

SPRING IN NEW HAMPSHIRE

Too green the springing April grass, Too blue the silver speckled sky, For me to linger here, alas, While happy winds go laughing by, Wasting the golden hours indoors, Washing windows and scrubbing floors.

Too wonderful the April night, Too faintly sweet the first May flowers, The stars too gloriously bright, For me to spend the evening hours, When fields are fresh and streams are leaping, Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping.

THE TIRED WORKER

O whisper, O my soul!--the afternoon Is waning into evening--whisper soft! Peace, O my rebel heart! for soon the moon From out its misty veil will swing aloft! Be patient, weary body, soon the night Will wrap thee gently in her sable sheet, And with a leaden sigh thou wilt invite To rest thy tired hands and aching feet. The wretched day was theirs, the night is mine; Come, tender sleep, and fold me to thy breast. But what steals out the gray clouds red like wine? O dawn! O dreaded dawn! O let me rest! Weary my veins, my brain, my life,--have pity! No! Once again the hard, the ugly city.

THE BARRIER

I must not gaze at them although Your eyes are dawning day; I must not watch you as you go Your sun-illumined way;

I hear but I must never heed The fascinating note, Which, fluting like a river-reed, Comes from your trembling throat;

I must not see upon your face Love's softly glowing spark; For there's the barrier of race, You're fair and I am dark.

TO O. E. A.

Your voice is the color of a robin's breast, And there's a sweet sob in it like rain--still rain in the night. Among the leaves of the trumpet-tree, close to his nest, The pea-dove sings, and each note thrills me with strange delight Like the words, wet with music, that well from your trembling throat. I'm afraid of your eyes, they're so bold, Searching me through, reading my thoughts, shining like gold. But sometimes they are gentle and soft like the dew on the lips of the eucharis Before the sun comes warm with his lover's kiss, You are sea-foam, pure with the star's loveliness, Not mortal, a flower, a fairy, too fair for the beauty-shorn earth, All wonderful things, all beautiful things, gave of their wealth to your birth: O I love you so much, not recking of passion, that I feel it is wrong, But men will love you, flower, fairy, non-mortal spirit burdened with flesh, Forever, life-long.

FLAME-HEART

So much have I forgotten in ten years, So much in ten brief years; I have forgot What time the purple apples come to juice And what month brings the shy forget-me-not; Forgotten is the special, startling season Of some beloved tree's flowering and fruiting, What time of year the ground doves brown the fields And fill the noonday with their curious fluting: I have forgotten much, but still remember The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.

I still recall the honey-fever grass, But I cannot bring back to mind just when We rooted them out of the ping-wing path To stop the mad bees in the rabbit pen. I often try to think in what sweet month The languid painted ladies used to dapple The yellow bye road mazing from the main, Sweet with the golden threads of the rose-apple: I have forgotten, strange, but quite remember The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.

What weeks, what months, what time o' the mild year We cheated school to have our fling at tops? What days our wine-thrilled bodies pulsed with joy Feasting upon blackberries in the copse? Oh, some I know! I have embalmed the days, Even the sacred moments, when we played, All innocent of passion uncorrupt, At noon and evening in the flame-heart's shade: We were so happy, happy,--I remember Beneath the poinsettia's red in warm December.

TWO-AN'-SIX

Merry voices chatterin', Nimble feet dem patterin', Big an' little, faces gay, Happy day dis market day.

Sateday, de marnin' break, Soon, soon market-people wake; An' de light shine from de moon While dem boy, wid pantaloon Roll up ober dem knee-pan, 'Tep across de buccra lan' 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, 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 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. 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.

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, Drivin' 'long de market way; Whole week grindin' sugar cane T'rough de boilin' sun an' rain, Now, a'ter de toilin' hard, He goes seekin' his reward, 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, 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, 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, An' de water cocoanut An' de cane bebridge is nice, Mix' up wid a lilly ice. Big an' little, great an' small, Afou yam is all de call; 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, 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' 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 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: In his ears rang t'rough 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, 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!

So he journeys on de way, Feelinl sad dis market day; No e'en buy a little cake To gi'e baby when she wake,-- Passin' 'long de candy-shop 'Douten eben mek a stop To buy drops fe las'y son, For de lilly cash nea' done. So him re'ch him own a groun', An' de children scamper roun', 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 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, 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, 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: "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, 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, 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', Was a princely two-an'-six.

Joseph S. Cotter, Jr.

A PRAYER

As I lie in bed, Flat on my back; There passes across my ceiling An endless panorama of things-- Quick steps of gay-voiced children, Adolescence in its wondering silences, Maid and man on moonlit summer's eve, Women in the holy glow of Motherhood, Old men gazing silently thru the twilight Into the beyond. O God, give me words to make my dream-children live.

AND WHAT SHALL YOU SAY?

Brother, come! And let us go unto our God. And when we stand before Him I shall say-- "Lord, I do not hate, I am hated. I scourge no one, I am scourged. I covet no lands, My lands are coveted. I mock no peoples, My people are mocked." And, brother, what shall you say?

IS IT BECAUSE I AM BLACK?

Why do men smile when I speak, And call my speech The whimperings of a babe That cries but knows not what it wants? Is it because I am black?

Why do men sneer when I arise And stand in their councils, And look them eye to eye, And speak their tongue? Is it because I am black?

THE BAND OF GIDEON

The band of Gideon roam the sky, The howling wind is their war-cry, The thunder's roll is their trump's peal, And the lightning's flash their vengeful steel. Each black cloud Is a fiery steed. And they cry aloud With each strong deed, "The sword of the Lord and Gideon."

And men below rear temples high And mock their God with reasons why, And live in arrogance, sin and shame, And rape their souls for the world's good name. Each black cloud Is a fiery steed. And they cry aloud With each strong deed, "The sword of the Lord and Gideon."

The band of Gideon roam the sky And view the earth with baleful eye; In holy wrath they scourge the land With earth-quake, storm and burning brand. Each black cloud Is a fiery steed. And they cry aloud With each strong deed, "The sword of the Lord and Gideon."

The lightnings flash and the thunders roll, And "Lord have mercy on my soul," Cry men as they fall on the stricken sod, In agony searching for their God. Each black cloud Is a fiery steed. And they cry aloud With each strong deed, "The sword of the Lord and Gideon."