P.C. Home Page . Recent Additions Harlem Shadows The Poems of Claude McKay

The Castaways THE vivid grass with visible delight Springing triumphant from the pregnant earth, The butterflies, and sparrows in brief flight Chirping and dancing for the season's birth, The dandelions and rare daffodils That touch the deep-stirred heart with hands of gold, The thrushes sending forth their joyous trills,-- Not these, not these did I at first behold! But seated on the benches daubed with green, The castaways of life, a few asleep, Some withered women desolate and mean, And over all, life's shadows dark and deep. Moaning I turned away, for misery I have the strength to bear but not to see. Claude McKay Exhortation: Summer, 1919 THROUGH the pregnant universe rumbles life's terrific thunder,   And Earth's bowels quake with terror; strange and terrible storms break, Lightning-torches flame the heavens, kindling souls of men, thereunder:   Africa! long ages sleeping, O my motherland, awake! In the East the clouds glow crimson with the new dawn that is breaking,   And its golden glory fills the western skies.   O my brothers and my sisters, wake! arise! For the new birth rends the old earth and the very dead are waking,   Ghosts are turned flesh, throwing off the grave's disguise,   And the foolish, even children, are made wise; For the big earth groans in travail for the strong, new world in making--   O my brothers, dreaming for dim centuries,   Wake from sleeping; to the East turn, turn your eyes! Oh the night is sweet for sleeping, but the shining day's for working;   Sons of the seductive night, for your children's children's sake, From the deep primeval forests where the crouching leopard's lurking,   Lift your heavy-lidded eyes, Ethiopia! awake! In the East the clouds glow crimson with the new dawn that is breaking,   And its golden glory fills the western skies.   O my brothers and my sisters, wake! arise! For the new birth rends the old earth and the very dead are waking,   Ghosts have turned flesh, throwing off the grave's disguise,   And the foolish, even children, are made wise; For the big earth groans in travail for the strong, new world in making--   O my brothers, dreaming for long centuries,   Wake from sleeping; to the East turn, turn your eyes! Claude McKay The Lynching HIS Spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven. His father, by the cruelest 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. Claude McKay Baptism INTO the furnace let me go alone; Stay you without in terror of the heat. I will go naked in--for thus 'tis sweet-- Into the weird depths of the hottest zone. I will not quiver in the frailest bone, You will not note a flicker of defeat; My heart shall tremble not its fate to meet, My mouth give utterance to any moan. The yawning oven spits forth fiery spears; Red aspish tongues shout wordlessly my name. Desire destroys, consumes my mortal fears, Transforming me into a shape of flame. I will come out, back to your world of tears, A stronger soul within a finer frame. Claude McKay 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, O 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! O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe! Though far outnumbered let us show us 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! Claude McKay Subway Wind FAR down, down through the city's great, gaunt gut,   The gray train rushing bears the weary wind; In the packed cars the fans the crowd's breath cut,   Leaving the sick and heavy air behind. And pale-cheeked children seek the upper door   To give their summer jackets to the breeze; Their laugh is swallowed in the deafening roar   Of captive wind that moans for fields and seas; Seas cooling warm where native schooners drift   Through sleepy waters, while gulls wheel and sweep, Waiting for windy waves the keels to lift   Lightly among the islands of the deep; Islands of lofty palm trees blooming white   That lend their perfume to the tropic sea, Where fields lie idle in the dew drenched night,   And the Trades float above them fresh and free. Claude McKay The Night Fire NO engines shrieking rescue storm the night, And hose and hydrant cannot here avail; The flames laugh high and fling their challenging light, And clouds turn gray and black from silver-pale. The fire leaps out and licks the ancient walls, And the big building bends and twists and groans. A bar drops from its place; a rafter falls Burning the flowers. The wind in frenzy moans. The watchers gaze, held wondering by the fire, The dwellers cry their sorrow to the crowd, The flames beyond themselves rise higher, higher, To lose their glory in the frowning cloud, Yielding at length the last reluctant breath. And where life lay asleep broods darkly death. Claude McKay Poetry SOMETIMES I tremble like a storm-swept flower, And seek to hide my tortured soul from thee. Bowing my head in deep humility Before the silent thunder of thy power. Sometimes I flee before thy blazing light, As from the specter of pursuing death; Intimidated lest thy mighty breath, Windways, will sweep me into utter night. For oh, I fear they will be swallowed up-- The loves which are to me of vital worth, My passion and my pleasure in the earth-- And lost forever in thy magic cup! I fear, I fear my truly human heart Will perish on the altar-stone of art! Claude McKay To A Poet THERE is a lovely noise about your name,   Above the shoutings of the city clear, More than a moment's merriment, whose claim   Will greater grow with every mellowed year. The people will not bear you down the street,   Dancing to the strong rhythm of your words, The modern kings will throttle you to greet   The piping voice of artificial birds. But the rare lonely spirits, even mine,   Who love the immortal music of all days, Will see the glory of your trailing line,   The bedded beauty of your haunting lays. Claude McKay A Prayer 'MID the discordant noises of the day I hear thee calling; I stumble as I fare along Earth's way; keep me from falling. Mine eyes are open but they cannot see for gloom of night: I can no more than lift my heart to thee for inward light. The wild and fiery passion of my youth consumes my soul; In agony I turn to thee for truth and self-control. For Passion and all the pleasures it can give will die the death; But this of me eternally must live, thy borrowed breath. 'Mid the discordant noises of the day I hear thee calling; I stumble as I fare along Earth's way; keep me from falling. Claude McKay When Dawn Comes To The City   THE tired cars go grumbling by,     The moaning, groaning cars,   And the old milk carts go rumbling by     Under the same dull stars.   Out of the tenements, cold as stone,     Dark figures start for work;   I watch them sadly shuffle on,     'Tis dawn, dawn in New York.     But I would be on the island of the sea,     In the heart of the island of the sea,   Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing,   And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree, Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing,     Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn,   And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing, And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying, And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling   From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling     Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously!     There, oh, there! on the island of the sea,  There would I be at dawn.   The tired cars go grumbling by,     The crazy, lazy cars,   And the same milk carts go rumbling by     Under the dying stars.   A lonely newsboy hurries by,     Humming a recent ditty;   Red streaks strike through the gray of the sky,     The dawn comes to the city.     But I would be on the island of the sea,     In the heart of the island of the sea,   Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing,   And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree, Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing     Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn,   And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing, And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying, And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling,   From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling     Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously!     There, oh, there! on the island of the sea,  There I would be at dawn. Claude McKay O Word I Love To Sing O WORD I love to sing! thou art too tender   For all the passions agitating me; For all my bitterness thou art too tender,   I cannot pour my red soul into thee. O haunting melody! thou art too slender,   Too fragile like a globe of crystal glass; For all my stormy thoughts thou art too slender,   The burden from my bosom will not pass. O tender word! O melody so slender!   O tears of passion saturate with brine, O words, unwilling words, ye can not render   My hatred for the foe of me and mine. Claude McKay Absence YOUR words dropped into my heart like pebbles into a pool, Rippling around my breast and leaving it melting cool. Your kisses fell sharp on my flesh like dawn-dews from the limb, Of a fruit-filled lemon tree when the day is young and dim. But a silence vasty-deep, oh deeper than all these ties Now, through the menacing miles, brooding between us lies. And more than the songs I sing, I await your written word, To stir my fluent blood as never your presence stirred. Claude McKay Summer Morn In New Hampshire ALL yesterday it poured, and all night long   I could not sleep; the rain unceasing beat Upon the shingled roof like a weird song,   Upon the grass like running children's feet. And down the mountains by the dark cloud kissed,   Like a strange shape in filmy veiling dressed, Slid slowly, silently, the wraith-like mist,   And nestled soft against the earth's wet breast. But lo, there was a miracle at dawn!   The still air stirred at touch of the faint breeze, The sun a sheet of gold bequeathed the lawn,   The songsters twittered in the rustling trees. And all things were transfigured in the day,   But me whom radiant beauty could not move; For you, more wonderful, were far away,   And I was blind with hunger for your love. Claude McKay Rest In Peace NO more for you the city's thorny ways,   The ugly corners of the Negro belt; The miseries and pains of these harsh days   By you will never, never again be felt. No more, if still you wander, will you meet   With nights of unabating bitterness; They cannot reach you in your safe retreat,   The city's hate, the city's prejudice! 'Twas sudden--but your menial task is done,   The dawn now breaks on you, the dark is over, The sea is crossed, the longed-for port is won;   Farewell, oh, fare you well! my friend and lover. Claude McKay A Red Flower YOUR lips are like a southern lily red,   Wet with the soft rain-kisses of the night, In which the brown bee buries deep its head,   When still the dawn's a silver sea of light. Your lips betray the secret of your soul,   The dark delicious essence that is you, A mystery of life, the flaming goal   I seek through mazy pathways strange and new. Your lips are the red symbol of a dream,   What visions of warm lilies they impart, That line the green bank of a fair blue stream,   With butterflies and bees close to each heart! Brown bees that murmur sounds of music rare,   That softly fall upon the langourous breeze, Wafting them gently on the quiet air   Among untended avenues of trees. O were I hovering, a bee, to probe   Deep down within your scented heart, fair flower, Enfolded by your soft vermilion robe,   Amorous of sweets, for but one perfect hour! Claude McKay Courage O LONELY heart so timid of approach,   Like the shy tropic flower that shuts its lips   To the faint touch of tender finger tips: What is your word? What question would you broach? Your lustrous-warm eyes are too sadly kind   To mask the meaning of your dreamy tale,   Your guarded life too exquisitely frail Against the daggers of my warring mind. There is no part of the unyielding earth,   Even bare rocks where the eagles build their nest,   Will give us undisturbed and friendly rest. No dewfall softens this vast belt of dearth. But in the socket-chiseled teeth of strife,   That gleam in serried files in all the lands,   We may join hungry, understanding hands, And drink our share of ardent love and life. Claude McKay B A C K to the Contents of Harlem Shadows Poets' Corner . H O M E . E-mail