Poetry

epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">

Subway Face

That I have been looking
For you all my life
Does not matter to you.
You do not know.

You never knew.
Nor did I.
Now you take the Harlem train uptown;
I take a local down.

A Song to a Negro Wash-Woman

Oh, wash-woman,
Arms elbow-deep in white suds,
Soul washed clean,
Clothes washed clean⁠—
I have many songs to sing you
Could I but find the words.

Was it four o’clock or six o’clock on a winter afternoon, I saw you wringing out the last shirt in Miss White Lady’s kitchen? Was it four o’clock or six o’clock? I don’t remember.

But I know, at seven one spring morning you were on Vermont Street with a bundle in your arms going to wash clothes.
And I know I’ve seen you in a New York subway train in the late afternoon coming home from washing clothes.

Yes, I know you, wash-woman.
I know how you send your children to school, and high-school, and even college.
I know how you work and help your man when times are hard.
I know how you build your house up from the wash-tub and call it home.
And how you raise your churches from white suds for the service of the Holy God.

And I’ve seen you singing, wash-woman. Out in the backyard garden under the apple trees, singing, hanging white clothes on long lines in the sunshine.
And I’ve seen you in church a Sunday morning singing, praising your Jesus, because some day you’re going to sit on the right hand of the Son of God and forget you ever were a wash-woman. And the aching back and the bundles of clothes will be unremembered then.
Yes, I’ve seen you singing.

And for you,
O singing wash-woman,
For you, singing little brown woman,
Singing strong black woman,
Singing tall yellow woman,
Arms deep in white suds,
Soul clean,
Clothes clean⁠—
For you I have many songs to make
Could I but find the words.

The Poppy Flower

A wild poppy-flower
Withered and died.
The day-people laughed
But the night-people cried.
A wild poppy-flower
Withered and died.

Troubled Woman

She stands
In the quiet darkness,
This troubled woman,
Bowed by
Weariness and pain,
Like an
Autumn flower
In the frozen rain.
Like a
Wind-blown autumn flower
That never lifts its head
Again.

Johannesburg Mines

In the Johannesburg Mines
There are 240,000
Native Africans working.
What kind of poem
Would you
Make out of that?
240,000 natives
Working in the
Johannesburg mines.

To Certain Intellectuals

You are no friend of mine
For I am poor,
Black,
Ignorant and slow⁠—
Not your kind,
You yourself
Have told me so⁠—
No friend of mine.

Steel Mills

The mills
That grind and grind,
That grind out new steel
And grind away the lives
Of men⁠—
In the sunset
Their stacks
Are great black silhouettes
Against the sky.
In the dawn
They belch red fire.
The mills⁠—
Grinding out new steel,
Old men.

Negro Dancer

“Me an’ ma baby’s
Got two mo’ ways,
Two mo’ ways to do de buck!
Da, da,
Da, da, da!
Two mo’ ways to do de buck!”

Soft light on the tables,
Music gay,
Brown-skin steppers
In a cabaret.

White folks, laugh!
White folks, pray!

“Me an’ ma baby’s
Got two mo’ ways,
Two mo’ ways to do de buck!”

Liars

It is we who are liars:
The Pretenders-to-be who are not
And the Pretenders-not-to-be who are.
It is we who use words
As screens for thoughts
And weave dark garments
To cover the naked body
Of the too white Truth.
It is we with the civilized souls
Who are liars.

Sea Charm

Sea charm
The sea’s own children
Do not understand.
They know
But that the sea is strong
Like God’s hand.
They know
But that sea wind is sweet
Like God’s breath,
And that the sea holds
A wide, deep death.

The Dream Keeper

Bring me all of your dreams,
You dreamers.
Bring me all of your
Heart melodies
That I may wrap them
In a blue cloud-cloth
Away from the too rough fingers
Of the world.

Song

Lovely, dark, and lonely one,
Bare your bosom to the sun,
Do not be afraid of light
You who are a child of night.

Open wide your arms to life,
Whirl in the wind of pain and strife,
Face the wall with the dark closed gate,
Beat with bare, brown fists
And wait.

Poem

Being walkers with the dawn and morning
Walkers with the sun and morning,
We are not afraid of night,
Nor days of gloom,
Nor darkness,
Being walkers with the sun and morning.

An Earth Song

It’s an earth song⁠—
And I’ve been waiting long for an earth song.
It’s a spring song⁠—
And I’ve been waiting long for a spring song.
Strong as the shoots of a new plant
Strong as the bursting of new buds
Strong as the coming of the first child from its mother’s womb.
It’s an earth song,
A body song,
A spring song⁠—
I have been waiting long for this spring song.

I Too

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I’ll sit at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.

Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed⁠—

I, too, am America.

Drama for Winter Night

(Fifth Avenue)

You can’t sleep here,
My good man,
You can’t sleep here.
This is the house of God.

The usher opens the church door and he goes out.

You can’t sleep in this car, old top,
Not here.
If Jones found you
He’d give you to the cops.
Get-the-hell out now,
This ain’t home.
You can’t stay here.

The chauffeur opens the door and he gets out.

Lord! You can’t let a man lie in the streets like this.
Find an officer quick.
Send for an ambulance.
Maybe he is sick but
He can’t die on this corner,
Not here!
He can’t die here.

Death opens a door.

Oh, God,
Lemme git by St. Peter.
Lemme sit down on the steps of your throne.
Lemme rest somewhere.
What did yuh say, God?
What did yuh say?
You can’t sleep here.⁠ ⁠…
Bums can’t stay.⁠ ⁠…

The man’s raving.
Get him to the hospital quick.
He’s attracting a crowd.
He can’t die on this corner.
No, no, not here.

God to Hungry Child

Hungry child,
I didn’t make this world for you.
You didn’t buy any stock in my railroad.
You didn’t invest in my corporation.
Where are