To E. M. E
You see me smile: but what is it?
A sweetened pain—a laughing fit—
A little honeyed dart,
That, passing, stabs my heart,
Yet mek me glad a bit.
You see me dance: ’twas but my feet,
You should have heard my heart a beat!
For non o’ it was real:
It be’n a priceless sale
Of bitter for a sweet.
Dis laughin’ face!—’tis full o’ joy
Because it is a baby’s toy;
But when de child is gone
An’ the darkness comes on,
’Twill be anudder boy.
You hear me sing: what is de tune?
De song of one that’s dyin’ soon,
A whirlin’, tossin’ life
Flung on de wul’ of strife;
I call it ’debil’s boon.’
De many pleasures?
Wha’s de gain?
I’ll tell you of a grindin’ pain
Dat companies de birt’,
An’ runs wid vengeance mirt’
De life, till it is slain.
Why do I sleep?
My eyes know why,
Same how a life knows why it die:
Dey sleep on in distress,
Knowin’ not why dey res’,
But feelin’ why dey cry.
I’m hungry now, so eat once mo’,
E’en though I’ll soon be like befo’;
For, as in udder t’ings,
De seemin’ pleasure clings,
De cravin’ has no cure.
It always seem so strange to me,
Dat you can satisfy to be
A life whose daily food
Is pain: de only good,
Deat’ dat will set it free.
Hard Times
De mo’ me wuk, de mo’ time hard,
I don’t know what fe do;
I ben’ me knee an’ pray to Gahd,
Yet t’ings same as befo’.
De taxes knockin’ at me door,
I hear de bailiff’s v’ice;
Me wife is sick, can’t get no cure,
But gnawin’ me like mice.[1]
De picknies hab to go to school
Widout a bite fe taste;
And I am working like a mule,
While buccra, sittin’ in de cool,
Hab ’nuff nenyam fe waste.[2]
De clodes is’ tearin’ off dem back
When money seems noa mek;
A man can’t eben ketch a mac,
Care how him ’train him neck.’[3]
De peas won’t pop,[4] de corn can’t grow,
Poor people face look sad;
Dat Gahd would cuss de lan’ I’d know,
For black naygur too bad.
I won’t gib up, I won’t say die,
For all de time is hard;
Aldough de wul’ soon en’, I’ll try
My wutless[5] best as ti me goes by,
An’ trust on in me Gahd.
Cudjoe Fresh From De Lecture
’Top one minute, Cous’ Jarge, an’ sit do’n ’pon de grass,
An’ mek a[1] tell you ’bout de news I hear at las’,
How de buccra te-day tek time an’ begin teach
All of us dat was deh[2] in a clear open speech..
You miss somet’ing fe true, but a wi’ mek you know,
As much as how a can, how de business a go:
Him tell us ’bout we self, an’ mek we fresh[3] again,
An’ talk about de wul’ from commencement to en’.
Me look ’pon me black ’kin, an’ so me head grow big,
Aldough me heaby han’ dem hab fe plug[4] an’ dig;
For ebery single man, no car’[5] about dem rank,
Him bring us ebery one an’ put ’pon de same plank.
Say, parson do de same?[6] Yes, in a’dift’ren’ way,
For parson tell us how de whole o’ we are clay;
An’ lookin’ close at t’ings, we hab to pray quite hard
Fe swaller wha’ him say an’ don’t t’ink bad o’ Gahd.
But dis man tell us ’traight ’bout how de whole t’ing came,
An’ show us widout doubt how Gahd was not fe blame;
How change cause eberyt’ing fe mix up ’pon de eart’,
An’ dat most hardship come t’rough accident o’ birt’.
Him show us all a sort[7] o’ funny ’keleton,
Wid names I won’t remember under dis ya sun;
Animals queer to deat’,[8] dem bone, teet’, an’ head-skull,
All dem so dat did live in a de ole-time wul’.
No ’cos say we get cuss mek fe we ’kin come so,
But fe all t’ings come ’quare, same so it was to go:[9]
Seems our lan’[10] must ha’ been a bery low-do’n place, .
Mek it tek such long time in tu’ning out a race.
Yes, from monkey we spring: I believe ebery wud;
It long time better dan f’go say we come from mud:
No need me keep back part, me hab not’in’ fe gain;
It’s ebery man dat born—de buccra mek it plain.
It really strange how some o’ de lan’ dem advance;
Man power in some ways is nummo soso chance;[11]
But suppose eberyt’ing could tu’n right upside down,
Den p’raps we’d be on top an’ givin’ some one houn’.[12]
Yes, Cous’ Jarge, slabery hot fe dem dat gone befo’:
We gettin’ better times, for those days we no know;[13]
But I t’ink it do good, tek we from Africa
An’ lan’ us in a blessed place as dis a ya.[14]
Talk ’bouten Africa, we would be deh till now,
Maybe same half-naked-all day dribe buccra cow,
An’ tearin’ t’rough de bush wid all de monkey dem,
Wile an’ uncibilise’,[15] an’ neber comin’ tame.
l Ief’ quite ’way from wha’ we be’n deh talk about,[16]
Yet still a couldn’ help—de wuds come to me mout’;
Just like how yeas’ get strong an’ sometimes fly de cark,[17]
Same way me feelings grow, so I was boun’ fe talk.
Yet both horse partly[18] runnin’ in de selfsame gallop,
For it is nearly so de way de buccra pull up:
Him say, how de wul’ stan’, dat right will neber be,
But wrong will eber gwon[19] till dis wul’ en’ fe we.
De Days Dat Are Gone
I t’ink of childhood days again,
An’ wish dat I was free
To res’ me baby head once more
Upon me mudder’s knee:
If we had power to change dis life
An’ live it back again,
We would be children all de time
Nor fret at childhood’s pain.
I look on my school life of old,
Dem sweet days dat are pas’,
An’ wonder how I’d wish[1] to see
Those dear times en’ at las’:
It was because I was a boy,
An’ knew not what b’en good;
All time I tas’e de supple-jack,[2]
Bein’ I was so rude.
An’ o’ de marnings when I woke,
’Fo’ you can see you’ han’,
I mek me way on to de spring
Fe full[3] me bucket-pan:
I t’ought ofttimes dat it was hard
For me to wake so soon;
Dere was no star fe light de way,
Much more[4] de white roun’ moon.
Still, childhood pain could neber las’,
An’ I remem ber yet
De many sorrows ’cross me pat’[5]
Dat neber mek me fret:
But now me joys are only few,
I live because I’m boun’,
An’ try fe mek my life of use
Though pain lie all aroun’.
Reveille Soun’in’
Reveille! de reveille soun’,
Depôt p’liceman mus’ wake up;[1]
Some mus’ dress fe go to town,
Some to Parade fe shake-up.[2]
You lazy ones can lay down still,
We have no time fe dat;
De wake-ups[3] comin’ roun’, an’ you’ll
Jump as you feel de cat.
For soon de half pas’ dress[4] will blow
Fe we to go a-drillin’;
De time is bery short, an’ so
We mus’ be quick an’ willin’.
A marnin’ bade is sweet fe true,[5]
But we mus’ quick fe done;
It col’ dough,[6] so it’s only few
Can stan’ it how it bu’n.[7]
’Tis quarter warnin’[8] soun’in’ now,
Our arms mus’ clean an’ soun’;
We will ketch ’port[9] ef we allow
A speck fe lodge aroun’.
Tip[10] blow yet? good Lard! hear” fall in,”
Must double ’pon de grass;
I didn’ know de las’ call be’n
Deh blow on us so fas’.