A Midnight Woman to the Bobby
No palm me up,[1] you dutty brute,
You’ jam mout’ mash[2] like ripe bread-fruit;
You fas’n now, but wait lee ya,[3]
I’ll see you grunt under de law.
You t’ink you wise,[4] but we wi’ see;
You not de fus’ one fas’ wid me;
I’ll lib fe see dem tu’n you out,
As sure as you got dat mash’ mout’.
I born right do’n beneat’ de clack[5]
(You ugly brute, you tu’n you’ back?)
Don’ t’ink dat I’m a come-aroun’,[6]
I born right ’way in ’panish Town.
Care how you try,[7] you caan’ do mo’
Dan many dat was hyah befo’;
Yet whe’ dey all o’ dem te-day?[8]
De buccra dem no kick dem ’way?[9]
Ko[10] pon you’ jam samplatta[11] nose:
’Cos you wear Mis’r Koshaw clo’es[12]
You fink say youts de only man,[13]
Yet fus’ time[14] ko how you be’n ’tan’.[15]
You big an’ ugly ole tu’n-foot[16]
Be’n neber know fe wear a boot;
An’ chigger nyam you’ tumpa toe,[17]
Till nit full i’ like herrin’ roe.
You come from mountain naked-’kin,[18]
An’ Lard a mussy! you be’n thin,
For all de bread-fruit dem be’n done,
Bein’ ’poil’ up by de tearin’ sun:[19]
De coco[20] couldn’ bear at all,
For, Lard! de groun’ was pure white-marl;
An’ t’rough de rain part o’ de year[21]
De mango tree dem couldn’ bear.
An’ when de pinch o’ time you feel
A ’pur you a you’ chigger heel,[22]
You lef you’ district, big an’ coarse,
An’ come join’[23] buccra Police Force.
An’ now you don’t wait fe you’ glass,[24]
But trouble me wid you’ jam fas’;[25]
But wait, me frien’, you’ day wi’ come,
I’ll see you go same lak a some.[26]
Say wha’?—’res’ me?[27]—you go to hell!
You t’ink Judge don’t know unno well?[28]
You t’ink him gwin’ go sentance[29] me
Widout a soul fe witness i’?
Mother Dear
“Husban”, I am goin’—
Though de brooklet is a-flowin’,
An’ de coolin’ breeze is blowin’
Softly by;
Hark, how strange de cow is mooin’,
An’ our Jennie’s pigeons cooin’,
While I feel de water[1] growin’
Climbing high.”
“Akee[2] trees are laden,
But de yellow leaves are fadin’
Like a young an’ bloomin’ maiden
Fallen low;
In de pond de ducks are wadin’
While my body longs for Eden,[3]
An’ my weary breat is gledin’
’Way from you.
“See dem John-crows[4] flyin’!
’Tis a sign dat I am dyin’;
Oh, I’m wishful to be lyin’
All alone:
Fait’ful husban’, don’t go cryin’,
Life is one long self-denyin’
All-surrenderin’ an’ sighin’
Livin’ moan.”
“Wife, de parson’s prayin’,
Won’t you listen what he’s sayin’,
Spend de endin’ of your day in
Christ our Lord?”
But de sound of horses neighin’,
Baain’ goats an’ donkeys brayin’,
Twitt’rin’ birds an’ children playin’
Was all she heard.
Things she had been rearin’,
Only those could claim her hearin’,
When de end we had been fearin’
Now had come:
Now her last pain she is bearin’,
Now de final scene is nearin’,
An’ her vacant eyes are starin’
On her home.[5]
Oh! it was heart-rendin’
As we watched de loved life endin’,
Dat sweet sainted spirit bendin’
To de death:
Gone all further hope of mendin’,
With de angel Death attendin’,
An’ his slayin’ spirit blendin’
With her breath.
Kite-Flying
Higher fly, my pretty kite,
Over distant towers;
Paper-made, red, blue an’ white,
All my fav’rite colours.[1]
As up an’ up an’ up you mount
On your way to heaven, Thoughts
come, which I cannot count,
Of the times I’ve striven
Just to soar away like you,
Rising to a happier sphere
Deep within yon skies of blue,
Far from all de strife an’ care.
You have got you’ singer[2] on,
Let me hear your singing,
Hear you’ pleasant bee-like tone
On de breezes ringing.
Wider dash your streamin’ tail,
Keep it still a-dancin’!
As across de ditch you sail,
By the tree-tops glancin’.
Messengers[3] I send along,
Lee round papers of bright red;
Up they go to swell you’ song,
Climbin’ on the slimber[4] t’read.
Higher fiy, my pretty kite,
Higher, ever higher;
Draw me with you to your height
Out the earthly mire.
Ione
Say if you lub me, do tell me truly,
Ione, Ione;
For, O me dearie, not’in’ can part we,
Ione, Ione.
Under de bamboo, where de fox-tail[1] grew,
Ione, Ione.
While do cool breeze blew—sweet, I did pledge you,
Ione, Ione.
Where calalu[2] grows, an’ yonder book flows,
Ione, Ione.
I held a dog-rose under your li’l[3] nose,
Ione, Ione.
There where de lee stream plays wid de sunbeam
Ione, Ione.
True be’n de love-gleam as a sweet day-dream,
Ione, Ione.
Watchin’ de bucktoe[4] under de shadow
Ione, Ione.
Of a pear-tree low dat in de stream grow,
Ione, Ione.
Mek me t’ink how when we were lee children,
Ione, Ione.
We used to fishen[5] in old Carew Pen,[6]
Ione, Ione.
Like tiny meshes, curl your black tresses,
Ione, Ione.
An’ my caresses tek widout blushes,
Ione, Ione.
Kiss me, my airy winsome lee fairy,
Ione, Ione.
Are you now weary, little canary,
Ione, Ione.
Then we will go, pet, as it is sunset,
Ione, Ione.
Tek dis sweet vi’let, we will be one yet,
Ione, Ione.
Killin’ Nanny
Two little pickny is watchin’,
While a goat is led to deat’;
Dey are little ones of two years,
An’ know naught of badness yet.
De goat is bawlin’ fe mussy,[1]
An’ de children watch de sight
As de butcher re’ch[2] his sharp knife,
An’ ’tab[3] wid all his might.
Dey see de red blood flowin’;
An’ one chil’ trimble an’ hide
His face in de mudder’s bosom,
While t’udder look on wide-eyed.
De tears is fallin’ down hotly
From him on de mudder’s knee;
De udder wid joy is starin’,
An’ clappin’ his han’s wid glee.
When dey had forgotten Nanny,
Grown men I see dem again;
An’ de forehead of de laugher
Was brand’[4] wid de mark of Cain.
My Native Land, My Home
Dere is no land dat can compare
Wid you where’er I roam;
In all de wul’ none like you fair,
My native land, my home.
Jamaica is de nigger’s place,
No mind whe’ some declare;
Although dem call we “no-land race,”
I know we home is here.
You give me life an’ nourishment,
No udder land I know;
My lub I neber can repent,
For all to you l owe.
E’en ef you mek me beggar die,
I’ll trust you all de same,
An’ none de less on you rely,
Nor saddle you wid blame.
Though you may cas’[1] me from your breas’
An’ trample me to deat’,
My heart will trus’ you none de less,
My land I won’t feget.
An’ I hope none o’ your sons would
Refuse deir strengt’ to lend,
An’ drain de last drop o’ deir blood
Their country to defend.
You draw de t’ousan’ from deir shore,
An’ all ’long keep dem please’;[2]
De invalid come here fe cure,
You heal all deir disease.
Your fertile soil grow all o’ t’ings[3]
To full de naygur’s wants,
’Tis seamed wid neber-failing springs[4]
To give dew to de plants.[5]
You hab all t’ings fe mek life bles’,
But buccra ’pail de whole
Wid gove’mint[6] an’ all de res’,
Fe worry naygur soul.
Still all dem little chupidness[7]
Caan’ tek away me lub;
De time when I’ll tu’n ’gains’ you is
When you can’t give me grub.