Part 2

I am a black Pierrot: She did not love me, So I crept away into the night And the night was black, too.

I am a black Pierrot: She did not love me, So I wept until the red dawn Dripped blood over the eastern hills And my heart was bleeding, too.

I am a black Pierrot: She did not love me, So with my once gay-colored soul Shrunken like a balloon without air, I went forth in the morning To seek a new brown love.

HARLEM NIGHT SONG

Come, Let us roam the night together Singing.

I love you.

Across The Harlem roof-tops Moon is shining. Night sky is blue. Stars are great drops Of golden dew. In the cabaret The jazz-band’s playing.

I love you.

Come, Let us roam the night together Singing.

SONGS TO THE DARK VIRGIN

I

Would That I were a jewel, A shattered jewel, That all my shining brilliants Might fall at thy feet, Thou dark one.

II

Would That I were a garment, A shimmering, silken garment, That all my folds Might wrap about thy body, Absorb thy body, Hold and hide thy body, Thou dark one.

III

Would That I were a flame, But one sharp, leaping flame To annihilate thy body, Thou dark one.

ARDELLA

I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams Were it not for your songs.

POEM

To the Black Beloved

Ah, My black one, Thou art not beautiful Yet thou hast A loveliness Surpassing beauty.

Oh, My black one, Thou art not good Yet thou hast A purity Surpassing goodness.

Ah, My black one, Thou art not luminous Yet an altar of jewels, An altar of shimmering jewels, Would pale in the light Of thy darkness, Pale in the light Of thy nightness.

WHEN SUE WEARS RED

When Susanna Jones wears red Her face is like an ancient cameo Turned brown by the ages.

Come with a blast of trumpets, Jesus!

When Susanna Jones wears red A queen from some time-dead Egyptian night Walks once again.

Blow trumpets, Jesus!

And the beauty of Susanna Jones in red Burns in my heart a love-fire sharp like pain.

Sweet silver trumpets, Jesus!

PIERROT

I work all day, Said Simple John, Myself a house to buy. I work all day, Said Simple John, But Pierrot wondered why.

For Pierrot loved the long white road, And Pierrot loved the moon, And Pierrot loved a star-filled sky, And the breath of a rose in June.

I have one wife, Said Simple John, And, faith, I love her yet. I have one wife, Said Simple John, But Pierrot left Pierrette.

For Pierrot saw a world of girls, And Pierrot loved each one, And Pierrot thought all maidens fair As flowers in the sun.

Oh, I am good, Said Simple John, The Lord will take me in. Yes, I am good, Said Simple John, But Pierrot’s steeped in sin.

For Pierrot played on a slim guitar, And Pierrot loved the moon, And Pierrot ran down the long white road With the burgher’s wife one June.

♦WATER FRONT STREETS

♦WATER FRONT STREETS

The spring is not so beautiful there,— But dream ships sail away To where the spring is wondrous rare And life is gay.

The spring is not so beautiful there,— But lads put out to sea Who carry beauties in their hearts And dreams, like me.

♦ “WATER-FRONT” replaced with “WATER FRONT”

A FAREWELL

With gypsies and sailors, Wanderers of the hills and seas, I go to seek my fortune. With pious folk and fair I must have a parting. But you will not miss me,— You who live between the hills And have never seen the seas.

LONG TRIP

The sea is a wilderness of waves, A desert of water. We dip and dive, Rise and roll, Hide and are hidden On the sea. Day, night, Night, day, The sea is a desert of waves, A wilderness of water.

PORT TOWN

Hello, sailor boy, In from the sea! Hello, sailor, Come with me!

Come on drink cognac. Rather have wine? Come here, I love you. Come and be mine.

Lights, sailor boy, Warm, white lights. Solid land, kid. Wild, white nights.

Come on, sailor, Out o’ the sea. Let’s go, sweetie! Come with me.

SEA CALM

How still, How strangely still The water is today. It is not good For water To be so still that way.

CARIBBEAN SUNSET

God having a hemorrhage, Blood coughed across the sky, Staining the dark sea red, That is sunset in the Caribbean.

YOUNG SAILOR

He carries His own strength And his own laughter, His own today And his own hereafter,— This strong young sailor Of the wide seas.

What is money for? To spend, he says. And wine? To drink. And women? To love. And today? For joy. And tomorrow? For joy. And the green sea For strength, And the brown land For laughter. And nothing hereafter.

SEASCAPE

Off the coast of Ireland As our ship passed by We saw a line of fishing ships Etched against the sky.

Off the coast of England As we rode the foam We saw an Indian merchantman Coming home.

NATCHA

Natcha, offering love. For ten shillings offering love. Offering: A night with me, honey. A long, sweet night with me. Come, drink palm wine. Come, drink kisses. A long, dream night with me.

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.

DEATH OF AN OLD SEAMAN

We buried him high on a windy hill, But his soul went out to sea. I know, for I heard, when all was still, His sea-soul say to me:

Put no tombstone at my head, For here I do not make my bed. Strew no flowers on my grave, I’ve gone back to the wind and wave. Do not, do not weep for me, For I am happy with my sea.

SHADOWS IN THE SUN

BEGGAR BOY

What is there within this beggar lad That I can neither hear nor feel nor see, That I can neither know nor understand And still it calls to me?

Is not he but a shadow in the sun— A bit of clay, brown, ugly, given life? And yet he plays upon his flute a wild free tune As if Fate had not bled him with her knife!

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.

SUICIDE’S NOTE

The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.

SICK ROOM

How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lovers— Life and Death, And all three covered with a sheet of pain.

SOLEDAD

A Cuban Portrait

The shadows Of too many nights of love Have fallen beneath your eyes. Your eyes, So full of pain and passion, So full of lies. So full of pain and passion, Soledad, So deeply scarred, So still with silent cries.

TO THE DARK MERCEDES OF “EL PALACIO DE AMOR”

Mercedes is a jungle-lily in a death house. Mercedes is a doomed star. Mercedes is a charnel rose. Go where gold Will fall at the feet of your beauty, Mercedes. Go where they will pay you well For your loveliness.

MEXICAN MARKET WOMAN

This ancient hag Who sits upon the ground Selling her scanty wares Day in, day round, Has known high wind-swept mountains, And the sun has made Her skin so brown.

AFTER MANY SPRINGS

Now, In June, When the night is a vast softness Filled with blue stars, And broken shafts of moon-glimmer Fall upon the earth, Am I too old to see the fairies dance? I cannot find them any more.

YOUNG BRIDE

They say she died,— Although I do not know, They say she died of grief And in the earth-dark arms of Death Sought calm relief, And rest from pain of love In loveless sleep.

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.

POEM

(To F. S.)

I loved my friend. He went away from me. There’s nothing more to say. The poem ends, Soft as it began,— I loved my friend.

OUR LAND

OUR LAND

Poem for a Decorative Panel

We should have a land of sun, Of gorgeous sun, And a land of fragrant water Where the twilight Is a soft bandanna handkerchief Of rose and gold, And not this land where life is cold.

We should have a land of trees, Of tall thick trees Bowed down with chattering parrots Brilliant as the day, And not this land where birds are grey.

Ah, we should have a land of joy, Of love and joy and wine and song, And not this land where joy is wrong.

Oh, sweet, away! Ah, my beloved one, away!

LAMENT FOR DARK PEOPLES

I was a red man one time, But the white men came. I was a black man, too, But the white men came.

They drove me out of the forest. They took me away from the jungles. I lost my trees. I lost my silver moons.

Now they’ve caged me In the circus of civilization. Now I herd with the many— Caged in the circus of civilization.

AFRAID

We cry among the skyscrapers As our ancestors Cried among the palms in Africa Because we are alone, It is night, And we’re afraid.

POEM

For the portrait of an African boy after the manner of Gauguin

All the tom-toms of the jungles beat in my blood, And all the wild hot moons of the jungles shine in my soul. I am afraid of this civilization— So hard, So strong, So cold.

SUMMER NIGHT

The sounds Of the Harlem night Drop one by one into stillness. The last player-piano is closed. The last victrola ceases with the “Jazz Boy Blues.” The last crying baby sleeps And the night becomes Still as a whispering heartbeat. I toss Without rest in the darkness, Weary as the tired night, My soul Empty as the silence, Empty with a vague, Aching emptiness, Desiring, Needing someone, Something.

I toss without rest In the darkness Until the new dawn, Wan and pale, Descends like a white mist Into the court-yard.

DISILLUSION

I would be simple again, Simple and clean Like the earth, Like the rain, Nor ever know, Dark Harlem, The wild laughter Of your mirth Nor the salt tears Of your pain. Be kind to me, Oh, great dark city. Let me forget. I will not come To you again.

DANSE AFRICAINE

The low beating of the tom-toms, The slow beating of the tom-toms. Low ... slow Slow ... low— Stirs your blood. Dance! A night-veiled girl Whirls softly into a Circle of light. Whirls softly ... slowly, Like a wisp of smoke around the fire— And the tom-toms beat, And the tom-toms beat, And the low beating of the tom-toms Stirs your blood.

THE WHITE ONES

I do not hate you, For your faces are beautiful, too. I do not hate you, Your faces are whirling lights of loveliness and splendor, too. Yet why do you torture me, O, white strong ones, Why do you torture me?

MOTHER TO SON

Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair. It’s had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up, And places with no carpet on the floor— Bare. But all the time I’se been a-cimbin’ on, And reachin’ landin’s, And turnin’ corners, And sometimes goin’ in the dark Where there ain’t been no light. So boy, don’t you turn back. Don’t you set down on the steps ’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard. Don’t you fall now— For I’se still goin’, honey, I’se still climbin’, And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

POEM

We have tomorrow Bright before us Like a flame.

Yesterday A night-gone thing, A sun-down name.

And dawn-today Broad arch above the road we came.

EPILOGUE

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.

Transcriber’s Notes

1. Differences between the table of contents and the text have been reconciled. Obsolete and alternative spellings have been left unchanged. Grammar has not been altered.

2. Italics font is enclosed in _underscores_.

3. Illustrations are indicated by: [Illustration: caption and/or descriptive text].

4. “Edit Distance” in Corrections table below refers to the Levenshtein Distance.

Corrections

pg(s) Source Correction Edit Distance

TOC 15 9 2 TOC 13 19 1 TOC 50 51 1 43 DREAM VARIATION DREAM VARIATIONS 1 69 WATER-FRONT WATER FRONT 1 71 WATER-FRONT WATER FRONT 1