The Panther and the Lash Read online

  BLACK PANTHER

  Pushed into the corner

  Of the hobnailed boot,

  Pushed into the corner of the

  “l-don’t-want-to-die” cry,

  Pushed into the corner of

  “I don’t want to study war no more,”

  Changed into “Eye for eye,”

  The Panther in his desperate boldness

  Wears no disguise,

  Motivated by the truest

  Of the oldest

  Lies.

  FINAL CALL

  SEND FOR THE PIED PIPER AND LET HIM PIPE THE RATS

                           AWAY.

  SEND FOR ROBIN HOOD TO CLINCH THE ANTI-POVERTY

                           CAMPAIGN.

  SEND FOR THE FAIRY QUEEN WITH A WAVE OF THE

                           WAND

  TO MAKE US ALL INTO PRINCES AND PRINCESSES.

  SEND FOR KING ARTHUR TO BRING THE HOLY GRAIL.

  SEND FOR OLD MAN MOSES TO LAY DOWN THE LAW.

  SEND FOR JESUS TO PREACH THE SERMON ON THE

                           MOUNT.

  SEND FOR DREYFUS TO CRY, “J’ACCUSE!”

  SEND FOR DEAD BLIND LEMON TO SING THE B FLAT

                           BLUES.

  SEND FOR ROBESPIERRE TO SCREAM, “ÇA IRA! ÇA IRA!

                           ÇA IRA!”

  SEND (GOD FORBID—HE’S NOT DEAD LONG ENOUGH!)

  FOR LUMUMBA TO CRY “FREEDOM NOW!”

  SEND FOR LAFAYETTE AND TELL HIM, “HELP! HELP ME!”

  SEND FOR DENMARK VESEY CRYING, “FREE!”

  FOR CINQUE SAYING, “RUN A NEW FLAG UP THE MAST.”

  FOR OLD JOHN BROWN WHO KNEW SLAVERY COULDN’T

                           LAST.

  SEND FOR LENIN! (DON’T YOU DARE!—HE CAN’T COME

                           HERE!)

  SEND FOR TROTSKY! (WHAT? DON’T CONFUSE THE ISSUE,

                           PLEASE!)

  SEND FOR UNCLE TOM ON HIS MIGHTY KNEES.

  SEND FOR LINCOLN, SEND FOR GRANT.

  SEND FOR FREDERICK DOUGLASS, GARRISON, BEECHER,

                           LOWELL.

  SEND FOR HARRIETT TUBMAN, OLD SOJOURNER TRUTH.

  SEND FOR MARCUS GARVEY (WHAT?) SUFI (WHO?)

                           FATHER DIVINE (WHERE?)

  DUBOIS (WHEN?) MALCOLM (OH!) SEND FOR STOKELY.

                           (NO?) THEN

  SEND FOR ADAM POWELL ON A NON-SUBPOENA DAY.

  SEND FOR THE PIED PIPER TO PIPE OUR RATS AWAY.

                 (And if nobody comes, send for me.)

  2

  AMERICAN HEARTBREAK

  AMERICAN HEARTBREAK

  I am the American heartbreak—

  The rock on which Freedom

  Stumped its toe—

  The great mistake

  That Jamestown made

  Long ago.

  GHOSTS OF 1619

  Ghosts of all too solid flesh,

  Dark ghosts come back to haunt you now,

  These dark ghosts to taunt you—

  Yet ghosts so solid, ghosts so real

  They may not only haunt you—

  But rape, rob, steal,

  Sit-in, stand-in, stall-in, vote-in

  (Even vote for real in Alabam’)

  And in voting not give a damn

  For the fact that white was right

  Until last night.

  Last night?

  What happened then?

  Flesh-and-blood ghosts

  Became flesh-and-blood men?

  Got tired of asking, When?

  Although minority,

  Suddenly became majority

  (Metaphysically speaking)

  In seeking authority?

  How can one man be ten?

  Or ten be a hundred and ten?

  Or a thousand and ten?

  Or a million and ten

  Are but a thousand and ten

  Or a hundred and ten

  Or ten—or one—

  Or none—

  Being ghosts

  Of then?

  OCTOBER 16: THE RAID

  Perhaps

  You will remember

  John Brown.

  John Brown

  Who took his gun,

  Took twenty-one companions

  White and black,

  Went to shoot your way to freedom

  Where two rivers meet

  And the hills of the

  South

  Look slow at one another—

  And died

  For your sake.

  Now that you are

  Many years free,

  And the echo of the Civil War

  Has passed away,

  And Brown himself

  Has long been tried at law,

  Hanged by the neck,

  And buried in the ground—

  Since Harpers Ferry

  Is alive with ghosts today,

  Immortal raiders

  Come again to town—

  Perhaps

  You will recall

  John Brown.

  LONG VIEW: NEGRO

  Emancipation: 1865

  Sighted through the

  Telescope of dreams

  Looms larger,

  So much larger,

  So it seems,

  Than truth can be.

  But turn the telescope around,

  Look through the larger end—

  And wonder why

  What was so large

  Becomes so small

  Again.

  FREDERICK DOUGLASS: 1817–1895

  Douglass was someone who,

  Had he walked with wary foot

  And frightened tread,

  From very indecision

  Might be dead,

  Might have lost his soul,

  But instead decided to be bold

  And capture every street

  On which he set his feet,

  To route each path

  Toward freedom’s goal,

  To make each highway

  Choose his compass’ choice,

  To all the world cried,

  Hear my voice!…

  Oh, to be a beast, a bird,

  Anything but a slave! he said.

  Who would be free

  Themselves must strike

  The first blow, he said.

        He died in 1895.

        He is not dead.

  STILL HERE

  I been scared and battered.

  My hopes the wind done scattered.

        Snow has friz me,

        Sun has baked me,

  Looks like between ’em they done

        Tried to make me

  Stop laughin’, stop lovin’, stop livin’—

        But I don’t care!

        I’m still here!

  WORDS LIKE FREEDOM

  There are words like Freedom

  Sweet and wonderful to say.

  On my heartstrings freedom sings

  All day everyday.

  There are words like Liberty

  That almost make me cry.

  If you had known what I know

  You would know why.

  3

  THE BIBLE BELT

 
; CHRIST IN ALABAMA

  Christ is a nigger,

  Beaten and black:

  Oh, bare your back!

  Mary is His mother:

  Mammy of the South,

  Silence your mouth.

  God is His father:

  White Master above

  Grant Him your love.

  Most holy bastard

  Of the bleeding mouth,

        Nigger Christ

        On the cross

        Of the South.

  BIBLE BELT

  It would be too bad if Jesus

  Were to come back black.

  There are so many churches

  Where he could not pray

  In the U.S.A.,

  Where entrance to Negroes,

  No matter how sanctified,

  Is denied,

  Where race, not religion,

  Is glorified.

  But say it—

  You may be

  Crucified.

  MILITANT

  Let all who will

  Eat quietly the bread of shame.

  I cannot,

  Without complaining loud and long,

  Tasting its bitterness in my throat,

  And feeling to my very soul

  It’s wrong.

  For honest work

  You proffer me poor pay,

  For honest dreams

  Your spit is in my face,

  And so my fist is clenched

  Today—

  To strike your face.

  OFFICE BUILDING: EVENING

  When the white folks get through

        Here come you:

        Got to clean awhile.

  When daytime folks

  Have made their dough,

        Away they go:

        You clean awhile.

  When white collars get done,

        You have your “fun”

        Cleaning awhile.

  “But just wait, chile …”

  FLORIDA ROAD WORKERS

  Hey, Buddy!

  Look at me!

  I’m makin’ a road

  For the cars to fly by on,

  Makin’ a road

  Through the palmetto thicket

  For light and civilization

  To travel on.

  I’m makin’ a road

  For the rich to sweep over

  In their big cars

  And leave me standin’ here.

  Sure,

  A road helps everybody.

  Rich folks ride—

  And I get to see ’em ride.

  I ain’t never seen nobody

  Ride so fine before.

  Hey, Buddy, look!

  I’m makin’ a road!

  SPECIAL BULLETIN

  Lower the flags

  For the dead become alive,

  Play hillbilly dirges

  That hooded serpents may dance,

  Write obituaries

  For white-robed warriors

  Emerging to the fanfare

  Of death rattles.

  Muffled drums in Swanee River tempo.

  Hand-high salutes—heil!

  Present arms

  With ax handles

  Made in Atlanta,

        Sieg

        Heil!

  Oh, run, all who have not

  Changed your names.

  As for you others—

  The skin on your black face,

  Peel off the skin,

        Peel peel

        Peel off

        The skin.

  MISSISSIPPI

  Oh, what sorrow!

  Oh, what pity!

  Oh, what pain

  That tears and blood

  Should mix like rain

  And terror come again

  To Mississippi.

  Again?

  Where has terror been?

  On vacation? Up North?

  In some other section

  Of the Nation,

  Lying low, unpublicized,

  Masked—with only

  Jaundiced eyes showing

  Through the mask?

  What sorrow, pity, pain,

  That tears and blood

  Still mix like rain

  In Mississippi.

  KU KLUX

  They took me out

  To some lonesome place.

  They said, “Do you believe

  In the great white race?”

  I said, “Mister,

  To tell you the truth,

  I’d believe in anything

  If you’d just turn me loose.”

  The white man said, “Boy,

  Can it be

  You’re a-standin’ there

  A-sassin’ me?”

  They hit me in the head

  And knocked me down.

  And then they kicked me

  On the ground.

  A klansman said, “Nigger,

  Look me in the face—

  And tell me you believe in

  The great white race.”

  JUSTICE

  That Justice is a blind goddess

  Is a thing to which we black are wise:

  Her bandage hides two festering sores

  That once perhaps were eyes.

  BIRMINGHAM SUNDAY

  (September 15, 1963)

        Four little girls

  Who went to Sunday School that day

  And never came back home at all

  But left instead

  Their blood upon the wall

  With spattered flesh

  And bloodied Sunday dresses

  Torn to shreds by dynamite

  That China made aeons ago—

  Did not know

  That what China made

  Before China was ever Red at all

  Would redden with their blood

  This Birmingham-on-Sunday wall.

        Four tiny girls

  Who left their blood upon that wall,

  In little graves today await

  The dynamite that might ignite

  The fuse of centuries of Dragon Kings

  Whose tomorrow sings a hymn

  The missionaries never taught Chinese

  In Christian Sunday School

  To implement the Golden Rule.

        Four little girls

  Might be awakened someday soon

  By songs upon the breeze

  As yet unfelt among magnolia trees.

  BOMBINGS IN DIXIE

  It’s not enough to mourn

  And not enough to pray.

  Sackcloth and ashes, anyhow,

  Save for another day.

  The Lord God Himself

  Would hardly desire

  That men be burned to death—

  And bless the fire.

  CHILDREN’S RHYMES

  By what sends

  the white kids

  I ain’t sent:

  I know I can’t

  be President.

  What don’t bug

  them white kids

  sure bugs me:

  We know everybody

  ain’t free.

  Lies written down

  for white folks

  ain’t for us a-tall:

  Liberty And Justice—

  Huh!—For All?

  DOWN WHERE I AM

  Too many years

  Beatin’ at the door—

  I done beat my

  Both fists sore.

  Too many years

  Tryin’ to get up there—

  Done broke my ankles down,

  Got nowhere.

  Too many years

  Climbin’ that hill,

  ’Bout out of breath.

  I got my fill.

  I’m gonna plant my feet


  On solid ground.

  If you want to see me,

  Come down.

  4

  THE FACE OF WAR

  MOTHER IN WARTIME

  As if it were some noble thing,

  She spoke of sons at war,

  As if freedom’s cause

  Were pled anew at some heroic bar,

  As if the weapons used today

  Killed with great élan,

  As if technicolor banners flew

  To honor modern man—

  Believing everything she read

  In the daily news,

  (No in-between to choose)

  She thought that only

  One side won,

  Not that both

  Might lose.

  WITHOUT BENEFIT OF DECLARATION

  Listen here, Joe,

  Don’t you know

  That tomorrow

  You got to go

  Out yonder where

  The steel winds blow?

  Listen here, kid,

  It’s been said

  Tomorrow you’ll be dead

  Out there where

  The rain is lead.

  Don’t ask me why.

  Just go ahead and die.

  Hidden from the sky

  Out yonder you’ll lie:

  A medal to your family—

  In exchange for

        A guy.

  Mama, don’t cry.

  OFFICIAL NOTICE

  Dear Death:

  I got your message

  That my son is dead.

  The ink you used

  To write it

  Is the blood he bled.

  You say he died with honor

  On the battlefield,

  And that I am honored, too,

  By this bloody yield.

  Your letter

  Signed in blood,