The Weary Blues Read online

  Laugh with me.

  You would laugh!

  Weep with me.

  You would weep!

  Tears are my laughter.

  Laughter is my pain.

  Cry at my grinning mouth,

  If you will.

  Laugh at my sorrow’s reign.

  I am the Black Jester,

  The dumb clown of the world,

  The booted, booted fool of silly men.

  Once I was wise.

  Shall I be wise again?

  THE SOUTH

  The lazy, laughing South

  With blood on its mouth.

  The sunny-faced South,

  Beast-strong,

  Idiot-brained.

  The child-minded South

  Scratching in the dead fire’s ashes

  For a Negro’s bones.

  Cotton and the moon,

  Warmth, earth, warmth,

  The sky, the sun, the stars,

  The magnolia-scented South.

  Beautiful, like a woman,

  Seductive as a dark-eyed whore,

  Passionate, cruel,

  Honey-lipped, syphilitic—

  That is the South.

  And I, who am black, would love her

  But she spits in my face.

  And I, who am black,

  Would give her many rare gifts

  But she turns her back upon me.

  So now I seek the North—

  The cold-faced North,

  For she, they say,

  Is a kinder mistress,

  And in her house my children

  May escape the spell of the South.

  AS I GREW OLDER

  It was a long time ago.

  I have almost forgotten my dream.

  But it was there then,

  In front of me,

  Bright like a sun,—

  My dream.

  And then the wall rose,

  Rose slowly,

  Slowly,

  Between me and my dream.

  Rose slowly, slowly,

  Dimming,

  Hiding,

  The light of my dream.

  Rose until it touched the sky,—

  The wall.

  Shadow.

  I am black.

  I lie down in the shadow.

  No longer the light of my dream before me,

  Above me.

  Only the thick wall.

  Only the shadow.

  My hands!

  My dark hands!

  Break through the wall!

  Find my dream!

  Help me to shatter this darkness,

  To smash this night,

  To break this shadow

  Into a thousand lights of sun,

  Into a thousand whirling dreams

  Of sun!

  AUNT SUE’S STORIES

  Aunt Sue has a head full of stories.

  Aunt Sue has a whole heart full of stories.

  Summer nights on the front porch

  Aunt Sue cuddles a brown-faced child to her bosom

  And tells him stories.

  Black slaves

  Working in the hot sun,

  And black slaves

  Walking in the dewy night,

  And black slaves

  Singing sorrow songs on the banks of a mighty river

  Mingle themselves softly

  In the flow of old Aunt Sue’s voice,

  Mingle themselves softly

  In the dark shadows that cross and recross

  Aunt Sue’s stories.

  And the dark-faced child, listening,

  Knows that Aunt Sue’s stories are real stories.

  He knows that Aunt Sue

  Never got her stories out of any book at all,

  But that they came

  Right out of her own life.

  And the dark-faced child is quiet

  Of a summer night

  Listening to Aunt Sue’s stories.

  POEM

  The night is beautiful,

  So the faces of my people.

  The stars are beautiful,

  So the eyes of my people.

  Beautiful, also, is the sun.

  Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.

  BLACK PIERROT

  A BLACK PIERROT

  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 lon
g 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.

  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 an
y 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,