Festus Claudius “Claude” McKay (September 15, 1889 – May 22, 1948) was a Jamaican-American writer and poet, who was a seminal figure in the Harlem Renaissance.
McKay wrote four novels: Home to Harlem (1928), a best-seller that won the Harmon Gold Award for Literature, Banjo (1929), Banana Bottom (1933), and in 1941 a manuscript called Amiable With Big Teeth: A Novel of the Love Affair Between the Communists and the Poor Black Sheep of Harlem that has not yet been published.
McKay also authored collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, Gingertown (1932), two autobiographical books, A Long Way from Home (1937) and My Green Hills of Jamaica (published posthumously), and a non-fiction, socio-historical treatise entitled Harlem: Negro Metropolis (1940). His 1922 poetry collection, Harlem Shadows, was among the first books published during the Harlem Renaissance. His Selected Poems was published posthumously, in 1953.
DEAR MOTHER
Claude McKay
“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 growin’,
Climbing high.
“Akee 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,
An’ my weary breat’ is gledin
’Way from you.
“See dem John-crows 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 hom.
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.’
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FLOWER OF LOVE
Claude McKay
The perfume of your body dulls my sense.
I want nor wine nor weed; your breath alone
Suffices. In this moment rare and tense
I worship at your breast. The flower is blown,
The saffron petals tempt my amorous mouth,
The yellow heart is radiant now with dew
Soft-scented, redolent of my loved South;
O flower of love! I give myself to you.
Uncovered on your couch of figured green,
Here let us linger indivisible.
The portals of your sanctuary unseen
Receive my offering, yielding unto me.
Oh, with our love the night is warm and deep!
The air is sweet, my flower, and sweet the flute
Whose music lulls our burning brain to sleep,
While we lie loving, passionate and mute.
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HEARTLESS RHODA
Claude McKay
Kiss me, as you want it so;
Lub me, ef it wort’ de while;
Yet I feel it an’ I know
Dat, as t’rough de wul’ you go,
You will oft look back an’ smile
At de t’ings which you now do.
Tek me to de church te-day,
Call me wife as you go home;
Hard fate, smilin’ at us, say
Dat de whole is so-so play;
Soon de ushal en’ will come,
An’ we both will choice our way.
. . . . . . .
Spare you’ breat’, me husban’ true,
I be’n marry you fe fun:
Lub dat las’ long is a few,
An’ I hadn’t much fe you.
I be’n tell you it would done,
All whe’ come is wha’ you do.
Life I only care to see
In de way dat udders live;
I experiment to be
All dat fate can mek o’ me:
Glad I tek all whe’ she give,
For I’m hopin’ to be free.
=======
I KNOW MY SOUL
Claude McKay
I plucked my soul out of its secret place,
And held it to the mirror of my eye,
To see it like a star against the sky,
A twitching body quivering in space,
A spark of passion shining on my face.
And I explored it to determine why
This awful key to my infinity
Conspires to rob me of sweet joy and grace.
And if the sign may not be fully read,
If I can comprehend but not control,
I need not gloom my days with futile dread,
Because I see a part and not the whole.
Contemplating the strange, I’m comforted
By this narcotic thought: I know my soul.
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IF WE MUST DIE
Claude McKay
If we must die—let it not be like hogs
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursed lot.
If we must die—oh, let us nobly die,
So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
Oh, Kinsmen! We must meet the common foe;
Though far outnumbered, let us show us brave,
And for their thousand blows deal one deathblow!
What though before us lies the open grave?
Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!
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NELLY WHITE
Claude McKay
(an answer to the foregoing)
Sweetheart, I have loved you well,
More than dis lee tongue can tell,
An’ you need not hab no fear,
For I’ll marry you, my dear.
What are you talkin’ about?
Don’t say that I’ll play you out;
Swif’ ole Time, me Nell, will prove
Dat ‘tis you alone I love.
Cry not, except ’tis for joy;
Can’t you trus’ dis big-heart boy?
Nell, I hate fe see you weep;
Tek my heart, an’ go to sleep.
How could I deceive you, Nell?
Don’t I love you much too well?
Could I fool dat plump black cheek?
Don’t cry, darlin’—look up—speak!
Nellie of the pretty feet
An’ the palm-like shape so neat,
I have eyes to see but you;
Darling, trust me to be true!
Nell, me dear, you need not fret,
For you are my food, my breat’;
Trust me, trust me, Nellie White,
Kiss me, lee sweetheart—good-night!
====
Can’t stan’ wid you,
For pa might go come;
An’ if him only hab him rum,
I don’t know whatever I’ll do.
I must go now, for it’s gettin’ night
I am afraid,
An’ tis not moonlight:
Give me de last hug, an’ do it tight;
Me pa gwin’ go knock off me head.
No, Joe, don’t come!—you will keep me late,
An’ pa might be
In him sober state;
Him might get vex’ an’ lock up de gate,
Den what will becomin’ of me?
Go wid you, Joe?—you don’t lub me den!
I shame’ o’ you—
Gals caan’ trust you men!
An’ I b’en tekin’ you fe me frien’;
Good-night, Joe, you’ve proven untrue.