“Yo cumplo mi encuentro con La Vida” / “I keep Life’s rendezvous”: Poemas para Viernes Santo / Good Friday poems: Countee Cullen
Posted: March 29, 2013 Filed under: Countee Cullen, English, Spanish, ZP Translator: Alexander Best | Tags: Black poets, Good Friday poems, Poemas para Viernes Santo, Poetas negros Comments Off on “Yo cumplo mi encuentro con La Vida” / “I keep Life’s rendezvous”: Poemas para Viernes Santo / Good Friday poems: Countee Cullen
Countee Cullen (Poeta negro del “Renacimiento de Harlem”, E.E.U.U., 1903-1946)
“Habla Simón de Cirene”
.
Nunca me habló ninguna palabra
pero me llamó por mi nombre;
No me habló por señas,
y aún entendí y vine.
.
Al princípio dije, “No cargaré
sobre mi espalda Su cruz;
Sólo procura colocarla allá
porque es negra mi piel.”
.
Pero Él moría por un sueño,
Y Él estuvo muy dócil,
Y en Sus ojos hubo un resplandor
que los hombres viajarán lejos para buscar.
.
Él – el mismo – ganó mi piedad;
Yo hice solamente por Cristo
Lo que todo el Imperio romano no pudo forjar en mí
con moretón de látigo o de piedra.
. . .
Countee Cullen (1903-1946)
“Simon the Cyrenian Speaks”
.
He never spoke a word to me,
And yet He called my name;
He never gave a sign to me,
And yet I knew and came.
At first I said, “I will not bear
His cross upon my back;
He only seeks to place it there
Because my skin is black.”
But He was dying for a dream,
And He was very meek,
And in His eyes there shone a gleam
Men journey far to seek.
It was Himself my pity bought;
I did for Christ alone
What all of Rome could not have wrought
With bruise of lash or stone.
.
Luke 23:26
“And as they led Him away, they laid hold upon one Simon, a Cyrenian, coming out of the country,
and on him they laid the cross, that he might bear it after Jesus”.
. . .
“Tengo un encuentro con La Vida”
.
Tengo un encuentro con La Vida,
durante los días que pasen,
antes de que pasen como un bólido mi juventud y mi fuerza de mente,
antes de que las dulces voces se vuelvan mudas.
.
Tengo un ‘rendez-vous’ con Esta Vida.
cuando canturrean los primeros heraldos de la Primavera.
Por seguro hay gente que gritaría que sea tanto mejor
coronar los días con reposo en vez de
enfrentar el camino, el viento, la lluvia
– para poner oídos al llamado profundo.
.
No tengo miedo ni de la lluvia, del viento, ni del camino abierto,
pero aún tengo, ay, tan mucho miedo, también,
por temor de que La Muerte me conozca y me requiera antes de que
yo cumpla mi ‘rendez-vous’ con La Vida.
. . .
“I have a rendezvous with Life”
.
I have a rendezvous with Life,
In days I hope will come,
Ere youth has sped, and strength of mind,
Ere voices sweet grow dumb.
I have a rendezvous with Life,
When Spring’s first heralds hum.
Sure some would cry it’s better far
To crown their days with sleep
Than face the road, the wind and rain,
To heed the calling deep.
Though wet nor blow nor space I fear,
Yet fear I deeply, too,
Lest Death should meet and claim me ere
I keep Life’s rendezvous.
. . .
Countee Cullen produced most of his famous poems between 1923 and 1929; he was at the top of his form from the end of his teens through his 20s – very early for a good poet.
His poems “Heritage”, “Yet Do I Marvel”, “The Ballad of the Brown Girl”, and “The Black Christ” are classics of The Harlem Renaissance. We feature here two of Cullen’s lesser-known poems
– including Spanish translations.
. . . . .
Traducciones del inglés al español: Alexander Best
Chinua Achebe: “Pine Tree in Spring” and “Their Idiot Song”
Posted: April 18, 2012 Filed under: Chinua Achebe, English | Tags: Black poets Comments Off on Chinua Achebe: “Pine Tree in Spring” and “Their Idiot Song”Chinua Achebe
Pine Tree in Spring
(for Léon Damas *)
.
Pine tree
flag bearer
of green memory
across the breach of a desolate hour
*
Loyal tree
that stood guard
alone in austere emeraldry
over Nature’s recumbent standard
*
Pine tree
lost now in the shade
of traitors decked out flamboyantly
marching back unabashed to the colours they betrayed
*
Fine tree
erect and trustworthy
What school can teach me
your silent, stubborn fidelity?
.
*Léon Damas, 1912-1978, French poet, born in French Guiana (“Guyane”); one of the founders,
along with Léopold Senghor and Aimé Césaire, of the “Négritude” literary and ideological movement
. . .
Their Idiot Song
.
These fellows, the old pagan said, surely are out of their mind – that old proudly impervious derelict skirted long ago by floodwaters of salvation: Behold the great and gory handiwork of Death displayed for all on dazzling sheets this hour of day its twin nostrils plugged firmly with stoppers of wool and they ask of him: Where is thy sting?
Sing on, good fellows, sing on!
Someday when it is you he decks out on his great iron bed with cotton wool for your breath, his massing odours mocking your pitiful makeshift defences of face powder and township ladies’ lascivious scent, these others roaming yet his roomy chicken coop will be singing and asking still but
YOU by then no longer will be in doubt!
. . .
Chinua Achebe was born in Nigeria in 1930,
of the Igbo People. He is a world-famous poet and writer,
and his first novel, “Things Fall Apart”, is among the most
widely-read books in African literature.
. . . . .
Hector Poullet: “Mi yo doubout an péyi-la…” / “Standing tall in our country…”
Posted: February 29, 2012 Filed under: Creole / Kréyòl, English, French, Hector Poullet | Tags: Black poets Comments Off on Hector Poullet: “Mi yo doubout an péyi-la…” / “Standing tall in our country…”
Hector Poullet (né/born 1938)
(Écrivain noir, créoliste, de La Guadeloupe
/ Black Creole-language writer, Guadeloupe)
E mi sé ti moun péyi-la
Mi yo
Mi yo doubout an péyi-la
An mitan lanmé
An mitan soley
Yo la
Po nwè
Po jonn
Po rouj
Po shapé
Po blan
Nou byen fouté pa mal !
Nou sa sé zenfan péyi-la
Sé swé a yo ki ka rozé péyi-la
_____
Voici les enfants du pays, Here are the children of the country,
Les voici, Here they are,
Les voici érigés au pays, Standing tall in our country,
Au coeur même de la mer, With hearts as much of the sea as sun.
Au coeur même du soleil.
Ils sont là There they are: the
Peaux noires Black skins, yellows,
Peaux jaunes Red skins and shedded skins,
Peaux rouges White skins, too.
Peaux échappées et
Peaux blanches
Quelle importance ! And it’s so important –
Ce sont, nous le savons, That they are – and we know it –
Les fils de ce pays; The children of this country;
Leur sueur nourrit la terre de ce pays! Their sweat nourishes this earth!
_____
Ataulfo Alves: “In a masquerade of Joy I hid my Sadness…”
Posted: February 20, 2012 Filed under: Ataulfo Alves, English, Portuguese, Translator's Whimsy: Song Lyrics / Extravagancia del traductor: Letras de canciones traducidas por Alexander Best, ZP Translator: Alexander Best | Tags: Black poets, Poetas negros Comments Off on Ataulfo Alves: “In a masquerade of Joy I hid my Sadness…”Ataulfo Alves (Sambista brasileiro, 1906-1969)
“Ilusão de carnaval”
.
Mascarado de alegria
Escondi minha tristeza
Terminada a folia
Sou mais triste com certeza
Ilusão de carnaval
Enganei somente a mim
Sem pensar que afinal
Carnaval também tem fim.
*
Ataulfo Alves
(Brazilian Samba composer, 1906-1969)
“Carnival Illusion”
.
In a masquerade of Joy
I hid my Sadness.
Revelry done,
More sad than ever
Am I…
.
You Illusion – oh Carnival !
I merely tricked myself
Without thinking that,
After all,
Carnival too comes to an end.
.
Translation from Portuguese:
Alexander Best
Djavan: “Face of the Indian” / “Cara de Índio”
Posted: February 19, 2012 Filed under: Djavan, English, Portuguese, Translator's Whimsy: Song Lyrics / Extravagancia del traductor: Letras de canciones traducidas por Alexander Best, ZP Translator: Alexander Best | Tags: Black poets Comments Off on Djavan: “Face of the Indian” / “Cara de Índio”Letra da canção de
cantor e compositor afrobrasileiro
Djavan (nasce 1949)
“Cara de Índio”(1978)
Índio cara pálida,
cara de índio.
Índio cara pálida,
cara de índio.
Sua ação é válida, meu caro índio.
Sua ação é válida, válida ao índio.
Nessa terra tudo dá,
terra de índio.
Nessa terra tudo dá,
não para o índio.
Quando alguém puder plantar,
quem sabe índio.
Quando alguém puder plantar,
não é índio.
Índio quer se nomear,
nome de índio.
Índio quer se nomear,
duvido índio.
Isso pode demorar,
te cuida índio.
Isso pode demorar,
coisa de índio.
*
Índio sua pipoca,
tá pouca índio.
Índio quer pipoca,
te toca índio.
Se o índio se tocar,
touca de índio.
Se o índio toca,
não chove índio.
Se quer abrir a boca,
pra sorrir índio.
Se quer abrir a boca,
na toca índio.
*
A minha também tá pouca,
cota de índio.
Apesar da minha roupa,
também sou índio.
_____
Djavan
(Brazilian songwriter, born 1949)
“The Indian Face” (1978)
Indio pale-face
Indian face.
Pale-face Indio
Your action is just, my dear Indio.
Your action is valid, right for the Indian.
In that land everything grows
– the Indian’s land.
In that land everything grows
– but not for the Indian.
When someone can plant,
who knows? The Indio.
When someone inspires,
Isn’t it the Indio?
An Indian wants to call himself
an Indian name.
Indio wants to call himself himself
– I doubt it, Indio
– that might take time – take care,
That might take time,
The Indian thing.
*
Indio gets just
A little “popcorn”.
He wants “popcorn” too
– it’s your turn, Indio.
If the Indian touches his head
it doesn’t rain.
If he wants to open his mouth
– Smile, Indio.
If he wants to open his mouth,
Don’t touch him.
*
I also have little,
An Indian’s share.
Despite my clothes,
I’m an Indio, too.
_____
Jorge Ben Jor: Day of the Indian / Dia de Índio
Posted: February 19, 2012 Filed under: English, Jorge Ben Jor, Portuguese, Translator's Whimsy: Song Lyrics / Extravagancia del traductor: Letras de canciones traducidas por Alexander Best | Tags: Black poets Comments Off on Jorge Ben Jor: Day of the Indian / Dia de Índio_____
Jorge Ben Jor (nasce 1942)
“Curumin chama cunhãtã que eu vou contar
(Todo dia era Dia de Índio)” (1981)
Hey Hey Hey!
Hey Hey Hey!
Jês, Kariris, Karajás, Tukanos, Caraíbas,
Makus, Nambikwaras, Tupis, Bororós,
Guaranis, Kaiowa, Ñandeva, YemiKruia
Yanomá, Waurá, Kamayurá, Iawalapiti,
Txikão, Txu-Karramãe, Xokren, Xikrin,
Krahô, Ramkokamenkrá, Suyá !
*
Curumim chama cunhatã que eu vou contar
Cunhatã chama curumim que eu vou contar
Curumim, cunhatã
Cunhatã, curumim
*
Antes que os homens aqui pisassem
Nas ricas e férteis terraes brazilis
Que eram povoadas e amadas por milhões de índios
Reais donos felizes
Da terra do pau-brasil
Pois todo dia, toda hora, era dia de índio
Pois todo dia, toda hora, era dia de índio
*
Mas agora eles só têm um dia
O dia dezenove de abril…
Amantes da pureza e da natureza
Eles são de verdade incapazes
De maltratarem as fêmeas
Ou de poluir o rio, o céu e o mar
Protegendo o equilíbrio ecológico
Da terra, fauna e flora.
Pois na sua história, o índio
É o exemplo mais puro
Mais perfeito, mais belo
Junto da harmonia da fraternidade.
É da alegria,
Da alegria de viver
Da alegria de amar.
Mas no entanto agora
O seu canto de guerra
É um choro de uma raça inocente…
Que já foi muito contente
Pois antigamente
Todo dia, toda hora, era dia de índio.
*
Jês, Kariris, Karajás, Tukanos, Caraíbas,
Makus, Nambikwaras, Tupis, Bororós,
Guaranis, Kaiowa, Ñandeva, YemiKruia
Yanomá, Waurá, Kamayurá, Iawalapiti, Suyá,
Txikão, Txu-Karramãe, Xokren, Xikrin, Krahô,
Ramkokamenkrá, Suyá !
*
Todo dia, toda hora, era dia de índio…..
Curumim, cunhatã / Hey! Hey! Hey!
Hey! Hey! Hey! / Cunhatã, curumim…..
_____
Jorge Ben Jor
“Every day, every hour, was the Day of the Indian”
Hey Hey Hey!
Hey Hey Hey!
Jês, Kariris, Karajás, Tukanos, Caraíbas,
Makus, Nambikwaras, Tupis, Bororós,
Guaranis, Kaiowa, Ñandeva, YemiKruia
Yanomá, Waurá, Kamayurá, Iawalapiti,
Suyá, Txikão, Txu-Karramãe, Xokren, Xikrin,
Krahô, Ramkokamenkrá, Suyá !
*
Call: “Curumim cunhatã” – I’m going to tell it.
Cry: “Cunhatã curumim” is how I’m going to tell it.
Curumim, cunhatã
Cunhatã, curumim
*
Before people trod here
Upon this rich and fertile land of Brazil
It was populated and loved by millions of Indians,
Happy moneyless owners
Of this land of “Brazil-wood”.
Back then, every day, every hour, was the Day of the Indian.
But now they have only one day,
The 19th of April…
*
Lovers of purity, of nature,
They knew truth, incapable of
Mistreating Woman
Or of polluting river, sky and sea,
Protecting the ecological equilibrium
Of earth, flora and fauna.
And so, in history, the Indio
Is an exemplar most pure,
Perfect and beautiful.
Together in the harmony of humanity
He gives joy – joy of life, joy of love.
Now, though, theirs is a war song – and it’s
The cry of an innocent race…
In olden times they were most happy because
Every day, every hour, was the Day of the Indian.
*
Jês, Kariris, Karajás, Tukanos, Caraíbas,
Makus, Nambikwaras, Tupis, Bororós,
Guaranis, Kaiowa, Ñandeva, YemiKruia
Yanomá, Waurá, Kamayurá, Iawalapiti,
Txikão, Txu-Karramãe, Xokren, Xikrin,
Krahô, Ramkokamenkrá, Suyá !
*
Every day, every hour, was the Day of the Indian.
Curumim, cunhatã / Hey! Hey! Hey!
Hey! Hey! Hey! / Cunhatã, curumim…..
_____
Glossary:
Jês, Kariris, Karajás, Tukanos, Caraíbas, etc.,
– Ben gives us a list of names of the
Indian/Indigenous/Native Peoples of Brazil
The 19th of April – throughout Latin and South America,
this day – Dia Americano del Indio – draws attention to the
cultures, struggles and progress of Indigenous Peoples;
initiated in 1940 at Pátzcuaro, México, during the first
“Congreso Indigenista Interamericano”
/ InterAmerican Indigenous Congress
Martinho da Vila: Voz Afro-Brasileira
Posted: February 12, 2012 Filed under: Martinho de Vila, Portuguese | Tags: Black poets Comments Off on Martinho da Vila: Voz Afro-BrasileiraMartinho de Vila (nasce 12 fevereiro 1938)
“Madrugada, Carnaval e chuva” (1970)
Carnaval, madrugada
Madrugada de carnaval
Cai a chuva no asfalto da avenida
E a escola, já começa a desfilar
Molha o surdo, molha o enredo, molha a vida
Do sambista cujo o sonho é triunfar
Cai o brilho do sapato do passista
Mas o samba tem é que continuar
Os destaques se desmancham na avenida
E o esforço já é sobrenatural
Mas a turma permanece reunida
Um apito incentiva o pessoal
E a escola já avança destemida
É o samba enfrentando o temporal
Madrugada,vai embora, vem o dia
E o sambista pensa em outro carnaval
E a todos novamente desafia
A vitória do seu samba é o ideal
Chama o surdo e o pandeiro pra folia
Alegria, alegria pessoal
Carnaval, carnaval, carnaval
Volta o surdo pra folia
Alegria pessoal.
Carnaval, carnaval, carnaval,
Volta o surdo pra folia,
Alegria pessoal.
“Brasil mulato” (1969)
Pretinha, procure um branco
Porque é hora de completa integração
Branquinha, namore um preto
Faça com ele a sua miscigenação
Neguinho, vá pra escola
Ame esta terra
Esqueça a guerra
E abrace o samba
Que será lindo o meu Brasil de amanhã
Mulato forte, pulso firme e mente sã
Quero ver madame na escola de samba sambando
Quero ver fraternidade
Todo mundo se ajudando
Não quero ninguém parado
Todo mundo trabalhando
Que ninguém vá a macumba fazer feitiçaria
Vá rezando minha gente a oração de todo dia
Mentalidade vai mudar de fato
O meu Brasil então será mulato.
_____
Nicomedes Santa Cruz: “Black Rhythms of Peru” / “Ritmos negros del Perú” – “Latin America” / “América Latina”
Posted: February 12, 2012 Filed under: English, Nicomedes Santa Cruz, Spanish, ZP Translator: Alexander Best, ZP Translator: Lidia García Garay | Tags: Black poets Comments Off on Nicomedes Santa Cruz: “Black Rhythms of Peru” / “Ritmos negros del Perú” – “Latin America” / “América Latina”Nicomedes Santa Cruz
( Poeta y músico afro-peruano, 1925-1992)
“Ritmos negros del Perú” (1957)
Ritmos de la esclavitud
contra amarguras y penas.
Al compás de las cadenas
Ritmos negros del Perú.
*
De África llegó mi abuela
vestida con caracoles,
la trajeron lo´epañoles
en un barco carabela.
La marcaron con candela,
la carimba fue su cruz.
Y en América del Sur
al golpe de sus dolores
dieron los negros tambores
ritmos de la esclavitud
*
Por una moneda sola
la revendieron en Lima
y en la Hacienda “La Molina”
sirvió a la gente española.
Con otros negros de Angola
ganaron por sus faenas
zancudos para sus venas
para dormir duro suelo
y naíta´e consuelo
contra amarguras y penas…
*
En la plantación de caña
nació el triste socabón,
en el trapiche de ron
el negro cantó la zaña.
El machete y la guadaña
curtió sus manos morenas;
y los indios con sus quenas
y el negro con tamborete
cantaron su triste suerte
al compás de las cadenas.
*
Murieron los negros viejos
pero entre la caña seca
se escucha su zamacueca
y el panalivio muy lejos.
Y se escuchan los festejos
que cantó en su juventud.
De Cañete a Tombuctú,
de Chancay a Mozambique
llevan sus claros repiques
ritmos negros del Perú.
_____
Nicomedes Santa Cruz
(Black Peruvian poet and singer, 1925-1992)
Black Rhythms of Peru (1957)
Rhythms of slavery
Against bitterness and sorrows.
Keeping time to the beat of the chains
– Black rhythms of Peru.
*
From Africa arrived my grandmother
Adorned with conch-shells,
They brought her, those Spaniards,
In a three-masted ship.
Marked by wax and fire – the
“carimba” scar was the cross she bore.
And in South America
To each strike, in her suffering,
The Black drums gave
Rhythms to that slavery.
*
For one coin
They sold my grandmother again
In Lima
And at Hacienda La Molina
She served the Spanish people.
With other Blacks from Angola
She earned for her tasks
Mosquito bites on her veins
Sleeping upon hard ground,
And nuthin’ ain’t no consolation
Against bitterness and sorrows…
*
On the sugarcane plantation
Was born that sad “socabón” dance
In the rum-press at the mill,
The Black man sang of Zaña.
The “machete” and the scythe
Cut his dark hands;
And the Indians with their reed-flutes,
The Black man and his tambourine,
Sang of their sad luck
Keeping time to the beat of the chains.
*
They died, those old Black folks…
But within the dried fibres of the cut cane
One hears the Zamacueca dance
And the distant Panalivio.
One hears the festivities they
Sang of in their youth.
From Cañete to Timbuktu,
From Chancay to Mozambique
They carried the clear pitter-patter,
The tap-tap-tap of those
Black rhythms of Peru.
_____
Glossary:
Zaña: 16th-century Spanish-Colonial town in Peru – inhabited by
wealthy, pious Spanish families involved in sugar and cotton
plantations based upon African slavery and Native-Indian servitude.
Raided by English pirates in 1686 – many people were killed,
prosperous families abandoned the town, and slaves
became unexpectedly “free”… La Zaña is an Afro-Peruvian dance
originating in the town.
Zamacueca, Panalivio: Afro-Peruvian dances of the 18th
and 19th centuries – the Zamacueca was a courtship dance and
the Panalivio’s lyrics often told of the trials of slavery.
*
Cañete, Chancay: Peruvian Spanish-Colonial towns – prominent in
the 17th through the 19th centuries – surrounded by haciendas
and sugar/cotton plantations. Large African-born and native-
born Black slave populations.
* * *
Nicomedes Santa Cruz:
“América Latina”(1963) / “Latin America”(1963)
Mi cuate My pal
Mi socio My mate
Mi hermano My brother
Aparcero Sharecropper
Camarado Colleague
Compañero Comrade
Mi pata My buddy
M´hijito My boy
Paisano… Compatriot…
He aquí mis vecinos. Here I have my neighbours
He aquí mis hermanos. Here I have my brothers
*
Las mismas caras latinoamericanas The same Latin-American faces
de cualquier punto de América Latina: from every corner of Latin America:
Indoblanquinegros Indianwhiteblacks
Blanquinegrindios Whiteblackindians
y Negrindoblancos and Blackindianwhites
*
Rubias bembonas Blondes with thick lips
Indios barbudos Bearded Indians
y negros lacios and straight-haired Blacks
*
Todos se quejan: All of them complain
-¡Ah, si en mi país – Oh, if only in my country
no hubiese tanta política…! there wasn’t so much “politics”…!
-¡Ah, si en mi país – Oh, if only in my country
no hubiera gente paleolítica…! there weren’t such paleolithic people…!
-¡Ah, si en mi país – Oh, if only in my country
no hubiese militarismo, there was no militarism,
ni oligarquía or oligarchy
ni chauvinismo or chauvinism
ni burocracia or bureaucracy
ni hipocresía or hypocrisy
ni clerecía or clergy
ni antropofagia… or anthropophagy…
-¡Ah, si en mi país…! – Oh, if only – in my country…!
*
Alguien pregunta de dónde soy Someone asks where I’m from
(Yo no respondo lo siguiente): (I do not answer with the following):
Nací cerca de Cuzco I was born close to Cuzco
admiro a Puebla Puebla I admire
me inspira el ron de las Antillas I’m inspired by rum from The Antilles
canto con voz argentina I sing in an Argentinian voice
creo en Santa Rosa de Lima I believe in Saint Rose of Lima
y en los Orishas de Bahía. and in the Orishas of Bahia.
Yo no coloreé mi Continente I didn’t paint my Continent
ni pinté verde a Brasil the green of Brazil
amarillo Perú the yellow of Peru
roja Bolivia Bolivia’s red
*
Yo no tracé líneas territoriales I drew no border-lines
separando al hermano del hermano. separating brother from brother
*
Poso la frente sobre Río Grande I rest by the Rio Grande
me afirmo pétreo sobre el Cabo de Hornos I stand firm at Cape Horn
hundo mi brazo izquierdo en el Pacífico my left hand I dip down into the Pacific
y sumerjo mi diestra en el Atlántico. and into the Atlantic I submerge my right.
*
Por las costas de oriente y occidente By the coasts East and West
y doscientas millas entro and two-thousand miles inland
a cada Océano from each Ocean
sumerjo mano y mano I immerse both hands
y así me aferro a nuestro Continente and in this way I hold our Continent
en un abrazo Latinoamericano. in a Latin-American embrace.
*
Translation from the original Spanish into English:
“Black Rhythms of Peru”: Alexander Best
“Latin America”: Lidia García Garay
Claude McKay: “The Tropics in New York”
Posted: February 8, 2012 Filed under: Claude McKay, English | Tags: Black poets Comments Off on Claude McKay: “The Tropics in New York”To One Coming North
At first you’ll joy to see the playful snow,
Like white moths trembling on the tropic air,
Or waters of the hills that softly flow
Gracefully falling down a shining stair.
And when the fields and streets are covered white
And the wind-worried void is chilly, raw,
Or underneath a spell of heat and light
The cheerless frozen spots begin to thaw,
Like me you’ll long for home, where birds’ glad song
Means flowering lanes and leas and spaces dry,
And tender thoughts and feelings fine and strong,
Beneath a vivid silver-flecked blue sky.
But oh! more than the changeless southern isles,
When Spring has shed upon the earth her charm,
You’ll love the Northland wreathed in golden smiles
By the miraculous sun turned glad and warm.
_____
The Tropics in New York
Bananas ripe and green, and ginger root,
Cocoa in pods and alligator pears,
And tangerines and mangoes and grape fruit,
Fit for the highest prize at parish fairs,
Set in the window, bringing memories
Of fruit-trees laden by low-singing rills,
And dewy dawns, and mystical blue skies
In benediction over nun-like hills.
My eyes grew dim, and I could no more gaze;
A wave of longing through my body swept,
And, hungry for the old, familiar ways,
I turned aside and bowed my head and wept.
_____
To Winter
Stay, season of calm love and soulful snows!
There is a subtle sweetness in the sun,
The ripples on the stream’s breast gaily run,
The wind more boisterously by me blows,
And each succeeding day now longer grows.
The birds a gladder music have begun,
The squirrel, full of mischief and of fun,
From maples’ topmost branch the brown twig throws.
I read these pregnant signs, know what they mean:
I know that thou art making ready to go.
Oh stay! I fled a land where fields are green
Always, and palms wave gently to and fro,
And winds are balmy, blue brooks ever sheen,
To ease my heart of its impassioned woe.
_____
Claude McKay (1889-1948) was born in Clarendon parish,
Jamaica. His older brother tutored him – with a bookshelf
of “classics”. In 1912 McKay published his first book of poetry,
“Songs of Jamaica”, written entirely in Jamaican Patois.
He travelled to the USA where he would become a seminal
influence on the Black cultural movement known as The Harlem
Renaissance of the 1920s. Appalled by the blunt racism he
encountered in his adopted country he articulated Black hope
and rage. He wrote also of the complex feelings of the Immigrant
experience – as evidenced by his three tender, passionate
“Winter” poems from 1922 – featured above.
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