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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
BLACK MAN, by WILLIAM YANDELL ELLIOTT First Line: While you lie there on your bunk in the white-washed Last Line: Comin long . . . . . Comin long . . . . . | |||
While you lie there on your bunk in the white-washed shack, Black Man, What are you thinking of, flat on your back? Of your part white soul, or the part that's black? Are you asleep? You moan so! Come back to life, Black Man. Are your eyes open? What horror haunts you now, Black Man? You sweat and twitch and mumble; your hands mow When the tree-trunks rub a scraping bough, And the wind comes through the floor cracks -- sough-h-h -- What do you hear, Black Man? "Oh I hears de water slidin -- slippin long, slippin long -- An de trees is black and glidin -- slippin long, slippin long -- Dere's er voodoo man in er white skull-face, An him and de river's er havin er race -- Slippin long, slippin long. I'm in de river; I'm er big black snake Wid my head under water -- lemme breave, God's sake! Slippin long, slippin long. De voodoo man's got er rattle an er gun, An he runs faster'n ayre water kin run. O God, O God, hep dat snake to swim! What dat voodoo man er wantin wid him? Dat's me! I'm dat snake er swimmin under water! Dat white-face's hands is bloody for de slaughter -- Slippin long, slippin long. Heah! Dis ain't no river -- dis er swamp I'm in -- I hear's blood-hounds er howlin, smellin out sin! Done loss my feet -- I'm sinkin down, I'm sinkin! Ooze ain't got no bottom -- soft an stinkin -- What I done done, Lord? What I done done? Hep me, Lord, hep yo poh stumblin son -- Sinkin down, sinkin down. Caint git bref heah, breavin mud, Drownin -- aint no water -- mud! Dem dog's teeth! Goner -- heah's de fire-pile -- All dese white folks -- Y' all don mean it? Smile. White folks, caint you smile? Aint done er thing, Jes slippin down de river-road, down to de spring, Slippin long, slippin long. . . . O God! de fire's blazin, des white men's dancin Roun and roun it, shoutin and prancin, Shootin off guns and cussin and swearin, Hosses hitched yonder is scairt an rarin Wid dey eye-balls white, and red in de light, Er snortin and plungin -- dey's crazy from fright! Rarin round, rarin round. . . O God! dey's comin fer me wid er blazin bran! Lord don let'm burn him -- burn dat poh black man?" Why do you twist your arms so? What do your feet spurn, Black Man? Are you in hell now? Do you burn? You writhe and sweat, and tumble and turn Like a noon-day worm, and your lips churn such froth, Black Man! Now you lie still -- not a quiver nor twitch -- Are you dead, Black Man? Your nostrils take the breath's return Steadily and slow. your dry mouth's yearn Slavers the mumbling lips. How did you learn such peace, Black Man? "Yassuh, dat's me in dat Chariot of Fire -- rollin long, rollin long. Dese angels takin me up, higher and higher -- rollin long, rollin long. Dere's de Devil down dere, fixin folks terms: Dem white folks' squirmin, wrigglin lak worms -- Rollin long, rollin long. Trine git smaller'n, nothin, trine crawl in de groun, Er weepin an er wailin out de Moner's soun -- Rollin long, rollin long. I'm er floatin, I got wings, too, white wings -- higher! Er mountain up to Jesus, while de world"s all er fire, I sees Judgment Day er comin, Good Lord, Good God! Dere's er Great Day er comin, O Lord, O God! Dis Black man's yo servant -- comin long, O Lord -- In er Chariot of Fire -- comin long O Lord! Comin long . . . . . Comin long . . . . . | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FEAST OF LIGHTS by EMMA LAZARUS BALLAD OF THE GIBBET by FRANCOIS VILLON THE BOOK OF MARTYRS by EMILY DICKINSON WHO WALKS WITH BEAUTY by DAVID MORTON I SAW THREE SHIPS by MOTHER GOOSE FOR 'THE WINE OF CIRCE' (BY EDWARD BURNE JONES) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI A SONNET by JAMES KENNETH STEPHEN A FORSAKEN GARDEN by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE LITTLE JESUS by FRANCIS THOMPSON FRENCH REVOLUTION; AS IT APPEARED TO ENTHUSIASTS AT ITS COMMENCEMENT by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |
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