Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, CRADLING WHEAT, by CHARLES ERSKINE SCOTT WOOD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

CRADLING WHEAT, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The horn, the horn, the harvest horn
Last Line: All drink from yellow gourds.
Subject(s): Harvest


The horn, the horn, the harvest horn,
The horn, the horn -- bedeviling the dawn!
Pitiless dawn just coming white. . . .
The horn, the devil in the horn, a snarling fiend
Dragging to life limbs heavy with sleep:
Limp upon the hay.
Long bare table, steaming bowls;
The level sun through the hickory woods;
And across drenched meadows where slow chewing cows
Hold the night's dew upon their hairy coats
And sharp-hoofed colts run swift and kick,
Glad of the sunrise.

Emmanuel's gang lean on their cradles,
One ashen finger of tall Hannibal's
Neat spliced with well-waxed thread;
Guffaw and jest,
Clear ring of whetstone on steel blades,
And the west wind across the wheatfield. . . .

O Hercules, you now are black, your name Emmanuel,
Mighty your arms and crisp your curling hair,
Huge thewed your back and muscled deep, your loins.

Your reapers show white laughing teeth,
And shinning black breasts bare.
Come Hercules, lead out your gang.
Into the wheat he strikes with a great bite
And one by one the black skinned phalanx steps in line --
Swinging each cradle in slow swaying rhythm,
Smiting the grain. Black Emmanuel sings.

"Swing your cradle, brother, like a man.
Swing your cradle like it was a tune.
Swing your cradle like a man -- a man,
Des wait till noon.

"Swing low.
Swing slow.
Swing steady in de field.
Swing all togedder, brothers, like a tune;
De marster planted, but de Lord he give de yield,
Des wait will noon.

"De Lord is my shepherd and when I die
By de throne I'll sing a tune,
Fetch me home -- Fetch me home --
O Lord up in de sky.
Don't wait till noon --"

And Big Phil breaks into a chant --
Grunting to mark each sharp-edged stroke
In rhythm to the cradle's swing:

"Ah-Ha --
Ah-Ha --
Look out for stones.
Ah-Ha --
Ah-Ha --
Look out for stones,

O de Lord is mighty
An he aint goin' to lose
None of his children.
De black and de white
Is de Lord's children.
He is de father and dey is de children.
He won't lose none, not one --
Not one."

The swaying, swinging, sweating echelon
Booms a deep chorus:

"Look out for stones.
When you done strike it dat's too late, --
Look out for stones,
Look out for stones --
And de Lord God Almighty, at de Golden Gate,
Ah-Ha --
My Jane.

Ah-Ha --
My Jane.
Swing your cradle for de boss won't wait.
Ah-Ha --
Oho --
My Jane."

Emmanuel chants in mellow baritone,
Long -- easy -- slow:
"Goodbye, Mistah Wheatfield,
O goodbye.
We's bit you a good bite
And you got to die.
Dere's de big oak a-waitin'
And de water keg
In de shade,
In de shade
Keepin' cool --
Keepin' cool
In de grass --
In de leaves.
Once round de field
And we take a drink
In de shade of de oak,
Gittin' cool,
Gittin' cool.
In de shade.
De sweat is running
Down into our eyes
Let 'er go --
Let 'er go --
De sweat of de just
Is de fat of de land.
Swing 'er low.
Swing 'er slow,

Goodbye, Mistah Wheatfield. O goodbye."

The phalanx chants and groans and sways,
As one linked black leviathan:

"Ah-ha --
Swing your cradle, brother, like you was a man
A man --
Swing your cradle like it was a tune,
Swing your cradle like a man -- a man
Des wait till noon --
Ah-ha -- O Lord --
Here we stand
O Lord --
Bless de field,
Bless de yield,
Bless dis band --
O Lord --
Don't wait till noon."

Sing, sing black Hercules of glistening skin.

"De moon is a-comin' up tonight,
It surely is --
Big and round and shinning bright,
It surely is --
It is watchin' like a God-Almighty's eye
As it go a-sailin' thro de sky,
It surly is --
O I'm goin' down de sassafras lane,
By de light of de moon to meet my Jane,
I surely is --
I surely is."

Again the chorus organ ntoes.

"Swing 'er low --
Swing 'er slow,
Down de sassafras lane
By de light of de moon . . .
Swing your cradle like it was a tune.
Swing your lady like you was a man,
Don't wait till noon."

Sway and swing and hiss of cutting blades.

"De sun is grinnin' up in de sky --
And dis wheat field must surely die
Ah-ha --
Oh-ho --
I see a keg grinnin' in de hiding grass
Keeping cool --
In de leaves --
In de shade --
Vinegar and molasses and sassafras bark,
Water from de spring shinin' in de dark,
Where de grass grow rank and de bullfrogs sing --
De shinin' spring.
Keepin' cool for me
Till we rest in de shade of de big oak tree,
And de Lord give us rest in eternity,
Ah-ha --
Bless de Lord."

Laughter and babel as they fling themselves
Upon the garss in the wide oak's flickering shade;
Cradles are hung on low drooped limbs,
And tossing off the wide brimmed rye-straw hats
All drink from yellow gourds.





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