The Weary Blues (3 page)

I am a Negro:

    Black as the night is black,

    Black like the depths of my Africa.

I’ve been a slave:

    Cæsar told me to keep his door-steps clean.

    I brushed the boots of Washington.

I’ve been a worker:

    Under my hand the pyramids arose.

    I made mortar for the Woolworth Building.

I’ve been a singer:

    All the way from Africa to Georgia

    I carried my sorrow songs.

    I made ragtime.

I’ve been a victim:

    The Belgians cut off my hands in the Congo.

    They lynch me now in Texas.

I am a Negro:

    Black as the night is black,

    Black like the depths of my Africa.

Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,

Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,

    I heard a Negro play.

Down on Lenox Avenue the other night

By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light

    He did a lazy sway.…

    He did a lazy sway.…

To the tune o’ those Weary Blues.

With his ebony hands on each ivory key

He made that poor piano moan with melody.

    O Blues!

Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool

He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.

    Sweet Blues!

Coming from a black man’s soul.

    O Blues!

In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone

I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan—

    “Ain’t got nobody in all this world,

    Ain’t got nobody but ma self.

    I’s gwine to quit ma frownin’

    And put ma troubles on the shelf.”

Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.

He played a few chords then he sang some more—

    “I got the Weary Blues

    And I can’t be satisfied.

    Got the Weary Blues

    And can’t be satisfied—

    I ain’t happy no mo’

    And I wish that I had died.”

And far into the night he crooned that tune.

The stars went out and so did the moon.

The singer stopped playing and went to bed

While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.

He slept like a rock or a man that’s dead.

Oh, silver tree!

Oh, shining rivers of the soul!

In a Harlem cabaret

Six long-headed jazzers play.

A dancing girl whose eyes are bold

Lifts high a dress of silken gold.

Oh, singing tree!

Oh, shining rivers of the soul!

Were Eve’s eyes

In the first garden

Just a bit too bold?

Was Cleopatra gorgeous

In a gown of gold?

Oh, shining tree!

Oh, silver rivers of the soul!

In a whirling cabaret

Six long-headed jazzers play.

“Me an’ ma baby’s

Got two mo’ ways,

Two mo’ ways to do de Charleston!

    Da, da,

    Da, da, da!

Two mo’ ways to do de Charleston!”

Soft light on the tables,

Music gay,

Brown-skin steppers

In a cabaret.

White folks, laugh!

White folks, pray!

“Me an’ ma baby’s

Got two mo’ ways,

Two mo’ ways to do de Charleston!”

EVERYBODY

Half-pint,—

Gin?

No, make it

LOVES MY BABY

corn.    You like

liquor,

don’t you, honey?

BUT MY BABY

Sure.    Kiss me,

DON’T LOVE NOBODY

daddy.

BUT ME.

Say!

EVERYBODY

Yes?

WANTS MY BABY

I’m your

BUT MY BABY

sweetie, ain’t I?

DON’T WANT NOBODY

Sure.

BUT

Then let’s

ME,

do it!

SWEET ME.

Charleston,

mamma!

!

One who sings “chansons vulgaires”

In a Harlem cellar

Where the jazz-band plays

From dark to dawn

Would not understand

Should you tell her

That she is like a nymph

For some wild faun.

Does a jazz-band ever sob?

They say a jazz-band’s gay.

Yet as the vulgar dancers whirled

And the wan night wore away,

One said she heard the jazz-band sob

When the little dawn was grey.

Strut and wiggle,

Shameless gal.

Wouldn’t no good fellow

Be your pal.

Hear dat music.…

Jungle night.

Hear dat music.…

And the moon was white.

Sing your Blues song,

Pretty baby.

You want lovin’

And you don’t mean maybe.

Jungle lover.…

Night black boy.…

Two against the moon

And the moon was joy.

Strut and wiggle,

Shameless Nan.

Wouldn’t no good fellow

Be your man.

She

Who searched for lovers

In the night

Has gone the quiet way

Into the still,

Dark land of death

Beyond the rim of day.

Now like a little lonely waif

She walks

An endless street

And gives her kiss to nothingness.

Would God his lips were sweet!

Sleek black boys in a cabaret.

Jazz-band, jazz-band,—

Play, plAY, PLAY!

Tomorrow.… who knows?

Dance today!

White girls’ eyes

Call gay black boys.

Black boys’ lips

Grin jungle joys.

Dark brown girls

In blond men’s arms.

Jazz-band, jazz-band,—

Sing Eve’s charms!

White ones, brown ones,

What do you know

About tomorrow

Where all paths go?

Jazz-boys, jazz-boys,—

Play, plAY, PLAY!

Tomorrow.… is darkness.

Joy today!

What jungle tree have you slept under,

Midnight dancer of the jazzy hour?

What great forest has hung its perfume

Like a sweet veil about your bower?

What jungle tree have you slept under,

Night-dark girl of the swaying hips?

What star-white moon has been your mother?

To what clean boy have you offered your lips?

Her dark brown face

Is like a withered flower

On a broken stem.

Those kind come cheap in Harlem

So they say.

Wine-maiden

Of the jazz-tuned night,

Lips

Sweet as purple dew,

Breasts

Like the pillows of all sweet dreams,

Who crushed

The grapes of joy

And dripped their juice

On you?

Shake your brown feet, honey,

Shake your brown feet, chile,

Shake your brown feet, honey,

Shake ’em swift and wil’—

    Get way back, honey,

    Do that low-down step.

    Walk on over, darling,

               Now!   Come out

               With your left.

Shake your brown feet, honey,

Shake ’em, honey chile.

Sun’s going down this evening—

Might never rise no mo’.

The sun’s going down this very night—

Might never rise no mo’—

So dance with swift feet, honey,

    (The banjo’s sobbing low)

Dance with swift feet, honey—

    Might never dance no mo’.

Shake your brown feet, Liza,

Shake ’em, Liza, chile,

Shake your brown feet, Liza,

    (The music’s soft and wil’)

Shake your brown feet, Liza,

    (The banjo’s sobbing low)

The sun’s going down this very night—

    Might never rise no mo’.

Hey!    Hey!

That’s what the

Blues singers say.

Singing minor melodies

They laugh,

Hey!    Hey!

My man’s done left me,

Chile, he’s gone away.

My good man’s left me,

Babe, he’s gone away.

Now the cryin’ blues

Haunts me night and day.

Hey!…Hey!

Weary,

Weary,

Trouble, pain.

Sun’s gonna shine

Somewhere

Again.

I got a railroad ticket,

Pack my trunk and ride.

Sing ’em, sister!

Got a railroad ticket,

Pack my trunk and ride.

And when I get on the train

I’ll cast my blues aside.

Laughing,

Hey!…Hey!

Laugh a loud,

Hey!    Hey!

The rhythm of life

Is a jazz rhythm,

Honey.

The gods are laughing at us.

The broken heart of love,

The weary, weary heart of pain,—

    Overtones,

    Undertones,

To the rumble of street cars,

To the swish of rain.

Lenox Avenue,

Honey.

Midnight,

And the gods are laughing at us.

To fling my arms wide

In some place of the sun,

To whirl and to dance

Till the white day is done.

Then rest at cool evening

Beneath a tall tree

While night comes on gently,

    Dark like me,—

That is my dream!

To fling my arms wide

In the face of the sun,

Dance!   whirl!   whirl!

Till the quick day is done.

Rest at pale evening.…

A tall, slim tree.…

Night coming tenderly

    Black like me.

How thin and sharp is the moon tonight!

How thin and sharp and ghostly white

Is the slim curved crook of the moon tonight!

The autumn leaves

Are too heavy with color.

The slender trees

On the Vulcan Road

Are dressed in scarlet and gold

Like young courtesans

Waiting for their lovers.

But soon

The winter winds

Will strip their bodies bare

And then

The sharp, sleet-stung

Caresses of the cold

Will be their only

Love.

Beat the drums of tragedy for me.

Beat the drums of tragedy and death.

And let the choir sing a stormy song

To drown the rattle of my dying breath.

Beat the drums of tragedy for me,

And let the white violins whir thin and slow,

But blow one blaring trumpet note of sun

To go with me

                         to the darkness

                                        where I go.

The moon is naked.

The wind has undressed the moon.

The wind has blown all the cloud-garments

Off the body of the moon

And now she’s naked,

Stark naked.

But why don’t you blush,

O shameless moon?

Don’t you know

It isn’t nice to be naked?

I went to look for Joy,

Slim, dancing Joy,

Gay, laughing Joy,

Bright-eyed Joy,—

And I found her

Driving the butcher’s cart

In the arms of the butcher boy!

Such company, such company,

As keeps this young nymph, Joy!

I’ve known rivers:

I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.

I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.

I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.

I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I’ve known rivers:

Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

My old man’s a white old man

And my old mother’s black.

If ever I cursed my white old man

I take my curses back.

If ever I cursed my black old mother

And wished she were in hell,

I’m sorry for that evil wish

And now I wish her well.

My old man died in a fine big house.

My ma died in a shack.

I wonder where I’m gonna die,

Being neither white nor black?

In one hand

I hold tragedy

And in the other

Comedy,—

Masks for the soul.

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?