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Books by and about Claude McKay
Home to Harlem
/ Banjo
/
Banana
Bottom /
Gingertown
/
A Long Way from Home
/
Harlem: Negro Metropolis
/
Selected Poems
Complete Poems /
Harlem Glory: A Fragment of Aframerican Life /
The Passion of Claude McKay
The Fierce Hatrded of Injustice: Claude McKay's Jamaican Poetry
of Rebellion
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Lloyd D. McCarthy,
In-Dependence from Bondage: Claude McKay and Michael
Manley
Defying the Ideological Clash and Policy Gaps in
African Diaspora Relations. (2007)
Edourad
Gissant.
Caribbean Discourse (2004)
/ Barbara Harlow.
Resistance Literature (1987)
Penny M. Von Eschen.
Race Against Empire: Black Americans and
Anticolonialism, 1937-19 (1997
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Black Consciousness Poet—Claude McKay
By Arthur Edgar E. Smith
Claude
McKay is mostly known by his much-quoted sonnet: "If we
Must Die" which was popularized during World War II by
British Prime Minister, Sir Winston Churchill.
|
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, O let us nobly die
O that our
precious blood may not be shed
In vain;
then even the monsters we defy
Shall be
constrained to honor us though dead!
O Kinsman!
We must meet the common foe!
Though far
outnumbered let us show us brave
And for
their thousand blows deal one death blow!
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. |
Though the poem
seems to suggest McKay as much as "Negro Speaks of
Rivers" does Langston Hughes, much of McKay's best poems
are characterized unlike this patriotic call for
courageous action in defence of nationhood or cherished
ideals by a racial hatred or even a challenge of the
most violent kind for Blacks. His verse on Negro
suffering in the States won for him immediate
recognition. Coming from quite a different kind of
experience of Negro degradation in Jamaica, McKay's
imagination was fired by what he saw in the States and
this helped to give to African-American poetry a
distinctively different voice. It is the virility of a
Caribbean poet who has been shocked by what he discovers
in America,
For McKay's early
years there coincided with crucial years for the Black
cause. The virility of his verse was therefore in
keeping with the prevailing atmosphere there then. But
such virility is based on more than mere bitterness. It
includes and depends on a certain resilience – or
stubborn humanity. This in turn is to be traced to
McKay's capacity to react to Negro suffering not just
as Negro, but as a human being. For as he maintains,
the writer must always retain this capacity for larger
and more basic reaction as a human being to maintain his
humanity. He would thus avoid stunting his emotional
growth and his stature as a human being. By identifying
himself with his own community or race, a writer can
proceed to that greater and more meaningful
identification based on his humanity, thus qualifying
him to handle "racial" material. McKay always had this
qualification imparting to his verse a certain universal
significance.
Thus
the "If We Must Die" sonnet was written after and
relates to the Washington race riot of 1919. But
because it remains essentially a cry of defiance from
the human heart in the face of a threat to man’s dignity
and civilization, British War Time Prime Minister Sir
Winston Churchill was able to whip up defiant courage
from Britons to stoutly face the war.
Claude
McKay was born in September 15, 1889, as the youngest of
eleven children of his peasant parents in Jamaica.
Raised in Sunny Ville, in Clarendoon Hills Parish by a
compassionate mother and a stern father who passed on to
his children much of the Ashanti customs and traditions
of Ghana where he hailed from. His poetry demonstrates
his undying attachment to his roots and a deep affection
for Clarendon. Such later pieces as "Flame Heart" and
"The Tropics in New York" reveal his nostalgia for
Jamaica when abroad. His early dialect verse makes
nostalgic references to the Clarendon Hills. His
father, Thomas McKay had always shared with his children
the story of his own father’s enslavement seeking thus
to instill in them a suspicion of whites that would
become particularly evident in the writings of his son,
Claude McKay. McKay’s profound respect for the sense of
community encountered among rural Jamaican farmers and a
somewhat skeptical attitude toward religion encouraged
by his older brother, an elementary school teacher, left
an indelible mark on his literary work.
At
seventeen, McKay through a government sponsorship became
apprenticed to a cabinet-maker in Brown’s Town, At
nineteen, moving on to Kingston, the capital city, he
joined the Police Force where his gentle disposition
received its first great jolt. For, then, West Indian
policemen were recruited more for their brawn than their
brain which fact they were expected to celebrate and
honour every hour whilst on the beat.
The
police force was therefore not the best place for one
like McKay who was always upset by human suffering.
His second volume of poems of dialect verse Constab
Ballads accurately records such experiences His
first volume of poems Songs of Jamaica was
written only to relieve his feelings while in the
force. He calmly keeps reprimanding those responsible
for social injustices to his people. T o relieve his
feelings, he sought to write of redeeming features in
the dark picture. His gentle nature led him to pity his
people’s suffering and to protest against it. He was
thus compelled to relieve himself by celebrating their
cheerfulness and other such qualities. Their interest
and vitality as human beings are enriched by their
cheerfulness and good humour which vibrate in spite of
dispiriting conditions. His sympathy for the criminals,
whom he often considered the victims of an unjust
colonial order, could not allow him to work as a police
constable beyond a year.
During
the ensuing two years back at Clarendon Parish he was
encouraged to write Jamaican Dialect Poetry by Walter
Jekyll, an English collector of island folklore with
whom McKay had forged a close relationship. Jekyll had
introduced him to English poets such as Milton and
Pope. In 1912 McKay published two volumes of poetry
Songs of Jamaica and Constab Ballads.
Songs of Jamaica with an introduction and melodies
by Jekyll celebrates the unpretentious nature and the
simplicity of the Jamaican peasants who are closely
bonded to their native soil. Constab Ballads
centres more on Kingston and the contempt and
exploitation suffered there by dark-skinned blacks at
the hands of whites and mulattos. These books made
McKay the first black to receive the medal of the
Jamaican Institute of Arts and Sciences with a
substantial cash award which he was to use to fund his
education at Booker T Washington’s Tuskegee Institute
in Alabama, the United States.
Poems
from Songs of Jamaica celebrate the sense of duty
characterizing the labourer’s resignation. "Quashie to
Bucra" sings of the toil and sweat the "naygur man" (the
black labourer) must put into his field, toil and sweat
unknown to and unappreciated by the "buccra" (the white
man). "Buccra" attempts to cheat "quashie" of his due
reward starts the poem off:
|
You want a basketful fe quattiewut,
‘Cause you ne know how ‘tiff de bush fe cut |
And
returns to this theme in his last verse:
|
You tas’e petater an’ you say it sweet,
But you no know how hard we wuk fe it.
Yet still de hardship always melt away
Wheneber it come roun’ to reapin. Day |
With
the peasants’ resignation and pride in his work looming
over the protest, the poem ends appropriately referring
to the joy in the rewards of labour which is what McKay
here makes of the old habit of the New World Negro of
forgetting his hardships on pay-day in a bout of
rollicking fun.
In 'Whe
Fe Do?" and "Hard Times" there is a note of resignation.
After complaints about taxes, poverty, sickness,
nakedness and the daily hassle to meet growing domestic
commitments:
|
De picknies hab to go to school
Widout a bit fe taste,
And I am working like a mule,
While buccra, sittin’ in the cool,
Howe ‘nuff nenyam re waste |
Then
come the key verse in "Hard Times" –
|
I won’t gib up. I won’t say die,
For all de time is hard;
Although de wul soon en, I’ll try
My wutless best as time goes by
An’ trust on in me Gahd |
His
complaint about unequal distribution of wealth is
tempered by his determination to try against all the
ordained odds. So too in "Whe Fe Do?" as he mourns the
hard lot of the Negro and notes the social injustice
inherent in the polarization of the world into black and
white, he sees it as the way of the world and celebrates
instead the imperturbable cheerfulness of the socially
victimized Negro:
|
And though de wul is full o’ wrong,
Dat can prevent we sing we song
All de day as we wuk along –
Whe else fe do?
We happy in de hospital;
We happy when de rain deh fall;
We happy though de baby bawl
Fe food dat we no hab at all;
We happy when Deat’ angel call
Fe full we cup of joy wid gall:
Our fait’ in this life is not small –
De best to do. |
These
various attitudes in McKay’s verses may well have been
only commonly held views and attitudes which he was
articulating as part of the volume’s appeal. Thus there
is self-denigration when in "Hard Times" he writes:
|
De peas won’t pop, de corn can’t grow,
Poor people face look sad;
Dat Gahd would cuss de lan’. I’d know,
For black naygur too bad. |
Or
there is the pervasive fatalism and the paradoxically
concomitant reliance on God in such poems as this and
‘Whe Fe Do?’
All
these greatly contribute to the humour. There is the
verbal humour and the humour of situation arising out
of the West Indian’s capacity for making fun of
himself. But it is also part of his way of subtly
criticizing the white man and those responsible for his
people’s suffering. For belonging as he does to the
victimized segments of society, he has carried the right
to make fun of their views. By contrast, the "buccra"
has not. So he accomplishes this criticism by stating
the superficial position of "buccra" and contrasting
this with his more authoritative voice. Thus he
criticizes "buccra" for wanting to cheat "quashie" but
he dismisses buccra and goes on to sing of the
hard-working quashie. Or he criticizes the tourist who
is intrigued by the water-carrier but who doesn’t give a
thought to the suffering and hard work involved.
|
De pickny comin’ up de kill,
Fighting wid heavy gou’d
Won’t say it sweet him, but he will
Complain about de load;
Him feel de weight,
Dem watch him gait;
It’s so some of de great
High people fabour t’ink it sweet
Fe batter in de boiling heat |
But
McKay goes on to celebrate the joy of the water
carrier. McKay then goes on to criticizing those
responsible for the people’s suffering or those who
ignore it. Then, without inconsistency, he goes on to
sing of the cheerfulness and glory of their victims.
This conflict between suffering and cheerfulness is
always resolved in the unstated authority of the poet to
sing of both, having shared in both. This right to
complain and rejoice is denied the "buccra" and the
tourist who have not shared in their suffering and have
no deep knowledge of their life. Whereas in earlier
poems this right is merely implied arising out of the
conflict which heightened the interest, it becomes
explicit later:
|
Only a thorn – crowned Negro and no white
Can penetrate into the Negro’s ken’
Or feel the thickness of the shroud of night
Which hides and buries hin from other men,
The Negro’s Tragedy |
McKay
always evinces a sensitive identification with his
people, both in their sufferings as well as in their
joys. Proud of his race, the wrongs they suffer hurts
him. But in his early work there is no strident racial
protest except for two poems "Jim at Sixteen" and
"Strokes of Tamarind Switch." "Jim at Sixteen" shows
the raw wound McKay’s tight handcuffs make on the wrist
of the arrested lad. But with patience, he kept saying
that he knew he could not help it, confessing how sad
and ashamed he felt even though it was accidental.
"Strokes of Tamarind" is written in reaction to a
judicial flogging he had witnessed; "I could not bear
to see him – my own flesh – stretched out over the
bench, so I went away to the Post Office near by." The
boy who had cried during the flogging broke down later
while talking to McKay who was so moved that he gave him
tickets for his train journey. Such gentleness of
spirit for a policeman is softness, unmanliness, and
sentimentality. But this brings about the finer verse
based on an instinctive feeling of sympathy for a
suffering people, and no less for an individual.
In
Constab Ballads, McKay faces his personal dilemma
more squarely without the question of self-pity arising,
since he recognizes that his dilemma does not exist in
isolation. For his displeasure with the Force may
derive from the suffering which as a policeman he has to
inflict on his own people and which will lead to his
forfeiture of their love:
|
Tis grievous to think dat, while toilin’ on
here,
My people won’t love me again,
My people, my people, me owna black skin –
De wretched t ought gives me such pain
The Heart of a Constab |
Or it
may arise from the insults to his dignity and what this
does to him as a human being:
|
‘Tis hatred without an’ tis hatred within,
An’ I am so weary an’ sad;
For all t’rough de tempesto’ terrible strife
Dere’s net’ in’ to make poor me glad. |
But it is largely due to
chagrin occasioned by a variety of disillusioning
experiences. For these ballads represent a wide variety
of moods, and as the poet catalogues the different kinds
of suffering which the policeman encounters, it is as
though he is recording his disappointed hopes for
mankind. His human pity is what directs him from his
personal dilemma to a more universal one. When in 1912
McKay left Jamaica for the U.S.A., it was inevitable
that this should lead to an eruption of Negro verse from
his pen. For here was a man with a proud sense of his
race, who had seen his people suffering in Jamaica and
had
|
. . . 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.
To Winter |
And he
goes to America to meet unimaginable Negro suffering.
But rather than return to the less demanding life of
Jamaica, he felt a compulsion to remain and join the
struggle, for he was –
|
. . . bound with you in your mean graves
O black men, simple slaves of ruthless
slaves.
In Bondage |
And no
wonder. For McKay’s early years in New York was a time
of growing racial bitterness, with the stiffening of the
South; Negro disillusionment with Booker T. Washington
and a consequent adjustment of the Negro attitude; the
increase in white hysteria and violence, which was to
become even harsher after the war which had been
fought by them as well as in defence of democracy and
the rise of Garveyism and the hostility between Garvey
and the N.A.A.C.P. and others – all of which factors and
others combined to bring about the Negro Renaissance.
McKay
however maintained for a long time a sober reaction to
his new and disturbing environment. Determined to
maintain the dignity of his poet’s calling, he refused
to allow the quality of his reaction as a poet to be
warped. He equally refused to allow his ambitions and
status as a human being to be destroyed. This brought
about the apparent ambivalence in his love-hate
relationship with America.
Having
had no illusions about America and the experience of its
Negroes, he could at the same time pay her the tribute
she deserved:
|
Although she feeds me bread of bitterness
And sinks my throat her tiger’s tooth,
Stealing my bread of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my
youth.
America |
In
paying her this tribute there is a triumph, however
which lies in the successful resistance to the threat of
spiritual corrosion America’s ‘hate’ threatens to start
within him.
|
Yet, as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of fear. |
Or as
in "Through Agony," he refuses to meet hate with hate:
|
I do not fear to face the fact and say
How darkly dull my living hours have grown;
My wounded heart sinks heavier than stone
Because I loved you longer than a day
I do not shame to turn myself away
From beckoning flowers, beautifully blown,
To mown your vivid memory alone
In mountain fastnesses austerely gray. |
Beyond
its more personal and private application, this poem
also refers on a symbolic level to McKay’s continued
admiration for America despite the pain which she
caused.
In "The
Lynching" he approached the agonizing subject in a
dispassionate and disciplined mood allowing him to see
more than one painful aspect. The subdued tone of the
poem allows the terror to mount with the poem ending on
a note of sheer horror. This horror arises not only out
of the deed, which is horrible enough, not only out of
the hard inhumanity of the doers; but on top of all
this, the dark prospects for the next generation.
|
And little lads, lynchers that were to be,
Danced round the dreadful thing in fiendish
glee. |
McKay
thus sees not only the violence done to his own people,
but that which the whites inflict on themselves as
well. McKay is touched by misery in "The Castaway"
where, standing in a beautiful park, he is attracted not
by the visible delight of nature but by "the castaways
of earth," the lonely and derelict, and turns away in
misery. And it is mot clear and does not matter if they
are black or white. In "Rest in Peace" his tender heart
responds to the suffering of his people as he bids
farewell to a departed friend.
|
No more, if still you wonder, will you meet
With nights of unabating bitterness,
They cannot reach you in your safe retreat
The city’s hat, the city’s prejudice. |
McKay
meets America’s challenge as man and poet. He meets the
challenge which America’s hate sets for his humanity,
and in his resistance he flings back his challenge to
the forces of hate in AMERICA. As poet and man he
enforces self-discipline which gives to his pain a
dignity through which his verse sometimes transcends
racial protest and becomes human protest.
But
however much McKay might,
|
. . . possess the courage and the grace
To bear my anger proudly and unbent |
However
much he must
|
. . . search for wisdom every hour,
Deep in my wrathful bosom sore and raw,
And find in it the super-human power,
To hold me to the letter of your law.
The White House |
The
tide of violence and injustice to the Negro was
too insistent for him to resist hatred creeping
in occasionally into his poetry. In "O Word I Love To
Sing" he declares an undisguised "hatred for the foe of
me and mine," and regrets that the poem is an inadequate
vehicle for his hatred into which racial bigotry and its
violent inroads on human freedom could compel the
gentlest of men.
But
McKay’s poetry certainly reflects another aspect of
Negro reaction. This reaction is a new consciousness of
the African connection following Marcus Garvey’s "Back
to Africa" appeal. Intellectual Negro poetry was thus
moving nearer to Africa spiritually. Garvey’s call for
a black man’s religion was paralleled in sophisticated
verse. So was his insistence on the past glories of the
Negro race. So was the new pride he encouraged in Negro
beauty and indeed in everything black. Garvey himself
put some of his ideas into rather indifferent verse,
romanticizing Africa and Africans, In better verse
McKay does the same. In "Harlem Shadows" black
prostitutes fetch from the poet this cry:
|
Ah, stern harsh world, that in the wretched
way
Of poverty, dishonour and disgrace,
Has pushed the timid little feet of clay,
The sacred brown feet of my fallen race. |
The
Harlem dancer in "Harlem Dancer"
|
…seemed a proudly swaying palm
Grown lovelier for passing through a storm. |
In
"Outcast" he confesses his spiritual oneness with
Africa:
|
For the dim regions whence my fathers came
My spirit, bondaged by the body, longs
Words felt, but never heard, my lips would
frame;
My souls would sing forgotten jungle songs. |
In
"Africa" he strikes a balance between romanticizing
Africa and realism. In fine verse, he pays a tribute to
Africa’s past glories, but he ends
|
. . . Yet all things were in vain!
Honour and Glory, Arrogance and Fame!
They went. The darkness swallowed thee
again
Thou art the harlot, now thy time is done,
Of all the mighty nations of the Sun. |
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posted 20 June 2007 *
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updated 15 October 2007 |