The Congo and Other Poems

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Macmillan, 1915 - American poetry - 159 pages
 

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User Review  - Bjace - LibraryThing

What a difference a century makes. The title poem, The Congo, was probably considered daring and innovative in 1913. As the poem deals with the effect of a primitive inheritance on the African ... Read full review

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User Review  - antiquary - LibraryThing

I frankly find the title poem pretty awful --both racist and silly. However, I dearly love General Booth Enters Heaven and Bryan. The Booth poem reminds me of Booth's saying he would play the ... Read full review

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Page 146 - The prairie-lawyer, master of us all. He cannot sleep upon his hillside now. He is among us : — as in times before ! And we who toss and lie awake for long Breathe deep, and start, to see him pass the door. His head is bowed. He thinks on men and kings. Yea, when the sick world cries, how can he sleep? Too many peasants fight, they know not why, Too many homesteads in black terror weep. The sins of all the war-lords burn his heart.
Page 8 - Or Mumbo-Jumbo, God of the Congo, And all of the other Gods of the Congo, Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you. Beware, beware, walk with care, Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, boom.
Page 9 - Preached at a sister for her velvet gown. Howled at a brother for his low-down ways, His prowling, guzzling, sneak-thief days. Beat on the Bible till he wore it out, Starting the jubilee revival shout. And some had visions, as they stood on chairs, And sang of Jacob, and the golden stairs. And they all repented, a thousand strong, From their stupor and savagery and sin and wrong And slammed their hymn books till they shook the room With "Glory, glory, glory,
Page 3 - Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room, Barrel-house kings, with feet unstable, Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table, Pounded on the table, Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom, Hard as they were able, Boom, boom, BOOM, With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom, Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.
Page 140 - Bring me soft song," said Aladdin. "This tailor-shop sings not at all. Chant me a word of the twilight, Of roses that mourn in the fall. Bring me a song like hashish That will comfort the stale and the sad, For I would be mending my spirit, Forgetting these days that are bad, Forgetting companions too shallow, Their quarrels and arguments thin, Forgetting the shouting Muezzin:"— "I AM YOUR SLAVE," said the Jinn. "Bring me old wines,
Page 15 - They tour from Peoria, Davenport, Kankakee. Cars from Concord, Niagara, Boston, Cars from Topeka, Emporia, and Austin. Cars from Chicago, Hannibal, Cairo. Cars from Alton, Oswego, Toledo. Cars from Buffalo, Kokomo, Delphi, Cars from Lodi, Carmi, Loami. Ho for Kansas, land that restores us When houses choke us, and great books bore us...
Page 141 - ... them in vessels of jade and of shell, Serve them with fruit and with song:— Wines of pre-Adamite Sultans Digged from beneath the black seas:— New-gathered dew from the heavens Dripped down from Heaven's sweet trees, Cups from the angels...
Page 10 - THROUGH THE BLACK, CUTTING THROUGH THE JUNGLE WITH A GOLDEN TRACK. And the gray sky opened like a new-rent veil And showed the Apostles with their coats of mail. In bright white steele they were seated round And their fire-eyes watched where the Congo wound.
Page 7 - Of the witch-men lean, and laughed them down. (Oh, rare was the revel, and well worth while That made those glowering witch-men smile.) The cake-walk royalty then began To walk for a cake that was tall as a man To the tune of 'Boomlay, boomlay, BOOM...
Page 11 - And silken pennants that the sun shone through. 'Twas a land transfigured, 'twas a new creation. Oh, a singing wind swept the Negro nation And on through the backwoods clearing flew:— "Mumbo-Jumbo is dead in the jungle. Never again will he hoo-doo you.

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