FRANK HORNE
Reading edition
“Born in New York City, August 18, 1899, I have lived all but about six years in Brooklyn. I studied at the College of the City of New York, and was guilty there of my first sonnet; but am ever so much more proud of my varsity letters won on the track—once ran a “10 flat” hundred and a 51 sec. quarter. Went to the Northern Illinois College of Ophthalmology—took degree “Doctor of Optometry.” Have practiced in Chicago and New York. At present writing, am doing some teaching and publicity work at the Fort Valley High and Industrial School, Georgia, while recovering from a mean illness. Have had a hankering to write as long as I can remember, but Charles Johnson, Editor of Opportunity and a certain Gwendolyn Bennett are responsible for my trying it openly. My “published works” are limited to the indulgence of Opportunity, The Crisis, and Braithwaite’s Anthology. It is the perversity of my nature to crave the ability to write good prose, and yet my attempts at poetry are the only things to which any notice is given.”
ON SEEING TWO BROWN BOYS IN A CATHOLIC CHURCH
It is fitting that you be here Little brown boys With Christ-like eyes And curling hair. Look you on yon crucifix Where He hangs nailed and pierced With head hung low And eyes a’blind with blood that drips From a thorny crown ... Look you well, You shall know this thing. Judas’ kiss will burn your cheek And you shall be denied By your Peter—And Gethsemane ... You shall know full well Gethsemane ... You, too, will suffer under Pontius Pilate And feel the rugged cut of rough hewn cross Upon your surging shoulder— They will spit in your face And laugh ... They will nail you up twixt thieves And gamble for your little garments. And in this you will exceed God For on this earth You shall know Hell— O little brown boys With Christ-like eyes And curling hair It is fitting that you be here.
TO A PERSISTENT PHANTOM
I buried you deeper last night You with your tears And your tangled hair You with your lips That kissed so fair I buried you deeper last night. I buried you deeper last night With fuller breasts And stronger arms With softer lips And newer charms I buried you deeper last night. Deeper ...... aye, deeper And again tonight Till that gay spirit That once was you Will tear its soul In climbing through ... Deeper ...... aye, deeper I buried you deeper last night.
LETTERS FOUND NEAR A SUICIDE
To all of you
My little stone Sinks quickly Into the bosom of this deep, dark pool Of oblivion ... I have troubled its breast but little Yet those far shores That knew me not Will feel the fleeting, furtive kiss Of my tiny concentric ripples....
To Lewellyn
You have borne full well The burden of my friendship— I have drunk deep At your crystal pool, And in return I have polluted its waters With the bile of my hatred. I have flooded your soul With tortuous thoughts, I have played Iscariot To your Pythias....
To Mother
I came In the blinding sweep Of ecstatic pain, I go In the throbbing pulse Of aching space— In the eons between I piled upon you Pain on pain Ache on ache And yet as I go I shall know That you will grieve And want me back....
To B——
You have freed me— In opening wide the doors Of flesh You have freed me Of the binding leash. I have climbed the heights Of white disaster My body screaming In the silver crash of passion ... Before you gave yourself To him I had chained myself For you. But when at last You lowered your proud flag In surrender complete You gave me too, as hostage— And I have wept my joy At the dawn-tipped shrine Of many breasts.
To Jean
When you poured your love Like molten flame Into the throbbing mold Of her pulsing veins Leaving her blood a river of fire And her arteries channels of light, I hated you ... Hated with that primal hate That has its wells In the flesh of me And the flesh of you And the flesh of her I hated you— Hated with envy Your mastery of her being ... With one fleshy gesture You pricked the iridescent bubble Of my dreams And so to make Your conquest more sweet I tell you now That I hated you.
To Catalina
Love thy piano, Oh girl, It will give you back Note for note The harmonies of your soul. It will sing back to you The high songs of your heart. It will give As well as take....
To Mariette
I sought consolation In the sorrow of your eyes. You sought reguerdon In the crying of my heart ... We found that shattered dreamers Can be bitter hosts....
To ——
You call it Death of the Spirit And I call it Life ... The vigor of vibration, The muffled knocks, The silver sheen of passion’s flood, The ecstasy of pain ... You call it Death of the Spirit And I call it Life.
To Telie
You have made my voice A rippling laugh But my heart A crying thing ... ’Tis better thus: A fleeting kiss And then, The dark....
To “Chick”
Oh Achilles of the moleskins And the gridiron Do not wonder Nor doubt that this is I That lies so calmly here— This is the same exultant beast That so joyously Ran the ball with you In those far flung days of abandon. You remember how recklessly We revelled in the heat and the dust And the swirl of conflict? You remember they called us The Terrible Two? And you remember After we had battered our heads And our bodies Against the stonewall of their defense,— You remember the signal I would call And how you would look at me In faith and admiration And say “Let’s go,” ... How the lines would clash And strain, And how I would slip through Fighting and squirming Over the line To victory. You remember, Chick? ... When you gaze at me here Let that same light Of faith and admiration Shine in your eyes For I have battered the stark stonewall Before me ... I have kept faith with you And now I have called my signal, Found my opening And slipped through Fighting and squirming Over the line To victory....
To Wanda
To you, so far away So cold and aloof, To you, who knew me so well, This is my last Grand Gesture This is my last Great Effect And as I go winging Through the black doors of eternity Is that thin sound I hear Your applause?...
NIGGER
A Chant for Children
Little Black boy Chased down the street— “Nigger, nigger never die Black face an’ shiney eye, Nigger ... nigger ... nigger....” Hannibal ... Hannibal Bangin’ thru the Alps Licked the proud Romans, Ran home with their scalps— “Nigger ... nigger ... nigger....” Othello ... black man Mighty in war Listened to Iago Called his wife a whore— “Nigger ... nigger ... nigger....” Crispus ... Attucks Bullets in his chest Red blood of freedom Runnin’ down his vest “Nigger ... nigger ... nigger....” Toussant ... Toussant Made the French flee Fought like a demon Set his people free— “Nigger ... nigger ... nigger....” Jesus ... Jesus Son of the Lord —Spit in his face —Nail him on a board “Nigger ... nigger ... nigger ...” Little Black boy Runs down the street— “Nigger, nigger never die Black face an’ shiney eye, Nigger ... nigger ... nigger ...”