STERLING A. BROWN

Lemme be wid Casey Jones, Lemme be wid Stagolee, Lemme be wid such like men When Death takes hol’ on me, When Death takes hol’ on me.... Done skinned as a boy in Kentucky hills, Druv steel dere as a man, Done stripped tobacco in Virginia fiels’ Alongst de River Dan, Alongst de River Dan; Done mined de coal in West Virginia Liked dat job jes’ fine Till a load o’ slate curved roun’ my head Won’t work in no mo’ mine, Won’t work in no mo’ mine; Done shocked de corn in Marylan, In Georgia done cut cane, Done planted rice in South Caline, But won’t do dat again Do dat no mo’ again. Been roustabout in Memphis, Dockhand in Baltimore, Done smashed up freight on Norfolk wharves A fust class stevedore, A fust class stevedore.... Done slung hash yonder in de North On de ole Fall River Line Done busted suds in li’l New Yawk Which ain’t no work o’ mine— Lawd, ain’t no work o’ mine; Done worked and loafed on such like jobs Seen what dey is to see Done had my time with a pint on my hip An’ a sweet gal on my knee Sweet mommer on my knee: Had stovepipe blonde in Macon Yaller gal in Marylan In Richmond had a choklit brown Called me huh monkey man— Huh big fool monkey man. Had two fair browns in Arkansaw And three in Tennessee Had Creole gal in New Orleans Sho Gawd did two time me— Lawd two time, fo’ time me— But best gal what I evah had Done put it over dem A gal in Southwest Washington At Four’n half and M— Four’n half and M.... Done took my livin’ as it came Done grabbed my joy, done risked my life Train done caught me on de trestle Man done caught me wid his wife His doggone purty wife ... I done had my women, I done had my fun Cain’t do much complainin’ When my jag is done, Lawd, Lawd, my jag is done. An’ all dat Big Boy axes When time comes fo’ to go Lemme be wid John Henry, steel drivin’ man Lemme be wid ole Jazzbo; Lemme be wid ole Jazzbo....

Might as well bury her And bury her deep, Might as well put her Where she can sleep. Might as well lay her Out in her shiny black; And for the love of God Not wish her back. Maum Sal may miss her Maum Sal, she only With no one now to scoff Sal may be lonely.... Nobody else there is Who will be caring How rocky was the road For her wayfaring; Nobody be heeding in Cabin, or town That she is lying here In her best gown. Boy that she suckled How should he know Hiding in city holes Sniffing the ‘snow’? And how should the news Pierce Harlem’s din To reach her baby gal, Sodden with gin? To cut her withered heart They cannot come again, Preach her the lies about Jordan and then Might as well drop her Deep in the ground Might as well pray for her That she sleep sound....

I laks yo’ kin’ of lovin’ Ain’t never caught you wrong But it jes ain’ nachal Fo’ to stay here long; It jes ain’ nachal Fo’ a railroad man With a itch fo’ travellin’ He cain’t understan’.... I looks at de rails An’ I looks at de ties, An I hears an ole freight Puffin’ up de rise, An’ at nights on my pallet When all is still I listens fo’ de empties Bumpin’ up de hill; When I oughta be quiet I is got a itch Fo’ to hear de whistle blow Fo’ de crossin’, or de switch, An’ I knows de time’s a nearin’ When I got to ride Though its homelike and happy At yo’ side. You is done all you could do To make me stay Tain’t no fault of yours I’se leavin’— I’se jes dataway. I is got to see some people I ain’ never seen Gotta highball thu some country Whah I never been.... I don’t know which way I’m travellin’— Far or near, All I knows fo’ certain is I cain’t stay here. Ain’t no call at all, sweet woman Fo’ to carry on,— Jes my name and jes my habit To be Long Gone....

Lady, my lady, come from out the garden, Clayfingered, dirtysmocked, and in my time I too shall learn the quietness of Arden, Knowledge so long a stranger to my rhyme. What were more fitting than your springtime task? Here, close engirdled by your vines and flowers Surely there is no other grace to ask, No better cloister from the bickering hours. A step beyond, the dingy streets begin With all their farce, and silly tragedy—But here, unmindful of the futile din You grow your flowers, far wiser certainly, You and your garden sum the same to me, A sense of strange and momentary pleasure, And beauty snatched—oh, fragmentarily Perhaps, yet who can boast of other seizure? Oh, you have somehow robbed, I know not how The secret of the loveliness of these Whom you have served so long. Oh, shameless, now You flaunt the winnings of your thieveries. Thus, I exclaim against you, profiteer.... For purpled evenings spent in pleasing toil, Should you have gained so easily the dear Capricious largesse of the miser soil? Colorful living in a world grown dull, Quiet sufficiency in weakling days, Delicate happiness, more beautiful For lighting up belittered, grimy ways— Surely I think I shall remember this, You in your old, rough dress, bedaubed with clay, Your smudgy face parading happiness, Life’s puzzle solved. Perhaps, in turn, you may. One time, while clipping bushes, tending vines, (Making your brave, sly mock at dastard days,) Laugh gently at these trivial, truthful lines— And that will be sufficient for my praise.

The bitterness of days like these we know; Much, much we know, yet cannot understand What was our crime that such a searing brand Not of our choosing, keeps us hated so. Despair and disappointment only grow, Whatever seeds are planted from our hand, What though some roads wind through a gladsome land? It is a gloomy path that we must go. And yet we know relief will come some day For these seared breasts; and lads as brave again Will plant and find a fairer crop than ours. It must be due our hearts, our minds, our powers; These are the beacons to blaze out the way. We must plunge onward; onward, gentlemen....

I said, in drunken pride of youth and you That mischief-making Time would never dare Play his ill-humoured tricks upon us two, Strange and defiant lovers that we were. I said that even Death, Highwayman Death, Could never master lovers such as we, That even when his clutch had throttled breath, My hymns would float in praise, undauntedly. I did not think such words were bravado. Oh, I think honestly we knew no fear, Of Time or Death. We loved each other so. And thus, with you believing me, I made My prophecies, rebellious, unafraid.... And that was foolish, wasn’t it, my dear?

I have gone back in boyish wonderment To things that I had foolishly put by.... Have found an alien and unknown content In seeing how some bits of cloud-filled sky Are framed in bracken pools; through chuckling hours Have watched the antic frogs, or curiously Have numbered all the unnamed, vagrant flowers, That fleck the unkempt meadows, lavishly. Or where a headlong toppling stream has stayed Its racing, lulled to quiet by the song Bursting from out the thickleaved oaken shade, There I have lain while hours sauntered past— I have found peacefulness somewhere at last, Have found a quiet needed for so long.