WARING CUNEY
Reading edition
Waring Cuney was born in Washington, D. C., May 6, 1906. He received his education in the public schools of that city and at Howard University. Later he attended Lincoln University, and while there sang in the Glee Club and the quartet. His work with these groups encouraged him to study music and he is now studying voice at the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston. His first published poem was “No Images” which won first award in the Opportunity contest of 1926. Since then he has continued to write and his poems have appeared in Opportunity, Braithwaite’s Anthology, The Forum, and Palms.
THE DEATH BED
All the time they were praying He watched the shadow of a tree Flicker on the wall. There is no need of prayer, He said, No need at all. The kin-folk thought it strange That he should ask them from a dying bed. But they left all in a row And it seemed to ease him To see them go. There were some who kept on praying In a room across the hall And some who listened to the breeze That made the shadows waver On the wall. He tried his nerve On a song he knew And made an empty note That might have come, From a bird’s harsh throat. And all the time it worried him That they were in there praying And all the time he wondered What it was they could be saying.
A TRIVIALITY
Not to dance with her Was such a trivial thing There were girls more fair than she,— To-day Ten girls dressed in white. Each had a white rose wreath. They made a dead man’s arch And ten strong men Carried a body through. Not to dance with her Was a trivial thing.
I THINK I SEE HIM THERE
I think I see Him there With a stern dream on his face I see Him there— Wishing they would hurry The last nail in place. And I wonder, had I been there, Would I have doubted too Or would the dream have told me, What this man speaks is true.
DUST
Dust, Through which Proud blood Once flowed. Dust, Where a civilization Flourished. Dust, The Valley of the Nile, Dust, You proud ones, proud of the skill With which you play this game—Civilization; Do not forget that it is a very old game. Men used to play it on the banks Of the Tigris and the Euphrates When the world was a wilderness. There is a circle around China Where once a wall stood. Carthage is a heap of ashes. And Rome knew the pomp and glory You know now. The Coliseum tells a story The Woolworth Building may repeat. Dust, Pharaohs and their armies sleep there. Dust, Shall it stir again? Will Pharaohs rise and rule And their armies march once more? Civilization continually shifts Upon the places of the earth.
NO IMAGES
She does not know Her beauty, She thinks her brown body Has no glory. If she could dance Naked, Under palm trees And see her image in the river She would know. But there are no palm trees On the street, And dish water gives back no images.
THE RADICAL
Men never know What they are doing. They always make a muddle Of their affairs, They always tie their affairs Into a knot They cannot untie. Then I come in Uninvited. They do not ask me in; I am the radical, The bomb thrower, I untie the knot That they have made, And they never thank me.
TRUE LOVE
Her love is true I know, Much more true Than angel’s love; For angels love in heaven Where a thousand harps Are playing. She loves in a tenement Where the only music She hears Is the cry of street car brakes And the toot of automobile horns And the drip of a kitchen spigot All day. Her love is true I know.