Claude McKay's Early Poetry (1911-1922): A Digital CollectionMain MenuIntroduction: About this SiteAmardeep Singh, Lehigh UniversityConstab Ballads (1912) -- Digital EditionClaude McKay's "Constab Ballads"Songs of Jamaica (1912): Digital EditionBook of poetry by Claude McKay. Preface by Walter Jekyll.Early Uncollected Poetry (1911-1922)Uncollected Poems by Claude McKay published in Jamaican, British, and American magazinesWorkers Dreadnought PoetrySpring in New Hampshire (1920): Digital EditionHarlem Shadows (1922): Digital EditionHarlem Shadows Digital EditionSelected Poems of Claude McKay (1953)Approximating the Table of Contents of "Selected Poems of Claude McKay"Criticism and Contextual EssaysWorks CitedWorks Cited for "Claude McKay's Early Poetry (1912-1922)"TEI/XML Editions (in progress/coming soon)Links to TEI versions of these textsAmardeep Singhc185e79df2fca428277052b90841c4aba30044e1
The Work of a Gifted Jamaican (Lower half)
12017-07-07T15:36:05-04:00Amardeep Singhc185e79df2fca428277052b90841c4aba30044e1691Article about Claude McKay in Daily Gleaner October 7, 1912plain2017-07-07T15:36:05-04:00Amardeep Singhc185e79df2fca428277052b90841c4aba30044e1
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12017-07-10T10:42:18-04:00De Dog-Drivers' Frien'1Poem by Claude McKay Published in Daily Gleaner October 7 1911plain2017-07-10T10:42:18-04:00 Stay your hasty hands, my comrades, I must speak to you again, For you beat de dog 'dout mussey, An' dey are we night time frien'. Treat dem kindly, treat dem kindly, For they are God's creatures, too: You have no more claim dear comrades, On de earth than what dey do.
'Cos you locked him up in barracks T'rough some fallin' point o' his, You must' beatin' him so badly For de little carelessness? Treat dem kindly, treat dem kindly, For they are God's creatures, too. You have no more claim, dear comrades, On de earth than what dey do.
When de hours are cold an' dreary, An' I'm posted on me beat, An' me tired heavy body Weighs upon me weary feet, Oftentimes dem come aroun' me Wid' dem free an' trustin' soul, Lyin' do'n or gambolling near me Wide a tender sort o' gro'l.:
An' I snap my fingers at them, While dey wag dem tail at me; Can you wonder that I love them, Them, me night-time company? Treat dem kindly, treat dem kindly, For they are God's creatures, too; You have no more claim, dear comrades, On de earth than what dey do.
Sometimes dey're a bit too noisy Wid deir long leave-taking bark; But I tell you what, it cheers me When de nights are extra dark.
So dear comrades, don't illtreat him, You won't mek me talk in vain; 'Member, when the hours are dreary, He's do poor dog-drivers' frien'. Treat dem kindly, treat dem kindly, For dey are God's creatures, too; You have no more claim, dear comrades, On de earth than what dey do.
12017-07-10T10:14:38-04:00Agnes o' de Village Lane1Poem by Claude McKay Published in Daily Gleaner October 7 1911plain2017-07-10T10:14:38-04:00 Fancy o' me childish will, Playin' now before me eyes, Sadly I remember still How much your love I prize', As I think o' you again, Agnes o' de village lane.
In de school-room worn an' old Fus' I saw your pretty smile, Heard your footsteps firm an' bold, Loved your face so free o' guile, An' your soul so clear of stain, Agnes, Agnes o' de lane.
Oh, I suffered much for you, For dey t'umped an' beat poor me Tell me skin tu'n black an' blue, Tryin' ef day could part we; But we closer grew we twain, Heartful Agnes o' de lane.
Little love t'oughts o' me breast I wrote by tin lamp's light: P'raps dey were not of de best (Bunny showed me what to write), Yet you never would complain, Easy Agnes o' de lane.
But dere came de partin' day, An' they took me from you, dear, An' de passion died away, But de memory was there: Long you've lingered in me brain, Plump-cheeked Agnes o' de lane.
A'ter many a weary year, Sad, sad news o' you I heard, News dat brought a scaldin' tear At de sound o' every word; An my mind, filled wid disdain, Grieved for Agnes o' de lane.
Agnes o' de lane no more, for you went away, my pet, Agnes once so sweet an' pure, To a miserable deat'; Oh, de 'membrance brings me pain, Fallen Agnes o' de lane!