Collected poems by Vachel Lindsay revised and illustrated edition |
1. |
2. |
1. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. | I. Their Basic Savagery
|
2. |
3. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
7. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
1. |
2. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
3. |
8. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
9. |
1. |
2. |
10. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
11. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
Collected poems by Vachel Lindsay | ||
I. Their Basic Savagery
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,
179
Boom, boom, Boom,
With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom,
Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, Boom.
Then I had religion, Then I had a vision.
I could not turn from their revel in derision.
Then I SAW THE Congo, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK,
Cutting THROUGH THE FOREST WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.
Then along that riverbank
A thousand miles
Tattooed cannibals danced in files;
Then I heard the boom of the blood-lust song
And a thigh-bone beating on a tin-pan gong.
And “Blood” screamed the whistles and the fifes of the warriors,
“Blood” screamed the skull-faced, lean witch-doctors,
“Whirl ye the deadly voo-doo rattle,
Harry the uplands,
Steal all the cattle,
Rattle-rattle, rattle-rattle,
Bing.
Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, Boom,”
A roaring, epic, rag-time tune
From the mouth of the Congo
To the Mountains of the Moon.
Death is an Elephant,
Torch-eyed and horrible,
Foam-flanked and terrible.
Boom, steal the pygmies,
Boom, kill the Arabs,
180
Hoo, Hoo, Hoo.
Listen to the yell of Leopold's ghost
Burning in Hell for his hand-maimed host.
Hear how the demons chuckle and yell
Cutting his hands off, down in Hell.
Listen to the creepy proclamation,
Blown through the lairs of the forest-nation,
Blown past the white-ants' hill of clay,
Blown past the marsh where the butterflies play:—
“Be careful what you do,
Or Mumbo-Jumbo, God of the Congo,
And all of the other
Gods of the Congo,
Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you,
Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you,
Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you.”
Collected poems by Vachel Lindsay | ||