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Charlie Cobb

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FULL TEXT


Nation
by Charlie Cobb


I

In the furrows of the world
the paths of planting
the hoe-trails of our people

Among the cotton white
between the stalks of sticky cane
deep in sweltering diamond holes
in the wash of salty sweat

Inside:

tobacco roads,
the shanty towns,
packed, in ghetto stacks

In jungle bush
and Whitey's kitchens

backs unbend
and bodies stretch

Muscles that made the world begin to flex.

We
would be
what we can do

Engaged in struggle
today and
yesterday

a
people!
black, yellow, brown
around the world
around the golden sun
We!

can only be
do
from what we are.

II

Our hands have clenched hammer, hoes, and hope

Our backs have broken ground

around
the world

Our cries have crashed through terror
torn nights

Our bodies burnt
the earth a bitter black

To rise

in
anger.

And I suppose
it
will come
someday,

this thing
this black I am
that has to battle now

to
be

We will not have to say

someday,

nor fight
for what we are.

We! will be

simply
be,

We.
My children

or
my
children's
children

will know

We
(are of roots
long, strong,
roots) which
grew into the world!

We!

the tree

seeds
we
spread

take root

grow

and my children shall know.

(meanwhile I) Search
words for:

Nation
Strength
People
(now)





For Sammy Younge
by Charlie Cobb


Our roads are ridden
moonlight flights
alone,
along the nights
where we run hidden
from fingers gripping
finding triggers
finding
niggers
out
of
place,
to put us back
in bleeding black
to spill among the stars;
For we the fools
who want
a place
to piss in peace
can only find
the
alley

winter 1966





To Vietnam
by Charlie Cobb


Carpets cover many floors where I come from
but none kiss the sky.
I have never known before
fields that filled the hungry.

I have never stood free to son,
to sun

Wind has never sung song of Nation
in my black face.

Hanoi 1967





Containing Communism
by Charlie Cobb


i

Banana leaves are burning,
not just the ones on trees;

The ones that roof the homes,
in groves, where pretty girls
giggle at guys;

where the child is cradled.

All
ash.

ii

In this wider, wetter, delta lushland

of grass house villages,

where women
till the fields
with rifles on their backs;

where everyone is children
on buffalo

What I thought was pond
was where a house was bombed
was where the rain had fell
was where the tears....

7 children, 6 dead

is why the women
till the fields
with rifles on their backs
why children on the buffaloes
watch the
sky.

Thanh Hoa Province, D.R.V.
April 1967


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