Charlie Cobb
Insert abstract here....
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
|
|
|
|