Plantation echoes : $b a collection of original Negro dialect poemsHenderson, Elliott Blaine
General
Plantation echoes : $b a collection of original Negro dialect poems
Henderson, Elliott Blaine
American poetry -- African American authors; Dialect poetry, American
Ah tell yo’ whut’s de mattah,
Sah, de feebah’s mountain high.
When ah ’fleck ub ah kun’dishyun
Makes dis niggah sot an’ cry.
To hyeah de fo’ks er tawkin’
How de niggah’s got to fare,
Dey mob, dey burn an’ lynch him,
An’ dey skin him lak er hare.
It’s true dey’s lots er niggahs
Dat am wurfluss to de co’,
De debbul wooden’ hab ’em
Even inside ub his do’.
But de Lawd in heaven knows
Dat all de niggahs hain’t dat way,
Dey’s lots dat’s good an’ hones’
An’ dey nebbah goes estray.
De niggah hain’t to blame—
To cum hyeah he diden’ kyeah.
De white fo’ks, why dey made him,
Why dey fotch’d him obeah hyeah.
An’ now to knock his head off
Kaze he’s tryin’ to git erlong,
Accawdin’ to my Bible,
Why de whole thing ub it’s wrong.
De niggah loves dis kentry—
Ebbry time he’ll put up fight.
Fo’ it wheddah it am
In de wrong ah in de right.
But er niggah, kain’t stop!
Mus’ keep hoein’ at de crop!
Out de weeds mus’ keep er pullin’
Till he’s ready, mos’ to drop!
White man take it easy,
Am er livin’ lak er king!
Free ez am de buzzahd,
Doesn’t hab to do er thing!
Niggah’d lak to togg up
In his Sunday meetin’ dress,
An’ jes’ lak de white man,
Sot, an’ lay back, take his res’.
But er niggah, kain’t stop!
Mus’ keep hoein’ at de crop!
Out de weeds mus’ keep er pullin’
Till he’s ready, mos’ to drop!
Sumtimes git to ’fleckin’
Scratch dis head whah it doan’ itch!
Axin’ why de Lawd, sah,
Diden’ make dis niggah rich!
But dey hain’t no use to kick,
But jes’ keep er josslin’ ’long.
Now an’ den I keeps er whis’lin’
An’ er hummin’ at mah song.
Kaze I kno’ I kain’t stop!
Mus’ keep hoein’ out de crop!
Out de weeds mus’ keep er pullin’
Till Ise’s ready, mos’ to drop!
Now an’ den I sortah
Git er ticklin’ in mah heel!
Fo’ to go to dancin’
At de ol’ Verginny reel!
Soople ez a skeedah!
Dance de jig fum night till morn,
Nebbah stop er minute, bruddah,
Fo’ an’ ache er fo’ er co’n!
But er niggah, kain’t stop!
Mus’ keep hoein’ at de crop!
Out de weeds mus’ keep er pullin’
Till he’s ready, mos’ to drop!
DAHKY, WHUT YO’ DUN?
Oh, but how er dollah
Is er moighty fren’,
In de dead o’ wintah,
Ef yo’ idle den.
Winds dey may be howlin’,
Whizzin’ th’ew de trees!
Needen’ worry, dahky,
Yo’ hain’ gwine to freez!
Summah is er flyin’,
Breezes gittin’ cool!
Beddah be er layin’
In yo’ wintah fuel!
Leaves begin to fallin’,
Harvestin’ is dun,
Birds am now er troopin’
Soufward wid de sun.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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