Claude Mckay

Claude Mckay

1889–1948 · lived 58 years -- --

Claude McKay was a Jamaican-American writer and poet, who was a central figure of the Harlem Renaissance. His work often explored themes of racial identity, injustice, and the search for dignity. McKay's powerful verses, characterized by their lyrical quality and bold social commentary, challenged prevailing notions of race and belonging, leaving a significant mark on African American literature and diasporic thought.

n. 1889-09-15, Clarendon · m. 1948-05-22, Chicago

15,781 Views

A Memory of June

A Memory of June

When June comes dancing o'er the death of May,
With scarlet roses tinting her green breast,
And mating thrushes ushering in her day,
And Earth on tiptoe for her golden guest,


I always see the evening when we met--
The first of June baptized in tender rain--
And walked home through the wide streets, gleaming wet,
Arms locked, our warm flesh pulsing with love's pain.


I always see the cheerful little room,
And in the corner, fresh and white, the bed,
Sweet scented with a delicate perfume,
Wherein for one night only we were wed;


Where in the starlit stillness we lay mute,
And heard the whispering showers all night long,
And your brown burning body was a lute
Whereon my passion played his fevered song.


When June comes dancing o'er the death of May,
With scarlet roses staining her fair feet,
My soul takes leave of me to sing all day
A love so fugitive and so complete.
Read full poem
Bio

Identification and basic context

Claude McKay (born Festus Claude McKay) was a prominent Jamaican-American writer and poet, widely recognized as a central figure of the Harlem Renaissance. He is celebrated for his lyrical prose and his outspoken explorations of racial identity, social injustice, and the complexities of the African diaspora. His work often blended modernist techniques with traditional poetic forms, creating a distinctive voice that resonated with themes of resistance and self-determination. He wrote primarily in English.

Childhood and education

McKay was born in Jamaica into a family of relatively prosperous farmers. His early education was shaped by the British colonial system in Jamaica, where he received a good grounding in English literature and classical studies. He was also influenced by Jamaican folk traditions and the narratives of African heritage. His intellectual development was further enriched by his voracious reading and his engagement with thinkers and writers who challenged colonial perspectives. Significant events in his youth included his growing awareness of racial inequality and his early poetic efforts.

Literary trajectory

McKay's literary journey began in Jamaica with poetry that often reflected his island heritage and his early observations of social stratification. He later moved to the United States, where his work gained wider recognition during the burgeoning Harlem Renaissance. His literary trajectory saw him evolve from writing poems that celebrated Jamaican culture and explored themes of identity to producing powerful social protest poetry that addressed the realities of racism and oppression in America. He actively participated in literary circles, contributing to influential journals and anthologies, and also worked as a journalist and editor.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

McKay's major works include the poetry collections "Harlem Shadows" (1922), "Gifts of Jamaica" (1923), and "Constanza" (1931), as well as the novels "Home to Harlem" (1928), "Banjo" (1929), and "A Long Way from Home" (1937). His dominant themes include racial pride, the struggle against oppression, the allure and complexities of urban life, and the search for belonging. McKay's style is characterized by its lyrical beauty, its rhythmic vitality, and its direct, often militant, social commentary. He masterfully employed traditional poetic forms, such as the sonnet, to convey revolutionary and passionate messages, demonstrating a keen understanding of meter and musicality. His poetic voice is often passionate, defiant, and deeply humanistic. The language in his work is rich with imagery, drawing from both his Jamaican roots and his experiences in America. He is noted for his innovations in bringing forth the voice of the Black working class and for his unflinching portrayal of racial realities.

Cultural and historical context

McKay's life and work were deeply intertwined with the cultural and historical milieu of the early 20th century. He lived through periods of significant racial tension in the United States and was a key participant in the Harlem Renaissance, a vibrant period of African American artistic and intellectual flowering. He engaged with other writers and intellectuals of his generation, including Langston Hughes and W.E.B. Du Bois, often with differing perspectives on the role of art in social change. His work reflected the political and social movements of the time, including the burgeoning civil rights consciousness and anti-colonial sentiments.

Personal life

McKay's personal life was marked by his experiences as an immigrant and an artist navigating a world often hostile to his race and his ideals. His relationships, both personal and professional, were diverse, reflecting his travels and his engagement with various intellectual and political circles. He experienced periods of poverty and struggle, which informed the realism and empathy in his writing. His personal beliefs evolved over time, moving through various political and philosophical stances, including a period of interest in communism and later a return to Catholicism. These personal journeys often found their way into his literary explorations of identity and belonging.

Recognition and reception

McKay achieved significant recognition during his lifetime, particularly for "Home to Harlem," which became a bestseller and sparked considerable debate. His poetry was lauded for its artistry and its powerful social message, establishing him as a vital voice of the Harlem Renaissance. While he enjoyed periods of critical acclaim, his work also faced criticism, sometimes for its perceived radicalism or its frank portrayal of Black life. His place in national and international literature is secured as a key figure in African American and Caribbean literature.

Influences and legacy

McKay was influenced by earlier poets and by the social and political currents of his era. His legacy is substantial; he is considered one of the most important poets of the Harlem Renaissance and a pioneering voice in Caribbean literature. His influence can be seen in subsequent generations of writers who have engaged with themes of race, identity, and resistance. His works continue to be studied for their literary merit, their historical significance, and their enduring relevance to discussions about race and culture.

Interpretation and critical analysis

McKay's work is often interpreted through the lens of racial identity, social protest, and the search for authentic selfhood. His poetry, in particular, is analyzed for its formal innovations and its powerful emotional resonance. Critical debates have sometimes focused on his political affiliations and the extent to which his art should serve as direct protest versus aesthetic exploration.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Beyond his literary achievements, McKay was a complex individual who lived a peripatetic life. He traveled extensively, living in various parts of the world, including Europe and North Africa. His experiences in different cultures enriched his perspective and informed his writing. Anecdotes about his life reveal a man of deep conviction, intellectual curiosity, and a profound sense of justice.

Death and memory

Claude McKay passed away and is remembered as a seminal figure in American and Caribbean literature. His posthumous reputation has continued to grow, with scholars and readers alike recognizing the enduring power and relevance of his literary contributions. His collected works are regularly studied and celebrated, ensuring his memory and influence persist.

Poems

41

The Plateau

The Plateau

It was the silver, heart-enveloping view
Of the mysterious sea-line far away,
Seen only on a gleaming gold-white day,
That made it dear and beautiful to you.


And Laura loved it for the little hill,
Where the quartz sparkled fire, barren and dun,
Whence in the shadow of the dying sun,
She contemplated Hallow's wooden mill.


While Danny liked the sheltering high grass,
In which he lay upon a clear dry night,
To hear and see, screened skilfully from sight,
The happy lovers of the valley pass.


But oh! I loved it for the big round moon
That swung out of the clouds and swooned aloft,
Burning with passion, gloriously soft,
Lighting the purple flowers of fragrant June.
370

The Lynching

The Lynching

His Spirit in smoke ascended to high heaven.
His father, by the cruelest way of pain,
Had bidden him to his bosom once again;
The awful sin remained still unforgiven.
All night a bright and solitary star
(Perchance the one that ever guided him,
Yet gave him up at last to Fate's wild whim)
Hung pitifully o'er the swinging char.
Day dawned, and soon the mixed crowds came to view
The ghastly body swaying in the sun
The women thronged to look, but never a one
Showed sorrow in her eyes of steely blue;
And little lads, lynchers that were to be,
Danced round the dreadful thing in fiendish glee.
362

The Easter Flower

The Easter Flower

Far from this foreign Easter damp and chilly
My soul steals to a pear-shaped plot of ground,
Where gleamed the lilac-tinted Easter lily
Soft-scented in the air for yards around;


Alone, without a hint of guardian leaf!
Just like a fragile bell of silver rime,
It burst the tomb for freedom sweet and brief
In the young pregnant year at Eastertime;


And many thought it was a sacred sign,
And some called it the resurrection flower;
And I, a pagan, worshiped at its shrine,
Yielding my heart unto its perfumed power.
392

The Castaways

The Castaways

The vivid grass with visible delight
Springing triumphant from the pregnant earth,
The butterflies, and sparrows in brief flight
Chirping and dancing for the season's birth,
The dandelions and rare daffodils
That touch the deep-stirred heart with hands of gold,
The thrushes sending forth their joyous trills,--
Not these, not these did I at first behold!
But seated on the benches daubed with green,
The castaways of life, a few asleep,
Some withered women desolate and mean,
And over all, life's shadows dark and deep.
Moaning I turned away, for misery
I have the strength to bear but not to see.
420

Spring in New Hampshire

Spring in New Hampshire

Too green the springing April grass,
Too blue the silver-speckled sky,
For me to linger here, alas,
While happy winds go laughing by,
Wasting the golden hours indoors,
Washing windows and scrubbing floors.


Too wonderful the April night,
Too faintly sweet the first May flowers,
The stars too gloriously bright,
For me to spend the evening hours,
When fields are fresh and streams are leaping,
Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping.
418

Summer Morn in New Hampshire

Summer Morn in New Hampshire

All yesterday it poured, and all night long
I could not sleep; the rain unceasing beat
Upon the shingled roof like a weird song,
Upon the grass like running children's feet.
And down the mountains by the dark cloud kissed,
Like a strange shape in filmy veiling dressed,
Slid slowly, silently, the wraith-like mist,
And nestled soft against the earth's wet breast.


But lo, there was a miracle at dawn!
The still air stirred at touch of the faint breeze,
The sun a sheet of gold bequeathed the lawn,
The songsters twittered in the rustling trees.
And all things were transfigured in the day,
But me whom radiant beauty could not move;
For you, more wonderful, were far away,
And I was blind with hunger for your love.
513

Rest in Peace

Rest in Peace

No more for you the city's thorny ways,
The ugly corners of the Negro belt;
The miseries and pains of these harsh days
By you will never, never again be felt.


No more, if still you wander, will you meet
With nights of unabating bitterness;
They cannot reach you in your safe retreat,
The city's hate, the city's prejudice!


'Twas sudden--but your menial task is done,
The dawn now breaks on you, the dark is over,
The sea is crossed, the longed-for port is won;
Farewell, oh, fare you well! my friend and lover.
461

Russian Cathedral

Russian Cathedral

Bow down my soul in worship very low
And in the holy silences be lost.
Bow down before the marble man of woe,
Bow down before the singing angel host.
What jewelled glory fills my spirit's eye,
What golden grandeur moves the depths of me!
The soaring arches lift me up on high
Taking my breath with their rare symmetry.


Bow down my soul and let the wondrous light
Of beauty bathe thee from her lofty throne,
Bow down before the wonder of man's might.
Bow down in worship, humble and alone;
Bow lowly down before the sacred sight
Of man's divinity alive in stone.
337

Poetry

Poetry


Sometimes I tremble like a storm-swept flower,
And seek to hide my tortured soul from thee.
Bowing my head in deep humility
Before the silent thunder of thy power.
Sometimes I flee before thy blazing light,
As from the specter of pursuing death;
Intimidated lest thy mighty breath,
Windways, will sweep me into utter night.
For oh, I fear they will be swallowed up--
The loves which are to me of vital worth,
My passion and my pleasure in the earth--
And lost forever in thy magic cup!
I fear, I fear my truly human heart
Will perish on the altar-stone of art!
388

One Year After

One Year After

I

Not once in all our days of poignant love,
Did I a single instant give to thee
My undivided being wholly free.
Not all thy potent passion could remove
The barrier that loomed between to prove
The full supreme surrendering of me.
Oh, I was beaten, helpless utterly
Against the shadow-fact with which I strove.
For when a cruel power forced me to face
The truth which poisoned our illicit wine,
That even I was faithless to my race
Bleeding beneath the iron hand of thine,
Our union seemed a monstrous thing and base!
I was an outcast from thy world and mine.


II


Adventure-seasoned and storm-buffeted,
I shun all signs of anchorage, because
The zest of life exceeds the bound of laws.
New gales of tropic fury round my head
Break lashing me through hours of soulful dread;
But when the terror thins and, spent, withdraws,
Leaving me wondering awhile, I pause--
But soon again the risky ways I tread!
No rigid road for me, no peace, no rest,
While molten elements run through my blood;
And beauty-burning bodies manifest
Their warm, heart-melting motions to be wooed;
And passion boldly rising in my breast,
Like rivers of the Spring, lets loose its flood.
381

Quotes

7

Videos

50

Comments (0)

Share
Log in to post a comment.

No comments yet. Be the first to comment.