CONTENTS

<table><tr><td>INTRODUCTION by Ben F. Carruthers</td><td>1</td></tr><tr><td>UNAMUNO TO GUILLÉN</td><td>7</td></tr></table>

CUBAN BLUES

<table><tr><td>Don't Know No English</td><td>9</td></tr><tr><td>High-Priced Now</td><td>10 + Hughes</td></tr><tr><td>Thick-Lipped Cullud Boy</td><td>11</td></tr><tr><td>High Brown</td><td>12 + Hughes</td></tr><tr><td>Last Night Somebody Called Me Darky</td><td>13</td></tr><tr><td>May Gal</td><td>14</td></tr><tr><td>Curujey</td><td>15 + Sung by Eartha Kitt</td></tr><tr><td>No Sirrie!</td><td>16</td></tr><tr><td>Pass On By</td><td>17</td></tr></table>

HABANEROS

<table><tr><td>Quirino</td><td>19 + Sung by Eartha Kitt</td></tr><tr><td>Wash Woman</td><td>20</td></tr><tr><td>Blade</td><td>21</td></tr><tr><td>Wake for Papa Montero</td><td>22 + Hughes</td></tr></table>

WEST INDIES

<table><tr><td>Cane</td><td>25</td></tr><tr><td>Sweat and Lock</td><td>25-a</td></tr><tr><td>Guadeloupe, W.I.</td><td>26</td></tr><tr><td>Chop It With The Cane Knife!</td><td>27</td></tr><tr><td>Blues</td><td>29</td></tr><tr><td>Maracas</td><td>30 + Hughes &amp; Cesebia</td></tr></table>

Sensemaya..................28-a

Ballad Of The Water-Demon.28-c

Song In An Havana Bar..................32

Sightseers In A Courtyard..................34

Two Kids..................................37

Sabas........................................38

## SONGS FOR SOLDIERS

Execution..................................41

I Don't Know Why..........................42

Soldier, Learn to Shoot..................43

Dead Soldier..................................45

Soldiers in Ethiopia......................46

That Kind of Soldier, Not Me..............49

Reveille....................................52

## HERE WE ARE!

Arrival....................................54

Words in the Tropics......................56

Mark........................................59

New Woman..................................60

Little Ode to a Cuban Negro Boxer........61

## AQUE

Balled of the Water-Damon................65

Censayna..................................68

## PROPOSITIONS

Airplane....................................71

Proposition..................................72

Two Weeks..................................73

Madrigal....................................74

Barren Stone................................75

FEDERICO

<table><tr><td>The Fourth Anguish</td><td>77</td></tr><tr><td>Moment With The Muse of Garcia Lorca</td><td>79</td></tr></table>

MULATTO POEMS

<table><tr><td>Song of the Bongo</td><td>81 + Hughes</td></tr><tr><td>The Grandfather</td><td>83</td></tr><tr><td>Heat</td><td>84</td></tr><tr><td>Ballad Of The Two Grandfathers</td><td>86 + Eusebia</td></tr></table>

SONG OF THE BONGO
(CANCIÓN DEL BONGO)

THIS IS THE SONG OF THE BONGO;

HERE THE BLUEBLOOD ANSWERS IF I CALL.
SOME ANSWER, "RIGHT NOW!"
OTHERS SAY, "ON MY WAY!"
BUT MY HOARSE REJOINDER,
MY DEEP BASS VOICE,
CALLS BOTH BLACK AND WHITE
TO DANCE THE SAME SON.

BROWN OF SKIN OR BROWN OF SOUL
MORE FROM BLOOD THAN SUN,
THOSE WHO ARE NOT NIGHT OUTSIDE
GET DARKER---DEEP WITHIN.

IN THIS MULATTO LAND
OF SPANIARD AND AFRICAN,
(SANTA BARBARA ON ONE SIDE,
ON THE OTHER CHANGO)

THERE'S ALWAYS A GRANDPA MISSING
OR THERE'S A DON TOO MUCH,
AND THERE ARE TITLES FROM CASTILLE
WITH COUSINS IN BONDO.

BE SILENT, FRIENDS,
DON'T OVERDO THE POINT.

SONG OF THE BONGO - 2 -

WE'VE COME A LONG DISTANCE,
NOW WE'RE WALKING TWO BY TWO.
HERE THE BLUEBLOOD ANSWERS IF I CALL!

THERE ARE SOME WHO WOULD INSULT ME
BUT NOT DEEP IN THEIR HEARTS,
SOME WHO SPIT ON ME IN PUBLIC
BUT KISS ME IN PRIVATE.

TO THEM I SAY,
BUDDY,
YOU'LL ASK MY PARDON YET,
YOU'LL EAT MY POT STEW YET,
YOU'LL CALL ME O.K. YET,
YOU'LL DRUM ON MY TIGHT SKIN YET,
YOU'LL DANCE TO MY SONG YET,
WE'LL BE ARM IN ARM, TOO, YET,
FROM BENEATH YOU'LL COME UP YET,
FOR I'M THE ONE WHO'S ON TOP HERE!

B. C.

WAKE FOR PAPA MONTERO

YOU BURNED THE DAWN
WITH THE FIRE OF YOUR GUITAR:
JUICE OF THE CANE
IN THE GOURD OF YOUR DARK WARM FLESH
UNDER A COLD WHITE MOON.

MUSIC POURED FROM YOU
ROUND AND MULATTO AS A PLUM.

STEADY DRINKER
WITH THE THROAT OF TIN,
BOAT CUT LOOSE IN A SEA OF RUM,
HORSEMAN OF THE WILD PARTY,
WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH THE NIGHT
NOW THAT YOU CAN NO LONGER DRINK IT,
AND WHAT VEIN

WILL GIVE YOU BACK THE BLOOD
YOU'VE LOST DOWN THE BLACK DRAIN
OF A KNIFE WOUND?

TONIGHT THEY GOT YOU,
PAPA MONTERO!

THEY WAITED FOR YOU AT YOUR FLAT,
BUT THEY BROUGHT YOU HOME DEAD.
IT WAS A GOOD FIGHT,
BUT THEY BROUGHT YOU HOME DEAD.
THEY SAY HE WAS YOUR PAL,
BUT THEY BROUGHT YOU HOME DEAD.

WAKE FOR PAPA MONTERO - 2 -

NOBODY COULD FIND THE KNIFE,
BUT THEY BROUGHT YOU HOME DEAD.

NOW BALDEMERO'S DONE FOR,
A DEVIL, A DOG, AND A DANCER!

ONLY TWO CANDLES
BURN AWAY THE SHADOWS.
FOR YOUR TWO-BIT DEATH
TWO CANDLES ARE TOO MANY.
BUT THE RED SHIRT
THAT ONCE LIT UP YOUR SONGS
AND THE BROWNSKIN LAUGHTER OF YOUR MUSIC
AND YOUR GLEAMING STRAIGHTENED HAIR,
MAKE MORE LIGHT FOR YOU NOW
THAN ANY CANDLES.

TODAY THE MOON ROSE
IN THE COURTYARD OF MY HOUSE.
IF FELL BLADE-WISE TO EARTH
AND STUCK THERE.

SOME KIDS PICKED IT UP
TO WASH ITS FACE,
SO I BROUGHT IT TONIGHT
TO BE YOUR PILLOW.

L. H.

S A B A S

I LOOKED AT SABAS, MEEK AND HUMBLE,
BEGGING HIS BREAD FROM DOOR TO DOOR.
WHY'VE YOU ALWAYS GOT YOUR HAND OUT, SABAS?
(THAT SABAS IS A GOOD NEGRO.)

ALTHOUGH THEY GIVE YOU BREAD, BREAD'S NOT MUCH,
AND EVEN LESS THIS BEGGAR'S BREAD FROM DOOR TO DOOR.
WHY'VE YOU ALWAYS GOT YOUR HAND OUT, SABAS?
(THAT SABAS IS A STUPID NEGRO.)

I LOOKED AT SABAS, THE HAIRY NEGRO,
BEGGING PIOUSLY TO HIS OWN DEFEAT.
WHY'VE YOU ALWAYS GOT YOUR HAND OUT, SABAS?
(THAT SABAS IS A DUMB NEGRO.)

TAKE YOUR BREAD, BUT DON'T BEG FOR IT.

TAKE YOUR LIGHT.

TAKE THE HOPE THAT BELONGS TO YOU,
LIKE A MAN GRASPING THE REINS OF A HORSE.

PLANT YOURSELF IN THE DOORWAY---
BUT NOT WITH YOUR HAND OUT,
OR WITH YOUR STUPID WISDOM.

DAMN, SABAS, DON'T TELL ME YOU CAN'T!
TIGHTEN UP YOUR BELT,
AND SEE IF YOU CAN FIND A WAY
TO EDUCATE YOUR BELLY.

S A B A S - 2 -

DEATH SOMETIMES IS A GOOD FRIEND,
AND NOT TO EAT

WHEN YOU MUST EAT BEGGAR'S BREAD
HAS ITS BEAUTY.

THE SKY COVERS YOU.

THE SUN WARMS YOU.

THE EARTH IS NOT SO HARD.

WAIT A LITTLE.

STRENGTHEN YOUR TIMID STEPS
AND LET UP ON THE REINS A BIT.

DAMN, SABAS, DON'T BE SO DUMB!

SABAS, DON'T BE SO STUPID,
OR SO GOOD!

MARACAS
(MARACAS)

TWO BY TWO
MARACAS APPROACH THE YANKEE
ASKING:
SIR, HOW ARE YOU?

WHEN A SHIP COMES INTO SIGHT
MARACAS IS ALREADY AT THE DOCK
FOLLOWING THE TOURIST TRADE
WITH A LIVELY EYE AND WAKEFUL POSE.
EQUILIBRIST MARACAS,
FLATTERING SEEKER OF TOURIST CASH!

BUT THERE'S ANOTHER MARACAS, WITH A CERTAIN
MODESTY WHICH IS ALMOST ANIT-IMPERIALIST.
IT'S THE ARTIST'S MARACA
THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH DOCKS.

IT'S SATISFIED WHEN A POOR NEGRO
SHAKES IT AT THE BACK OF A SEXTET
DISPUTING WITH THE INDISCREET BONGO.

(AND THE RUM IT GETS IS WHAT THE NEGRO LEAVES.)

THAT MARACA DOSEN'T KNOW THERE ARE YANKEES
ON THE MAP,

LIVES HAPPILY AND CUTS ITS SONOROUS BREAD
AS MAMA INES' HARD HIPS ROLL

(MUSIC)
BURNISHED BRIGHTER THAN A RUMBA OF GOLD.

B. C.

LITTLE ODE TO A
CUBAN NEGRO BOXER

GLOVES READY POISED

AT THE ENDS OF YOUR SQUIRREL-LIKE BODY—
LIKE THE PUNCH OF YOUR SMILE!

UP NORTH IT'S FIERCE AND COLD, BOXER,
BUT BROADWAY

PULSES LIKE THE BLOOD IN YOUR VEINS,

AND STAMPS ENTHUSIASTICALLY AROUND THOSE RINGS
WHERE YOU LEAP LIKE A MODERN MONKEY OF ELASTIC,
NEEDING NEITHER ROPES, NOR THE PILLOWS OF THE CLINCH;
BROADWAY

SPREADS WIDE ITS MELON-LIKE MOUTH
IN SURPRISE AT YOUR SPORT-MODEL CAR,
YOUR HAIR SLEEK BLACK RUBBER,
AND YOUR SHOES OF PATENT LEATHER.

THIS SAME BROADWAY

EXTENDS ITS BEAST-LIKE LIPS
IN A GREAT WET BRIDGE
TO LICK GREEDILY

AT THE BLOOD OF OUR CANE FIELDS.

CERTAINLY YOU DON'T KEEP IN TOUCH WITH THINGS
THAT HAPPEN HERE A IN CUBA—
NOR WITH CURRENT EVENTS UP THERE,
BECAUSE TRAINING IS HARD,
MUSCLES ARE TRAITOROUS

AND YOU MUST BE "STRONG LIKE A BULL"—

LITTLE ODE TO A BUBAN NEGRO BOXER - 3 -

NOW THAT THE WHITE WORLD
TOASTS ITS BODY IN THE SUN
AND LOOKS FOR RUMBAS IN HAVANA,
SHINE IN YOUR BLACKNESS, KID,
WHILE THE CROWD APPLAUDS---
AND, ENVIED BY THE WHITES,
SPEAK FOR THE BLACKS INDEED!

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