Claude McKay

(15 September 1889 – 22 May 1948 / Clarendon)

Claude McKay Poems

1. Two-An'-Six 4/3/2010
2. Joy In The Woods 3/21/2012
3. Homing Swallows 1/3/2003
4. Winter In The Country 1/3/2003
5. Wild May 1/3/2003
6. Russian Cathedral 1/3/2003
7. To O.E.A. 1/3/2003
8. Polarity 1/3/2003
9. On A Primitive Canoe 1/3/2003
10. One Year After 1/3/2003
11. La Paloma In London 1/3/2003
12. Jasmines 1/3/2003
13. O Word I Love To Sing 1/3/2003
14. Poetry 1/3/2003
15. Morning Joy 1/3/2003
16. When Dawn Comes To The City 1/3/2003
17. Tormented 1/3/2003
18. Summer Morn In New Hampshire 1/3/2003
19. On Broadway 1/3/2003
20. To Winter 1/3/2003
21. To A Poet 1/3/2003
22. To One Coming North 1/3/2003
23. Spring In New Hampshire 1/3/2003
24. On The Road 1/3/2003
25. The Plateau 1/3/2003
26. Memorial 1/3/2003
27. Subway Wind 1/3/2003
28. The Easter Flower 1/3/2003
29. The Castaways 1/3/2003
30. Home Thoughts 1/3/2003
31. North And South 1/3/2003
32. The Barrier 1/3/2003
33. Through Agony 1/3/2003
34. Futility 1/3/2003
35. The Wild Goat 1/3/2003
36. In Bondage 1/3/2003
37. The White House 1/20/2003
38. The White City 1/3/2003
39. Thirst 1/3/2003
40. Rest In Peace 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Claude McKay

If We Must Die

If we must die, let it not be like hogs
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursèd lot.
If we must die, O let us nobly die,
So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe!
Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,
And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!
What though before us lies the open grave?
Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly ...

Read the full of If We Must Die

To A Poet

There is a lovely noise about your name,
Above the shoutings of the city clear,
More than a moment's merriment, whose claim
Will greater grow with every mellowed year.

The people will not bear you down the street,
Dancing to the strong rhythm of your words,
The modern kings will throttle you to greet
The piping voice of artificial birds.

[Hata Bildir]