HARLEM SHADOWS – Claude McKay

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HARLEM SHADOWS – Claude McKay

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HARLEM SHADOWS

by Claude McKay

(035)

I was introduced to the work of Claude McKay by the recent Penguin Classics first-time publication of his lost queer dockside novel, Romance In Marseille. I immediately devoured as much of his work as I could get my hands on, which lead to finding Harlem Shadows and his earlier life as a poet rather than a novelist.

McKay was born in Jamaica, came to the U.S., had a sojourn to the U.K., and eventually returned to become a significant figure in the Harlem Renaissance. The poem “Baptism,” which appears in this collection, is a noteworthy piece collected in The New Negro anthology (1925) edited by Alain Locke. His novel Home To Harlem (1928) was a great commercial success at the time, and remains one of the highlights of the movement.

This title is the first of several works from the Harlem Renaissance to be shared as part of the 20s / 20s series. Two Plum Press will not profit from these works, but rather donate 100% of proceeds to the Black Resilience Fund and the Portland chapter of the NAACP.

20s / 20s

20s / 20s is a series of classic slim volume works, published by Two Plum Press in the 2020s. Works featured in the series were originally published in the 1920s and have newly entered the public domain. 20s / 20s is an opportunity for the press to share favorite works by favorite authors of the past, and to uncover lost classics along the way. Placing these works side by side with the press’s contemporary titles is an intentional way to glance back 100 years and to feel the enduring magic of the small book.

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Baptism

Into the furnace let me go alone;

Stay you without in terror of the heat.

I will go naked in—for thus ‘tis sweet—

Into the weird depths of the hottest zone.

I will not quiver in the frailest bone,

You will not note a flicker of defeat;

My heart shall tremble not its fate to meet,

My mouth give utterance to any moan.

The yawning oven spits forth fiery spears;

Red aspish tongues shout wordlessly my name.

Desire destroys, consumes my mortal fears,

Transforming me into a shape of flame.

I will come out, back to your world of tears,

A stronger soul within a finer frame.

The Night Fire

No engines shrieking rescue storm the night,

And hose and hydrant cannot here avail;

The flames laugh high and fling their challenging light,

And clouds turn gray and black from silver-pale.

The fire leaps out and licks the ancient walls,

And the big building bends and twists and groans.

A bar drops from its place; a rafter falls

Burning the flowers. The wind in frenzy moans.

The watchers gaze, held wondering by the fire,

The dwellers cry their sorrow to the crowd,

The flames beyond themselves rise higher, higher,

To lose their glory in the frowning cloud,

Yielding at length the last reluctant breath.

And where life lay asleep broods darkly death.

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