The Congo: A Study Of The Negro Race

By Vachel Lindsay

2017-04-29

I. THEIR BASIC SAVAGERY

Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room,

Barrel-house kings, with feet unstable,

Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table,

A deep rolling bass.

Pounded on the table,

Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom,

Hard as they were able,

Boom, boom, BOOM,

With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom,

Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.

THEN I had religion, THEN I had a vision.

I could not turn from their revel in derision.

THEN I SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK,

More deliberate. Solemnly chanted.

CUTTING THROUGH THE FOREST WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.

Then along that riverbank

A thousand miles

Tattooed cannibals danced in files;

Then I heard the boom of the blood-lust song

And a thigh-bone beating on a tin-pan gong.

A rapidly piling climax of speed & racket.

And "BLOOD" screamed the whistles and the fifes of the warriors,

"BLOOD" screamed the skull-faced, lean witch-doctors,

"Whirl ye the deadly voo-doo rattle,

Harry the uplands,

Steal all the cattle,

Rattle-rattle, rattle-rattle,

Bing.

Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM,"

A roaring, epic, rag-time tune

With a philosophic pause.

From the mouth of the Congo

To the Mountains of the Moon.

Death is an Elephant,

Torch-eyed and horrible,

Shrilly and with a heavily accented metre.

Foam-flanked and terrible.

BOOM, steal the pygmies,

BOOM, kill the Arabs,

BOOM, kill the white men,

HOO, HOO, HOO.

Listen to the yell of Leopold's ghost

Like the wind in the chimney.

Burning in Hell for his hand-maimed host.

Hear how the demons chuckle and yell

Cutting his hands off, down in Hell.

Listen to the creepy proclamation,

Blown through the lairs of the forest-nation,

Blown past the white-ants' hill of clay,

Blown past the marsh where the butterflies play: —

"Be careful what you do,

Or Mumbo-Jumbo, God of the Congo,

All the "O" sounds very golden. Heavy accents very heavy. Light accents very light. Last line whispered.

And all of the other

Gods of the Congo,

Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you,

Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you."

II. THEIR IRREPRESSIBLE HIGH SPIRITS

Wild crap-shooters with a whoop and a call

Rather shrill and high.

Danced the juba in their gambling-hall

And laughed fit to kill, and shook the town,

And guyed the policemen and laughed them down

With a boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.

THEN I SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK,

Read exactly as in first section.

CUTTING THROUGH THE FOREST WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.

A negro fairyland swung into view,

Lay emphasis on the delicate ideas. Keep as light-footed as possible.

A minstrel river

Where dreams come true.

The ebony palace soared on high

Through the blossoming trees to the evening sky.

The inlaid porches and casements shone

With gold and ivory and elephant-bone.

And the black crowd laughed till their sides were sore

At the baboon butler in the agate door,

And the well-known tunes of the parrot band

That trilled on the bushes of that magic land.

A troupe of skull-faced witch-men came

With pomposity.

Through the agate doorway in suits of flame,

Yea, long-tailed coats with a gold-leaf crust

And hats that were covered with diamond-dust.

And the crowd in the court gave a whoop and a call

And danced the juba from wall to wall.

But the witch-men suddenly stilled the throng

With a great deliberation & ghostliness.

With a stern cold glare, and a stern old song: —

"Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you."…

Just then from the doorway, as fat as shotes,

With overwhelming assurance, good cheer, and pomp.

Came the cake-walk princes in their long red coats,

Canes with a brilliant lacquer shine,

And tall silk hats that were red as wine.

And they pranced with their butterfly partners there,

With growing speed and sharply marked dance-rhythm

Coal-black maidens with pearls in their hair,

Knee-skirts trimmed with the jassamine sweet,

And bells on their ankles and little black-feet.

And the couples railed at the chant and the frown

Of the witch-men lean, and laughed them down.

(O rare was the revel, and well worth while

That made those glowering witch-men smile.)

The cake-walk royalty then began

To walk for a cake that was tall as a man

To the tune of "Boomlay, boomlay, BOOM,"

While the witch-men laughed, with a sinister air,

With a touch of negro dialect, and as rapidly as possible toward the end.

And sang with the scalawags prancing there: —

"Walk with care, walk with care,

Or Mumbo-Jumbo, God of the Congo,

And all the other

Gods of the Congo,

Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you.

Beware, beware, walk with care,

Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, boom.

Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay,

BOOM."

Oh rare was the revel, and well worth while

Slow philosophic calm.

That made those glowering witch-men smile.

III. THE HOPE OF THEIR RELIGION

A good old negro in the slums of the town

Heavy bass. With a literal imitation of camp-meeting racket, and trance.

Preached at a sister for her velvet gown.

Howled at a brother for his low-down ways,

His prowling, guzzling, sneak-thief days.

Beat on the Bible till he wore it out

Starting the jubilee revival shout.

And some had visions, as they stood on chairs,

And sang of Jacob, and the golden stairs,

And they all repented, a thousand strong

From their stupor and savagery and sin and wrong

And slammed with their hymn books till they shook the room

With "glory, glory, glory,"

And "Boom, boom, BOOM."

THEN I SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK,

Exactly as in the first section. Begin with terror and power, end with joy.

CUTTING THROUGH THE FOREST WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.

And the gray sky opened like a new-rent veil

And showed the Apostles with their coats of mail.

In bright white steel they were seated round

And their fire-eyes watched where the Congo wound.

And the twelve Apostles, from their thrones on high

Thrilled all the forest with their heavenly cry: —

"Mumbo-Jumbo will die in the jungle;

Sung to the tune of "Hark, ten thousand harps and voices."

Never again will he hoo-doo you,

Never again will he hoo-doo you."

Then along that river, a thousand miles

With growing deliberation and joy.

The vine-snared trees fell down in files.

Pioneer angels cleared the way

For a Congo paradise, for babes at play,

For sacred capitals, for temples clean.

Gone were the skull-faced witch-men lean.

There, where the wild ghost-gods had wailed

In a rather high key — as delicately as possible.

A million boats of the angels sailed

With oars of silver, and prows of blue

And silken pennants that the sun shone through.

'Twas a land transfigured, 'twas a new creation.

Oh, a singing wind swept the negro nation

And on through the backwoods clearing flew: —

"Mumbo-Jumbo is dead in the jungle.

To the tune of "Hark, ten thousand harps and voices."

Never again will he hoo-doo you.

Redeemed were the forests, the beasts and the men,

And only the vulture dared again

By the far, lone mountains of the moon

To cry, in the silence, the Congo tune: —

"Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you,

Dying down into a penetrating, terrified whisper.

"Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you.

Mumbo… Jumbo… will… hoo-doo… you."

Composition Date:1913.Form: irregular couplets, quatrains, etc.1.The 1923 collection adds below the title, "(Being a memorial to Ray Eldred, a Disciple missionary of the Congo River)," and concludes with this note by Lindsay: "This poem, particularly the third section, was suggestedby an allusion in a sermon by my pastor, F. W. Burnham, to the heroic life and death of Ray Eldred. Eldred was a missionary of the Disciples of Christ who perished while swimming a treacherous branch of the Congo. See A Master Builderon the Congo, by Andrew F. Henesey, published by Fleming H. Revell." (p. 184). See The Dial, 57(Oct. 16, 1914): 281-83, for an account of this poem.37. Leopold's ghost: Leopold II, king of Belgium, died in 1909 after decades of ruthless exploitation of the Congo.53.juba: Afro-American dance with much clappingand stamping.55.guyed: mocked.79.shotes: shoats, young hogs.80.cake-walk: an Afro-American competitionin walking fancily, strutting and prancing, rewarded with a cake as a prize.116.Jacob, and the golden stairs: Jacob's dreamed-of ladder at Bethel, on which angels came down and ascended (Gen. 28.12).