Claude McKay

(15 September 1889 – 22 May 1948 / Clarendon)

Claude McKay Poems

41. On Broadway 1/3/2003
42. On A Primitive Canoe 1/3/2003
43. O Word I Love To Sing 1/3/2003
44. North And South 1/3/2003
45. My Mother 1/3/2003
46. Morning Joy 1/3/2003
47. Memorial 1/3/2003
48. La Paloma In London 1/3/2003
49. Joy In The Woods 3/21/2012
50. Jasmines 1/3/2003
51. In Bondage 1/3/2003
52. If We Must Die 1/3/2003
53. I Shall Return 1/3/2003
54. I Know My Soul 1/3/2003
55. Homing Swallows 1/3/2003
56. Home Thoughts 1/3/2003
57. Heritage 1/3/2003
58. Harlem Shadows 1/3/2003
59. Futility 1/3/2003
60. French Leave 1/3/2003
61. Flower Of Love 1/3/2003
62. Flirtation 1/3/2003
63. Flame-Heart 1/3/2003
64. Exhortation: Summer 1919 1/3/2003
65. Enslaved 1/3/2003
66. December, 1919 1/3/2003
67. Dawn In New York 1/3/2003
68. Courage 1/3/2003
69. Commemoration 1/3/2003
70. Birds Of Prey 1/3/2003
71. Baptism 1/3/2003
72. America 1/3/2003
73. Alfonso, Dressing To Wait At Table 1/3/2003
74. After The Winter 1/3/2003
75. Africa 1/3/2003
76. Adolescence 1/3/2003
77. Absence 1/3/2003
78. A Red Flower 1/3/2003
79. A Prayer 1/3/2003
80. A Memory Of June 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]