Michael Walker

Gold Star - 20,702 Points (cv48488)

La Cite Blanche. - Poem by Michael Walker

Moi, je ne m'amuserai pas avec elle ni plier d'une pouce.
Profond aux chambres secretes de mon coeur
Je medite mon haine de toute ma vie, et sans sourciller
Je la supporte comme je vis mon role.
Mon etre serait un squelette, un cerceuil,
Si cette Passion noire qui remplit toutes mes humeurs,
Et fait mon ciel dans l'enfer du monde blanc,
Ne me nourissait a jamais du sang vital.
Je vois la cite puissante a travers une brume-
Les trains stridents qui hatent la masse excite,
Les timons et les fleches et les tours baissees de vapeur,
Le port retranche a travers lequel les grands vaisseaux passent,
Les marees, les quais, les repaires que je contemple,
Sont doux comme des amours libertins parce que je hais, moi.

'The White City'. Claude McKay. 1922.

This is a translation of the poem The White City by Claude McKay

Topic(s) of this poem: city


Poet's Notes about The Poem

There is love and hate in this poem, two opposite passions in one person. As I see it, Claude McKay had good reason to hate the white world, which would have been much more racist then than now. At the opposite pole, he loves the physical city itself.
This a sonnet with a rhyme scheme-what more can I say?

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, March 26, 2015

Poem Edited: Saturday, April 18, 2015


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