SELECTED POEMS

By Dr. Eva Jessye








Pittsburg, Kansas
The Little Balkans Press
1978



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Published October 1, 1978: Dr. Eva Jessye Day.
All poems copyrighted by Dr. Eva Jessye.
This volume is limited to a printing of 500 copies.






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OLD, NOT SO GIFTED . . . AND BLACK
(A reply to 'To Be Young, Gifted and Black' by 
Lorraine Hansberry)

You look at me, but you don't see me.
You listen, but you don't hear what I say.
Yes, I have been neither seen nor heard. 

It may be, it just could be, that
In the past I have avoided your gaze
And spoken only in a whisper.

O, there is great rejoicing by the "young,
Gifted and Black."
Thank God, they have stepped onto the highway!

But you hear me . . . I don't mean to be left be-
    hind.

True, I am in the twilight of my years.
But, you know,
When the daylight fades away 
You see the stars!

The trials and tribulations I have borne 
But served to strengthen the old oak.
The suffering and pain I have endured 
Toughened the old cypress.


----- [p. 2] -----

This gift of fortitude I pass on to you.
I have given much and I have much yet to give.

The outward eye may dim, but the inward eye
Remain clear and sharp.
The voice may weaken, but still
Utter words of wisdom.
The hand may quiver, yet reach out to comfort.
The finger may bend, but point out the right road
To some misguided soul.
The limbs may be gnarled and tottering
Yet stand up for truth and justice!

Moreover...
Soul and spirit cannot be measured by man.

   "Old?"      Yes....
      "Black?"    Yes!...
	    "Not so gifted?"
		  What do you think?


----- [p. 3] -----

THE HIGHWAY

Travellers pass my door--
   Some blind with arrogance
And fixed intent
   To stamp the public mind with iron tread
That they be ne'er forgot.
Yet, when the circle of their lives is spent,
Their footprints fade as shadows on the sand.

Yet others pass--
   Who ever gently tread . . .
Think not of self,
   But kindness to dispense . . .
Nor make a sound to beckon for acclaim.
Yet, those who follow in their silent wake
Behold impassioned footsteps carved in stone.



----- [p. 4] -----

THE MAESTRO
(For Eugene Ormandy)

Like silence tensely gripped an eager world
Ere seas were loosed, or restless winds unbound--

Emotion etched in steel, the master stands,
Infinity of sound held breathless 'neath his hands--

A signal--and an instant crash of thunder 
Burst forth, as from one pulsing, golden throat;
Each instrument he calls in turn; the brasses 
Reply with Greed's impatient strident note.
Sweet viols speak of Love; harsh reeds com-
	plaining,
The cello's sob of anguish pierces through;
For one brief bar the tranquil harp, consoling,
Till clashing cymbal spurs the Strife anew.
The drum's sharp rat-a-tat of Circumstance
Soon changes to the steady roll of Fate--
Soft throbbing through the maze in rhythmic
	measure
The motif of the whole, inviolate.

His ears attuned to symphonies of Heav'n,
And soul aswoon in ecstacy divine--
The master senses through the burning cadence
The moods and passion of all Humankind.
And swift he weaves from thread of sound out-
	pouring
Immortal Rhapsody of Joy and Pain,
Where, ever like a mystic strand of scarlet,
The minor theme of Life recurs again.


----- [p. 5] -----

AN "IF" FOR DIRECTORS
(With apologies to Kipling)

	If you can hold you peace
when all the actors
	Are laying eggs and blaming
them on you--
	If you can quote each line
when others muff them,
	Yet make allowance for
their lapses too . . .
	If you can spend long nights
in frantic planning
	To find you've gone astray
along the line--
	And stop, and start again
at the beginning,
	And never stoop to compro-
mise or whine--
	If you can keep your vision 
clear before you,
	Though author or composer
interrupt . . .
	If you can keep you sanity
when light cues
	And curtains are by stage
crew all messed up . . .
	If you can talk with bores
and hold you temper,
	Hobnob with stars, yet function 
close to earth--
	If neither public or the press
can irk you
	

----- [p. 6] -----

	Because you know exactly
what you're worth--
	If you can sweat and swear
and praise and punish . . .
	Yet when 'tis over, say "It
has been fun,"
	Yours and the applause
and everything that's in it . . .
	And, what is more, perhaps
a hit, my son!




----- [p. 7] -----

COMMENTARY UP-DATE
(Apologies to Gilbert and Sullivan)

"Things are seldom what they seem.
Skim milk masquerades as cream."
Low brows pass for upper-crust;
We accept it, 'cause we must.
	(Just the same 'tis a shame!)

Purchase bacon; soon you find 
It is mostly fat and rind.
Choicest steak is chiefly bone,
And a peach is largely stone.
	(So they be . . . frequently.)

In all things there is deceit.
Sugar now is scarcely sweet.
Take canned juice . . . count ev'ry drop . . .
That is, one-third from the top. . . .
	(Now, forsooth . . . 'tis the truth')

By our elders we are told
All that glitter is not gold;
Diamonds should sell for a dime
For they're glass, half of the time. . . .
	(So take care . . . and beware!)


----- [p. 8] -----

Lamb chops--once of small account--
For a buck, get any amount. . . .
Now to purchase (to be frank),
You will have to rob a bank!
	(Land o' Goshen . . . you must be joshin'!)

Time was when the mail was fast.
But, alas, that day is past.
Mail a letter . . . I declare . . .
You can walk and beat it there.
	(You're telling me . . . and I agree!)

And, another tack pursuin',
Look what Washington is doin' . . .
Public funds they are misusin' . . .
Major issues they are confusin'. . . .
	(O wow . . . fan my brow!)

To conclude I dare to state
This world's going second-rate.
There's a remedy, no doubt,
Could we only work it out. . . . 
	(What to do? . . . We're asking you???)


-----[p. 9] -----

THE SINGER

Because his speech was blunt and manner plain,
Untaught in subtle phrases of the wise;
Because the years of slavery and pain
Ne'er dimmed the light of faith within his eyes;
Because of ebon skin and humble pride,
The world with hatred thrust the youth aside.

But fragrance wafts from every trodden flower, 
And through our grief we rise to nobler things,
Within the heart in sorrow's darkest hour
A well of sweetness there unbidden springs;
Despised of men, discarded and alone--
The world of nature claimed him as her own.

She taught him truth that liberates  the soul
From bonds more galling than the slaver's chain--
That manly natures, lily-wise, unfold
Amid the mire of hatred void of stain;
Thus in his manhood, clean, superbly strong,
To him was born the priceless gift of song.

The glory of the sun, the hush of morn, 
Whisperings of tree-top faintly stirred,
The desert silence, wilderness forlorn, 
Far ocean depths, the tender lilt of bird;
Of hope, despair, he sang, his melody
The endless theme of Life's brief symphony.


-----[p. 10] -----

And nations marveled at the minstrel lad,
Who swayed emotions as his fancy led;
With him they wept, were melancholy, sad;
"'Tis but a cunning jest of Fate," they said;
They did not dream in selfish spheres apart
That song is but the essence of the heart.