Tomorrow I’m interviewing journalist Yvonne Singh on stage at the Ilkley Literature Festival on her new book INK! which is an incredible history of global majority writing and journalism in the UK from the 1800s to the present day. Set across seven biographical chapters including biographies of Samuel Jules Celsetine Edwards, George Padmore, Darcus Howe, Una Marson and several others. While reading the chapter on Una Marson’s life and work there is an excerpt from the poem below - which I subsequently looked up, and felt like sharing with you here. Written in 1933 - and still today we hear such things as: Those who preach the Christ / And say with churlish smile / “This place is not for ‘Niggers’.”
Yet reading about her work and life and of the others and their writings and publications I cannot help feeling that had I come across them when at school and college I would not felt so alone in my existence, my writing, and my sensibilities as an author and person. So much history and such incredible people has been, and continues to be, subjected to erasure for false ideas of the greatness and centring of quite broken and damaging ideologies.
I’m very much looking forward to talking with Yvonne and I’ll be sharing our conversation on the WritersMosaic website which is part of the Royal Literary Fund, in the next few weeks.
Bless you
John
Nigger
They called me “Nigger,”
Those little white urchins,
They laughed and shouted
As I passed along the street,
They flung it at me:
“Nigger! Nigger Nigger!”
What made me keep my fingers
from choking the words in their throats?
What made my face grow hot,
The blood boil in my veins
And tears spring to my eyes?
What made me go to my room
And sob my heart away
Because white urchins
Called me “Nigger”?
You of the white skinned Race,
You who profess such innocence,
I’ll tell you why ‘tis sin to tell
Your offspring Coloured folks are queer,
Black men are bogies and inferior far
To any creature with a skin made white.
We will not be called “Niggers”
Since this was the favourite curse
Of those who drove the Negroes
To their death in days of slavery.
“A good for nothing Nigger,”
“Only one more Nigger gone”
They would repeat as though
He were a chicken or a rat.
That word then meant contempt,
All that was low and base,
And too refined for lower animals.
In later years when singing Negroes
Caused white men to laugh,
And show some interest in their art
They talked of “Nigger Minstrels”
And patronised the Negro,
And laughing at his songs
They could in nowise see
The thorns that pierced his heart.
God keep my soul from hating such mean souls,
God keep my soul from hating
Those who preach the Christ
And say with churlish smile
“This place is not for ‘Niggers’.”
God save their soul from this great sin
Of hurting human hearts that live
And think and feel in unison
With all humanity.
by Una Marson 1933
Most every pgm can relate to this poem, the not being seen, the 'humor' at ones expense; even here across the pond... or especially, I dont know which. I look forward to reading/ listening when it is available at Writers Mosaic.
I will certainly look forward to reading about your conversation on WritersMosaic. I was not familiar with Una Marson's poetry but will do a little research for myself. And thank you, again, for letting readers know about INK! I've written down the title so I don't forget to order it.