"Quashie to Buccra"

From Songs of Jamaica

"petaters"

You tas’e petater an’ you say it sweet,
But you no know how hard we wuk fe it;
You want a basketful fe quattiewut,
‘Cause you no know how ‘tiff de bush fe cut.

De cowitch under which we hab fe ‘toop,
De shamar lyin’ t’ick like pumpkin soup,
Is killin’ somet’ing for a naygur man;
Much less de cutlass workin’ in we han’.

De sun hot like when fire ketch a town;
Shade-tree look temptin’, yet we caan’ lie down,
Aldough we wouldn’ eben ef we could,
Causen we job must finish soon an’ good.

De bush cut done, de bank dem we deh dig,
But dem caan’ ‘tan’ sake o’ we naybor pig;
For so we moul’ it up he root it do’n,
An’ we caan’ ‘peak sake o’ we naybor tongue.

Aldough de vine is little, it can bear;
It wantin’ not’in’ but a little care:
You see petater tear up groun’, you run,
You laughin’ sir, you must be t’ink a fun.

De fiel’ pretty? It couldn’t less ‘an dat,
We wuk de bes’, an’ den de lan’ is fat;
We dig de row dem eben in a line,
An’ keep it clean—den so it mus’ look fine.

You tas’e petater an’ you say it sweet,
But you no know how hard we wuk fe it;
Yet still de hardship always melt away
Wheneber it come roun’ to reapin’ day.


In McKay’s “Quashie to Buccra,” a black peasant berates the buccra, (that is, the white man) for enjoying the fruits of Quashie’s labor without understanding and appreciating the labor required to produce a sweet potato. As Winston James remarks, “Quashie and buccra are antipodes of Jamaica’s social world: the black country bumpkin, the peasant, the subaltern, and the symbol of power, superordination, the oppressor, the white man” (James, 59). Yet in this poem, Quashie is able to speak out: “You tas’e petater an’ you say it sweet,/ But you no know how hard we wuk fe it.” The buccra even haggles for a lower price; he wants “a basketful fe quattiewut,” a quarter of a sixpence. But Quashie vocally objects to the trivialization of his race and his industry; “Quashie provides buccra (and us) with an overview of the lifecycle of this commodity…he outlines the value of labor in the enterprise and also how the peasants are cheated of their hard work through low prices” (James, 60). The buccra doesn’t respect the effort that produces the potato; rather, he tries to get as much as he can for as little as possible. The buccra “consume without a sense of the processes of production/creation” (James, 60).

Quashie relates the difficulty of tilling the soil, the blazing heat of the sun (“De sun hot like when fire ketch a town”), the unrelenting nature of the work, and the dedication and indomitable work ethic of himself and his fellow peasants. Quashie admits, “Shade-tree look temptin’, yet we caan’ lie down,/ Aldough we wouldn’ eben ef we could,/ Causen we job must finish soon an’ good.” Quashie offers himself and his industrious compatriots as a contrast to the buccra, who greedily enjoys without contributing, and who admires the pretty field without considering the effort required to keep the “row…eben in a line.”

“Quashie to Buccra” is a distinctive illustration of McKay’s pride in his peasant roots. As Wayne Cooper observes, “McKay’s uniqueness and importance lay in his intense celebration of his rural, specifically black, Jamaican origins” (Coooper, 37). McKay clearly displays that “uniqueness and importance” in “Quashie to Buccra.” In this poem, McKay gives voice and agency to the marginalized Jamaican peasant class. Cooper reminds us that, “Quashie is very much his own man…When writing of country life, [McKay] invariably took the point of view of the small, independent farmer who produced for both the local and the export markets” (Cooper, 38). In “Quashie to Buccra,” McKay gives the Jamaican peasant farmer his voice; we, and hopefully the buccra, are made to value and honor the work of the Quashie, before we devour his hard-won “petaters.”

"Whe' Fe Do"

From Songs of Jamaica

Pickney Bath Time, Francis Li

Life will continue so for aye,
Some people sad, some people gay,
Some mockin’ life while udders pray;
But we mus’ fashion-out we way
An’ sabe a mite fe rainy day—
All we can do

We needn’ fold we han’ an’ cry,
Nor vex we heart wid groan and sigh;
De best we can do is fe try
To fight de despair drawn’ nigh:
Den we might conquer by an’ by—
Dat we might do.

We hab to batter in de sun,
An’ dat isn’t a little fun,
For Lard! ‘tis hellish how it bu’n:
Still dere’s de big wul’ to live do’n—
So whe’ fe do?

We nigger hab a tas’ fe do,
To conquer prejudice dat due
To obeah, an t’ings not a few
Dat keep we progress back fe true—
But whe’ fe do?

We’ve got to wuk wid might an’ main,
To use we han’ an’ use we brain,
To toil an’ worry, ‘cheme an’ ‘train
Fe t’ings that bring more loss dan gain;
To stann’ de sun an’ bear de rain,
An’ suck we bellyful o’ pain
Widouten cry nor yet complain—
For dat caan’ do.

And though de wul’ is full o’ wrong,
Dat caan’ prevent we sing we song
All de day as we wuk along—
Whe’ else fe do?

We happy in de hospital;
We happy when de rain deh fall;
We happy though de baby bawl
Fe food dat we no hab at all;
We happy when Deat’ angel call
Fe full we cup of joy wid gall;
Our fait’ in this life is not small—
De best to do.

An’ da’s de way we ought to live,
For pain an’ such we shouldn’ grieve,
But tek de best dat Nature give—
Da’s whe’ fe do.

God mek de wul’ fe black an’ white;
We’ll wuk on in de glad sunlight,
Keep toilin’ on wid all our might,
An’ sleep in peace when it is night:
We must strive on to gain de height,
Aldough it may not be in sight;
An’ yet perhaps de blessed right
Weill never conquer in de fight—
Still, whe’ fe do?

We’ll try an’ live as any man,
An’ fight de wul’ de best we can,
E’en though it hard fe understan’
Whe’ we mus’ do.

For da’s de way o’ dis ya wul’;
It’s snap an’ bite, an’ haul an’ pull,
An’ we all get we bellyful—
But whe’ fe do?


Winston James claims, “There is a tendency…to view the Jamaican language as a medium for comedy and satire and not for serious thought. McKay demonstrated very clearly that the language could be used for a wide range of expression” (James, 141). McKay’s “Whe’ Fe Do” uses the Jamaican language as a medium to express a doomed resignation and grudging acceptance of the peasant’s plight. In “Whe’ Fe Do?”, which simply means, “What to do?”, McKay’s speaker relates a lament of the peasant’s relentlessly arduous existence, stating,

We’ve got to wuk wid might an’ main,
To use we han’ an’ use we brain,
To toil an’ worry, ‘cheme an’ ‘train
Fe t’ings that bring more loss dan gain;
To stann’ de sun an’ bear de rain,
An’ suck we bellyful o’ pain
Widouten cry nor yet complain—
For dat caan’ do.

While McKay’s “Quashie to Buccra” depicts Jamaican peasant life as difficult but noble, and ultimately fulfilling, “Whe’ Fe Do” depicts peasant life as endless drudgery from which there is no escape, for “Life will continue so for aye.” Thus, the speaker resolves to accept his fate and “fe try/ To fight de despair drawn’ nigh.” James agrees, “There is no way out of the troubles of peasant life here, so ‘whe’ fe do?’—what can we do” (James, 64)?

Although McKay often glorifies his relationship to the Jamaican peasant culture, The bleak representation in “Whe’ Fe Do” suggests that McKay has a genuine connection to the intense suffering of his people. James notes, “At the time of these poems, the Jamaican people were experiencing unspeakable hardship, with almost no prospect of relief in sight” (James, 66). McKay’s “Whe’ Fe Do” expresses a kinship with and a deep respect for that “unspeakable hardship,” and for his countrymen, who must endure it.

"A Midnight Woman To The Bobby"

From Songs of Jamaica


Spanish Town, Kingston

No palm me up, you dutty brute,
You’ jam mount’ mash like ripe bread-fruit;
You fas’n now, but wait lee ya,
I’ll see you grunt under de law.

You t’ink you wise, but we wi’ see;
You not de fus’ one fas’ wid me;
I’ll lib fe see dem tu’n you out,
As sure as you got dat mash’ mout’.

I born right do’n beneat’ de clack
(You ugly brute, you tu’n you’ back?)
Don’ t’ink dat I’m a come-aroun’ ,
I born right ‘way in ‘panish Town.

Care how you try, you caan’ do mo’
Dan many dat was hyah befo’;
Yet whe’ dey all o’ dem te-day?
De buccra dem no kick dem way?

Ko ‘pon you’ jam samplatta nose:
‘Cos you wear Mis’r Koshaw clo’es
You t’ink say you’s de only man,
Yet fus’ time ko how you be’n ‘tan.

You big an’ ugly ole tu’n-foot
Be’n neber know fe wear a boot;
An’ chigger nyam you’ tumpa toe,
Till nit full i’ like herrin’ row.

You come from mountain naked-‘kin,
An’ Lard a mussy! you be’n thin,
For all de bread-fruit dem be’n done,
Bein’ ‘poil’ up by tearin’ sun:

De coco couldn’ bear at all,
For, Lard! de groun’ was pure white-marl;
An’ t’rough de rain part o’ de year
De mango tree dem couldn’ bear.

An’ when de pinch o’ time you feel
A ‘pur you a you’ chigger heel,
You lef’ you’ district, big an’ coarse,
An’ come join buccra Police Force.

An’ now you don’t wait fe you’ glass
But trouble me wid you’ jam fas’;
But wait, me frien’, you day wi’ come,
I’ll see you go same lak a some.

Say wha’?—‘res’ me? —you go to hell!
You t’ink Judge don’t know unno well?
You t’ink him gwin’ go sentance me
Widout a soul fe witness i'?


Heather Hathaway asserts, “The linguistic legacy of McKay’s complicated relationship to the speech of the peasantry pervades…nearly every work in the author’s first two volumes of poetry” (Hathaway, 35). McKay’s “A Midnight Woman to the Bobby,” “one of McKay’s most accomplished dialect pieces” (Cooper, 41), is laced quite heavily with Jamaican dialect and colloquial expressions of the peasant class. Wayne Cooper remarks, “the poem is remarkable for its vigorous, forthright use of authentic Jamaican language, as well as for its bitterly ironic commentary on the rural conditions that sometimes forced young men into the constabulary” (Cooper, 41). In the poem, a Spanish Town prostitute verbally lambastes a young, inexperienced constable for attempting to arrest her. “From start to finish [the prostitute] keeps up a barrage of priceless Jamaican insults. She insults [the constable’s] mouth…his nose…and [even] his feet” (James, 105). She begins, “No palm me up, you dutty brute,” or, “don’t put your hands on me,” and she continues to berate him throughout the poem.

Like in “Quashie to Buccra,” McKay gives agency and voice to the poem’s subjugated character, yet in “A Midnight Woman to the Bobby,” both characters are members of a subjugated class. They are pit against one another by unfortunate circumstance. Hathaway comments, ““[this poem] captures the tension that emerges between peasant-turned prostitute and peasant-turned-constable under the corrupting influence of the city” (Hathaway, 38). The midnight woman taunts,

You come from mountain naked—‘kin,
An’ Lard a mussy! you be’n thin,
For all de bread-fruit dem be’n done,
Bein’ ‘poil’ up by tearin’ sun.

She taunts the young constable for turning to the British-imposed police force in an attempt to escape the hardships of rural poverty. She derides, “’Cos you wear Mis’r Koshaw cloe’es/ You t’ink say you’s de only man.” The bobby wears the clothes issued to him by Col. Kershaw, the Inspector General of the Police in 1911. The prostitute “clearly has no respect for a black man in what she perceives as a white man’s uniform” (Cooper, 41), yet her situation is regrettable as well. James claims, “McKay is effectively identifying prostitution with policing, giving the distinct impression that policing is the more reprehensible of the two. Both “professions” are fruits of desperation, but the policeman’s is more repugnant” (James, 106). McKay offers his social criticism regarding the deplorable and often unavoidable situation of the poor in Jamaica through this sharp, barb-tongued midnight woman. Heather Hathaway notes, "McKay…was the first Jamaican poet to use the local dialect as a vehicle of social protest” (Hathaway, 37).

“A Midnight Woman to the Bobby” is one of McKay’s most successful poems, and it clearly evidences McKay’s deep and abiding relationship to the Jamaican dialect, people, and plight. As James claims, “For faithfulness to the Jamaican language, for rhythm, for critical social commentary, skillfully and organically embellished with humor, “A Midnight Woman to the Bobby” is unsurpassed. It would stand beside the very best creations of Jamaica’s most accomplished creole language poet, Louise Bennett” (James, 109).

"My Native Land, My Home"

From Songs of Jamaica


Jamaican Girl by Aileen McLeod

Dere is no land dat can compare
Wid you where’er I roam;
In all de wul’ none like you fair,
My native land, my home.

Jamaica is de nigger’s place,
No mind whe’ some declare;
Although dem call we “no-land race,”
I know we home is here.

You give me life an’ nourishment,
No udder land I know;
My lub I neber can repent,
For all to you I owe.

E’en ef you mek me beggar die,
I’ll trust you all de same,
An’ none de less on you rely,
Nor saddle you wid blame.

Though you may cas’ me from your breas’
An’ trample me to deat’,
My heart will trus’ you none de less,
My land I won’t feget.

An’ I hope none o’ your sons would
Refuse deir strengt’ to lend,
An’ drain de last drop o’ deir blood
Their country to defend.

You draw de t’ousan’ from deir shore,
An’ all ‘long keep dem please’;
De invalid come here fe cure,
You heal all deir disease.

Your fertile soil grow all o’ t’ings
To full de naygur’s wants,
‘Tis seamed wid never-failing springs
To give dew to de plants.

You hab all t’ings fe mek life bles’,
But buccra ‘poil de whole
Wid gove’mint an all de res’,
Fe worry naygur soul.

Still all dem little chipidness
Caan’ tek away me lub;
De time when I’ll tu’n ‘gains’ you is
When you can’t give me grub.



Truly, MacKay, in “My Native Land, My Home,” “was one of Jamaica’s first nationalists declaring his love for the “Mother Country”” (James, 58). He lauds,

Dere is no land dat can compare
Wid you where’er I roam;
In all de wul’ none like you fair,
My native land, my home.

McKay’s fervent nationalism is clear. “E’en ef you mek me beggar die” or “Though you may cas’ me from your breas’/ An’ trample me to deat’, he will remain yet loyal. Jamaica is his true home, and the home of his people; Wayne Cooper remarks, “While Africa my have been only an uncomfortable place from which one long ago escaped, there could be no question about Jamaica. It was home, a place known, accepted, and loved” (Cooper, 38). Jamaica is the place of “life an’ nourishment,” of “fertile soil” and “never-failing springs.” McKay’s speaker continues,

Jamaica is de nigger’s place,
No mind whe’ some declare;
Although dem call we “no-land race,”
I know we home is here.

McKay has claimed Jamaica for the black race; in this poem, he swiftly supplants the British stake and replaces it with one of his own making. Lee Jenkins remarks, “The speaker…insists as a matter of pride that “Jamaica is de nigger’s place”…”My Native Land, My Home” [carries] nascent suggestions of the anticolonialism and black nationalism that inform his later work” (Jenkins, 17). McKay’s appropriation of Jamaica was radical and innovative for the time. Winston James notes, “McKay’s enthusiastic embrace of Jamaica…a veritable claiming of the island for the black “race,” was a very rare posture in Jamaica at the time. It was hardly typical of the peasantry or the emergent black working class” (James, 93). Thus, in “My Native Land, My Home,” McKay emerges as progressive, passionately nationalistic, and fundamentally Jamaican. Addison Gayle’s asserts that, “in Jamaica was the beginning, and in Jamaica were those unforgettable moments which would remain forever a part of McKay’s poetical consciousness…In poetry, at least, McKay was never to be…far from Jamaica” (Gayle, 23), Never is this more evident than in “My Native Land, My Home.”