SHOWIN’ OFF
THE ANGEL CHILD
THE BLUE HOTEL
THE BRIDE COMES TO YELLOW SKY
THE CARRIAGE-LAMPS
THE CITY URCHIN AND THE CHASTE VILLAGERS
THE CLAN OF NO-NAME
THE FIGHT
THE FIVE WHITE MICE
THE KNIFE
THE LITTLE REGIMENT.
THE LONE CHARGE OF WILLIAM B. PERKINS
THE LOVER AND THE TELLTALE
THE MONSTER
THE OPEN BOAT
THE PRICE OF THE HARNESS
THE REVENGE OF THE ADOLPHUS
THE SECOND GENERATION
THE SERGEANT’S PRIVATE MADHOUSE
THE STOVE
THE TRIAL, EXECUTION, AND BURIAL OF HOMER PHELPS
THE VETERAN.
THE WISE MEN: A DETAIL OF AMERICAN LIFE IN MEXICO
THIS MAJESTIC LIE
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS.
TWELVE O’CLOCK
VIRTUE IN WAR
WAR MEMORIES
The Poetry Collections
61 Washington Square South, in Greenwich Village, New York. Dubbed the “House of Genius,” over the years residents included authors Willa Cather, John Dos Passos, Alan Seeger, and Stephen Crane. Demolished in 1948.
THE BLACK RIDERS AND OTHER LINES
The Black Riders and Other Lines was Stephen Crane’s second published book, appearing in 1895, not long before The Red Badge of Courage. Copeland and Day initially printed only 500 standard copies and another 50 printed in green on Japan vellum. Crane did not title any of the 56 short poems, numbering them instead. A young artist friend of Crane’s, Fred Gordon, designed the book’s distinctive cover depicting a stylized blooming orchid. Emily Dickinson’s work most likely inspired Crane’s sparse, spare style, after he heard some of her poems read aloud by William Dean Howells while sharing tea together. Although Howells attempted to interest Harper’s Magazine in Crane’s poems, he was unsuccessful.
Copeland and Day were the first to publish Crane’s poems, a Boston publisher noted for taking a chance on experimental writing such as Crane’s. Their willingness to try something new included the typography – Crane’s poems appeared only in capital letters. Reviewers reacted harshly to the book, with one exception. Harry Thurston Peck described Crane as “the Aubrey Beardsley of poetry,” referring to the popular illustrator. Crane’s unusual poetry sparked many parodies, some of them derisive. Crane’s later fame brought about a more thoughtful and serious re-evaluation of his poetry. Crane himself told Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Weekly that he preferred The Black Riders and Other Lines over The Red Badge of Courage. “My aim was to comprehend in it the thoughts I have had about life in general,” he explained.
A first edition copy, black print on grey boards
A first edition copy in vellum
THE BLACK RIDERS POEMS I-LXVIII
CONTENTS
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
XXIV
XXV
XXVI
XXVII
XXVIII
XXIX
XXX
XXXI
XXXII
XXXIII
XXXIV
XXXV
XXXVI
XXXVII
XXXVIII
XXXIX
XL
XLI
XLII
XLIII
XLIV
XLV
XLVI
XLVII
XLVIII
XLIX
L
LI
LII
LIII
LIV
LV
LVI
LVII
LVIII
LIX
LX
LXI
LXII
LXIII
LXIV
LXV
LXVI
LXVII
LXVIII
A first edition with gold stamped lettering on black binding with embossed flower.
I
Black Riders came from the sea.
There was clang and clang of spear and shield,
And clash and clash of hoof and heel,
Wild shouts and the wave of hair
In the rush upon the wind:
Thus the ride of Sin.
II
Three little birds in a row
Sat musing.
A man passed near that place.
Then did the little birds nudge each other.
They said, “He thinks he can sing.”
They threw back their heads to laugh,
With quaint countenances
They regarded him.
They were very curious,
Those three little birds in a row.
III
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter — bitter,” he answered;
“But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.”
IV
Yes, I have a thousand tongues,
And nine and ninety-nine lie.
Though I strive to use the one,
It will make no melody at my will,
But is dead in my mouth.
V
Once there came a man
Who said,
“Range me all men of the world in rows.”
And instantly
There was terrific clamor among the people
Against being ranged in rows.
There was a loud quarrel, world-wide.
It endured for ages;
And blood was shed
By those who would not stand in rows,
And by those who pined to stand in rows,
Eventually, the man went to death, weeping.
And those who staid in bloody scuffle
Knew not the great simplicity.
VI
God fashioned the ship of the world carefully
With the infinite skill of an All-Master
Made He the hull and the sails,
Held He the rudder
Ready for adjustment.
Erect stood He, scanning his work proudly.
Then — at fateful time — a Wrong called,
And God turned, heeding.
Lo, the ship, at this opportunity, slipped slyly,
Making cunning noiseless travel down the ways.
So that, forever rudderless, it went upon the seas
Going ridiculous voyages,
Making quaint progress,
Turning as with serious purpose
Before stupid winds.
And there were many in the sky
Who laughed at this thing.
VII
Mystic Shadow, bending near me,
Who art thou?
Whence come ye?
And — tell me — is it fair
Or is the truth bitter as eaten fire?
Tell me!
Fear not that I should quaver,
For I dare — I dare.
Then, tell me!
VIII
I looked here;
I looked there;
Nowhere could I see my love.
And — this time —
She was in my heart.
Truly, then, I have no complaint,
For though she be fair and fairer,
She is none
so fair as she
In my heart.
IX
I stood upon a high place,
And saw, below, many devils
Running, leaping,
And carousing in sin.
One looked up, grinning,
And said, “Comrade! Brother!”
X
Should the wide world roll away,
Leaving black terror,
Limitless night,
Nor God, nor man, nor place to stand
Would be to me essential,
If thou and thy white arms were there,
And the fall to doom a long way.
XI
In a lonely place,
I encountered a sage
Who sat, all still,
Regarding a newspaper.
He accosted me:
“Sir, what is this?”
Then I saw that I was greater,
Aye, greater than this sage.
I answered him at once,
“Old, old man, it is the wisdom of the age.”
The sage looked upon me with admiration.
XII
“and the sins of the fathers shall be
visited upon the heads of the children,
even unto the third and fourth
generation of them that hate me.”
Well, then, I hate thee, Unrighteous Picture;
Wicked Image, I hate thee;
So, strike with thy vengeance
The heads of those little men
Who come blindly.
It will be a brave thing.
XIII
If there is a witness to my little life,
To my tiny throes and struggles,
He sees a fool;
And it is not fine for gods to menace fools.
XIV
There was crimson clash of war.
Lands turned black and bare;
Women wept;
Babes ran, wondering.
There came one who understood not these things.
He said, “Why is this?”
Whereupon a million strove to answer him.
There was such intricate clamor of tongues,
That still the reason was not.
XV
“Tell brave deeds of war.”
Then they recounted tales, —
“There were stern stands
“And bitter runs for glory.”
Ah, I think there were braver deeds.
XVI
Chanty, thou art a lie,
A toy of women,
A pleasure of certain men.
In the presence of justice,
Lo, the walls of the temple
Are visible
Through thy form of sudden shadows.
XVII
There were many who went in huddled procession,
They knew not whither;
But, at any rate, success or calamity
Would attend all in equality.
There was one who sought a new road.
He went into direful thickets,
And ultimately he died thus, alone;
But they said he had courage.
XVIII
In Heaven,
Some little blades of grass
Stood before God.
“What did you do?”
Then all save one of the little blades
Began eagerly to relate
The merits of their lives.
This one stayed a small way behind,
Ashamed.
Presently, God said,
“And what did you do?”
The little blade answered, “Oh, my Lord,
“Memory is bitter to me,
“For, if I did good deeds,
“I know not of them.”
Then God, in all His splendor,
Arose from His throne.
“Oh, best little blade of grass!” He said.
XIX
A god in wrath
Was beating a man;
He cuffed him loudly
With thunderous blows
That rang and rolled over the earth.
All people came running.
The man screamed and struggled,
And bit madly at the feet of the god.
The people cried,
“Ah, what a wicked man!”
And —
“Ah, what a redoubtable god!”
XX
A learned man came to me once.
He said, “I know the way, — come.”
And I was overjoyed at this.
Together we hastened.
Soon, too soon, were we
Where my eyes were useless,
And I knew not the ways of my feet
I clung to the hand of my friend;
But at last he cried, “I am lost.”
XXI
There was, before me,
Mile upon mile
Of snow, ice, burning sand.
And yet I could look beyond all this,
To a place of infinite beauty;
And I could see the loveliness of her
Who walked in the shade of the trees.
When I gazed,
All was lost
But this place of beauty and her.
When I gazed,
And in my gazing, desired,
Then came again
Mile upon mile,
Of snow, ice, burning sand.
XXII
Once I saw Mountains angry,
And ranged in battle-front.
Against them stood a little man;
Aye, he was no bigger than my finger.
I laughed, and spoke to one near me,
“Will he prevail?”
“Surely,” replied this other;
“His grandfathers beat them many times.”
Then did I see much virtue in grandfathers, —
At least, for the little man
Who stood against the Mountains.
XXIII
Places among the stars,
Soft gardens near the sun,
Keep your distant beauty;
Shed no beams upon my weak heart.
Since she is here
In a place of blackness,
Not your golden days
Nor your silver nights
Can call me to you.
Since she is here
In a place of blackness,
Here I stay and wait.
XXIV
I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
Round and round they sped.
I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the man.
“It is futile,” I said,
“You can never” —
“You lie,” he cried,
And ran on.
XXV
Behold, the grave of a wicked man,
And near it, a stern spirit.
There came a drooping maid with violets,
But the spirit grasped her arm.
“No flowers for him,” he said.
The maid wept:
“Ah, I loved him.”
But the spirit, grim and frowning:
“No flowers for him.”
Now, this is it —
If the spirit was just,
Why did the maid weep?
XXVI
There was set before me a mighty hill,
And long days I climbed
Through regions of snow.
When I had before me the summit-view,
It seemed that my labor
Had been to see gardens
Lying at impossible distances.
XXVII
A youth in apparel that glittered
Went to walk in a grim forest.
There he met an assassin
Attired all in garb of old days;
He, scowling through the thickets,
And dagger poised quivering,
Rushed upon the youth.
“Sir,” said this latter,
“
I am enchanted, believe me,
“To die, thus,
“In this medieval fashion,
“According to the best legends;
“Ah, what joy!”
Then took he the wound, smiling,
And died, content.
XXVIII
“Truth,” said a traveller,
“Is a rock, a mighty fortress;
“Often have I been to it,
“Even to its highest tower,
“From whence the world looks black.”
“Truth,” said a traveller,
“Is a breath, a wind,
“A shadow, a phantom;
“Long have I pursued it,
“But never have I touched
“The hem of its garment.”
And I believed the second traveller;
For truth was to me
A breath, a wind,
A shadow, a phantom,
And never had I touched
The hem of its garment.
XXIX
Behold, from the land of the farther suns
I returned.
And I was in a reptile-swarming place,
Peopled, otherwise, with grimaces,
Shrouded above in black impenetrableness.
I shrank, loathing,
Sick with it.
And I said to him,
“What is this?”
He made answer slowly,
“Spirit, this is a world;
“This was your home.”
XXX
Supposing that I should have the courage
To let a red sword of virtue
Plunge into my heart,
Letting to the weeds of the ground
My sinful blood,
What can you offer me?
A gardened castle?
A flowery kingdom?
What? A hope?
Then hence with your red sword of virtue.
XXXI
Many workmen
Built a huge ball of masonry
Complete Works of Stephen Crane Page 163
