Kabnis
White-man’s land.Niggers, sing.Burn, bear black childrenTill poor rivers bringRest, and sweet gloryIn Camp Ground.
“Why in Christ’s hell cant you leave me alone? Damn it, I wish yourcackle would choke you. Choke every mother’s son of them in thisGod-forsaken hole. Go away. By God I’ll wring your neck for you if youdont. Hell of a mess I’ve got in: even the poultry is hostile. Go way.Go way. By God, I’ll...”
Kabnis whirls the chicken by its neck, and throws the head away. Picksup the hopping body, warm, sticky, and hides it in a clump of bushes.He wipes blood from his hands onto the coarse scant grass.
“Well, I’m damned. This godam place is sure getting the best of me.Come, Ralph, old man, pull yourself together. Nights cant last forever.Thank God for that. Its Sunday already. First time in my life I’ve everwanted Sunday to come. Hell of a day. And down here there’s no suchthing as ducking church. Well, I’ll see Halsey and Layman, and get agood square meal. Thats something. And Halsey’s a damn good feller.Cant talk to him, though. Who in Christ’s world can I talk to? A hen.God. Myself... I’m going bats, no doubt of that. Come now, Ralph, goin and make yourself go to sleep. Come now .. in the door .. thatsright. Put the poker down. There. All right. Slip under the sheets.Close your eyes. Think nothing .. a long time .. nothing, nothing.Dont even think nothing. Blank. Not even blank. Count. No, mustnt countNothing .. blank .. nothing .. blank .. space without stars in it.No, nothing .. nothing..
White-man’s land.Niggers, sing.Burn, bear black childrenTill poor rivers bringRest, and sweet gloryIn Camp Ground.
Layman: Sholy fine, Mr. Halsey, sholy fine. This town’s right good atfeedin folks, better’n most towns in th state, even for preachers, butI ken say this beats um all. Yassur. Now aint that right, ProfessorKabnis?
Halsey: Aint that, Layman. He aint like most northern niggers that way.Aint a thing stuck up about him. He likes us, you an me, maybe all—itsthat red mud over yonder—gets stuck in it an cant get out. (Laughs.)An then he loves th fire so, warm as its been. Coldest Yankee I’ve everseen. But I’m goin t get him out now in a jiffy, eh, Kabnis?
Halsey (in a mock religious tone): Amen t that, brother Layman. Amen(turning to Kabnis, half playful, yet somehow dead in earnest). An Mr.Kabnis, kindly remember youre in th land of cotton—hell of a land.Th white folks get th boll; th niggers get th stalk. An dont you daretouch th boll, or even look at it. They’ll swing y sho. (Laughs.)
Layman: Ever hear tell of a single shot killin moren one rabbit,Professor?
Kabnis: Cant something be done? But of course not. Thispreacher-ridden race. Pray and shout. Theyre in the preacher’s hands.Thats what it is. And the preacher’s hands are in the white man’spockets.
Layman: Cant make heads or tails of him, an I’ve seen lots o queerpossums in my day. Everybody’s wonderin about him. White folks too.He’ll have t leave here soon, thats sho. Always askin questions. An Iaint seed his lips move once. Pokin round an notin somethin. Noted whatI said th other day, an that werent fer notin down.
Words in this poem
- damn v. t.
- To condemn; to declare guilty; to doom; to adjudge to punishment; to sentence; to censhure. [OE. damnen dap), OF. damner, dampner, F. damner, fr. L. damnare, damnatum, to condemn, fr. damnum damage, a fine, penalty. Cf. Condemn, Damage.]
- cackle v. i.
- To make a sharp, broken noise or cry, as a hen or goose does. [OE. cakelen; cf. LG. kakeln, D. kakelen, G. gackeln, gackern; all of imitative origin. Cf. Gagle, Cake to cackle.]
- onto prep.
- On the top of; upon; on. See On to, under On, prep. [On + to. Cf. Into.]
- damned a.
- Sentenced to punishment in a future state; condemned; consigned to perdition.
- ralph n.
- A name sometimes given to the raven.
- thank n.
- A expression of gratitude; an acknowledgment expressive of a sense of favor or kindness received; obligation, claim, or desert, or gratitude; -- now generally used in the plural. [AS. Þanc, Þonc, thanks, favor, thought; akin to OS. thank favor, pleasure, thanks, D. & G. dank thanks, Icel. Þ\'94kk, Dan. tak, Sw. tack, Goth. Þagks thanks; -]
- feller n.
- One who, or that which, fells, knocks or cuts down; a machine for felling trees.
- folks n.
- In Anglo-Saxon times, the people of a group of townships or villages; a community; a tribe. [AS. folc; akin to D. volk, OS. & OHG. folk, G. volk, Icel. f, Sw. & Dan. folk, Lith. pulkas crowd, and perh. to E. follow.]
- maybe adv.
- Perhaps; possibly; peradventure. [For it may be.]
- yonder adv.
- At a distance, but within view. [OE. yonder, ýonder; cf. OD. ginder, Goth. jaindr there. Yond, adv.]
- jiffy n.
- A moment; an instant; as, I will be ready in a jiffy. [Perh. corrupt. fr. gliff.]
- amen interj.
- An expression used at the end of prayers, and meaning, So be it. At the end of a creed, it is a solemn asseveration of belief. [L. amen, Gr. am certainly, truly.]
- somehow adv.
- In one way or another; in some way not yet known or designated; by some means; as, the thing must be done somehow; he lives somehow.
- boll n.
- The pod or capsule of a plant, as of flax or cotton; a pericarp of a globular form. [OE. bolle boll, bowl, AS. bolla. See Bowl a vessel.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Kabnis is in the public domain. This text is taken from Cane, Project Gutenberg ebook #60093; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Jean Toomer, Kabnis, in Cane (1923), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #60093, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/toomer-cane/kabnis.html, id L01581.
Form and metre
Kabnis is 59 lines in 11 stanzas. 91% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 12.0 syllables. 14 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 48% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -A-A-- land · singA · children · bringA · glory · ground
- 4 -AA-------B--B me · foreverA · everA · such · a · feller · hen · go · thats · sheets · nothingB · count · it · nothingB
- 5 -A-A-- land · singA · children · bringA · glory · ground
- 10 -AA- this · handsA · man'sA · pockets
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| White-man’s land. | 3 | ··· |
| Niggers, sing. | 3 | /˘· |
| Burn, bear black children | 5 | ···/˘ |
| Till poor rivers bring | 5 | ··/˘· |
| Rest, and sweet glory | 5 | ···/˘ |
| In Camp Ground. | 3 | ··· |
| “Why in Christ’s hell cant you leave me alone? Damn it, I wish your | 15 | ········˘/····· |
| cackle would choke you. Choke every mother’s son of them in this | 15 | /˘····/˘/˘····· |
| God-forsaken hole. Go away. By God I’ll wring your neck for you if you | 18 | ·˘/˘··˘/·········· |
| dont. Hell of a mess I’ve got in: even the poultry is hostile. Go way. | 17 | ········/·/˘·˘/·· |
| Go way. By God, I’ll...” | 5 | ····· |
| Kabnis whirls the chicken by its neck, and throws the head away. Picks | 16 | ····/˘·······˘/· |
| up the hopping body, warm, sticky, and hides it in a clump of bushes. | 18 | ··/˘/˘·/˘·······/˘ |
| He wipes blood from his hands onto the coarse scant grass. | 12 | ······/˘···· |
| “Well, I’m damned. This godam place is sure getting the best of me. | 15 | ·········/˘···· |
| Come, Ralph, old man, pull yourself together. Nights cant last forever. | 16 | ·····˘/˘/˘···˘/˘ |
| Thank God for that. Its Sunday already. First time in my life I’ve ever | 17 | ·····/·˘/˘······/ |
| wanted Sunday to come. Hell of a day. And down here there’s no such | 16 | /˘/············· |
| thing as ducking church. Well, I’ll see Halsey and Layman, and get a | 16 | ··/˘····/˘·/˘··· |
| good square meal. Thats something. And Halsey’s a damn good feller. | 14 | ····/˘·/˘···/˘ |
| Cant talk to him, though. Who in Christ’s world can I talk to? A hen. | 15 | ··············· |
| God. Myself... I’m going bats, no doubt of that. Come now, Ralph, go | 14 | ··/·/········· |
| in and make yourself go to sleep. Come now .. in the door .. thats | 14 | ···˘/········· |
| right. Put the poker down. There. All right. Slip under the sheets. | 14 | ···/˘········· |
| Close your eyes. Think nothing .. a long time .. nothing, nothing. | 13 | ····/˘···/˘/˘ |
| Dont even think nothing. Blank. Not even blank. Count. No, mustnt count | 13 | ·/·/˘··/····· |
| Nothing .. blank .. nothing .. blank .. space without stars in it. | 12 | /˘·/˘······· |
| No, nothing .. nothing.. | 5 | ·/˘/˘ |
| White-man’s land. | 3 | ··· |
| Niggers, sing. | 3 | /˘· |
| Burn, bear black children | 5 | ···/˘ |
| Till poor rivers bring | 5 | ··/˘· |
| Rest, and sweet glory | 5 | ···/˘ |
| In Camp Ground. | 3 | ··· |
| Layman: Sholy fine, Mr. Halsey, sholy fine. This town’s right good at | 17 | /˘···/˘/˘········ |
| feedin folks, better’n most towns in th state, even for preachers, but | 14 | ·········/·/˘· |
| I ken say this beats um all. Yassur. Now aint that right, Professor | 16 | ·············˘/˘ |
| Kabnis? | 2 | ·· |
| Halsey: Aint that, Layman. He aint like most northern niggers that way. | 16 | /˘··/˘····/˘/˘·· |
| Aint a thing stuck up about him. He likes us, you an me, maybe all—its | 18 | ··············/˘·· |
| that red mud over yonder—gets stuck in it an cant get out. (Laughs.) | 15 | ····/˘········· |
| An then he loves th fire so, warm as its been. Coldest Yankee I’ve ever | 16 | ····/·····/˘/˘·/ |
| seen. But I’m goin t get him out now in a jiffy, eh, Kabnis? | 16 | ···········/˘··· |
| Halsey (in a mock religious tone): Amen t that, brother Layman. Amen | 19 | /˘···˘/˘·˘/··/˘/˘˘/ |
| (turning to Kabnis, half playful, yet somehow dead in earnest). An Mr. | 18 | /˘····/˘·/···/˘·/˘ |
| Kabnis, kindly remember youre in th land of cotton—hell of a land. | 17 | ··/˘˘/˘····/˘···· |
| Th white folks get th boll; th niggers get th stalk. An dont you dare | 12 | ····/˘······ |
| touch th boll, or even look at it. They’ll swing y sho. (Laughs.) | 12 | ···/········ |
| Layman: Ever hear tell of a single shot killin moren one rabbit, | 17 | /˘/····/˘·/˘/˘·/˘ |
| Professor? | 3 | ˘/˘ |
| Kabnis: Cant something be done? But of course not. This | 12 | ···/˘······· |
| preacher-ridden race. Pray and shout. Theyre in the preacher’s hands. | 14 | /˘/˘·······/˘· |
| Thats what it is. And the preacher’s hands are in the white man’s | 14 | ······/˘······ |
| pockets. | 2 | /˘ |
| Layman: Cant make heads or tails of him, an I’ve seen lots o queer | 15 | /˘············· |
| possums in my day. Everybody’s wonderin about him. White folks too. | 18 | /˘···/˘·˘········· |
| He’ll have t leave here soon, thats sho. Always askin questions. An I | 16 | ········/˘˘//˘·· |
| aint seed his lips move once. Pokin round an notin somethin. Noted what | 18 | ···············/˘· |
| I said th other day, an that werent fer notin down. | 13 | ··/˘········· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.