In his poem, “Heritage,” Countee Cullen uses movement to describe the struggle to either embrace his heritage as an African or conform to a religion that worships a white god. Our speaker begins the poem by describing the beauty of Africa with its “copper sun or scarlet sea” (l. 2) and states that he wants to hear nothing except the sound of the birds in the jungle, suggesting that his heritage serves an important role in his life. His desire to be rooted in his heritage soon dissipates, however, as he states “So I lie, who always hear, / Though I cram against my ear / Both my thumbs, and keep them there, / Great drums throbbing through the air” (l. 19-22). He now wants to tune out the sounds of Africa, to sever his ties with his heritage, yet he still feels conflicted, for his pride lies in his “flesh and skin” (l. 25). His pride is both joyful and distressing, bursting from within him—and this is where the movement begins. He states, “With the dark blood dammed within / Like great pulsing tides of wine / That, I fear, must burst the fine / Channels of the chafing net / Where they surge and foam and fret” (l. 26-29). The strong images of movement, of pulsing tides bursting from within him, illuminate his immense passion for his heritage. This passion, it seems, is overwhelming— something that he cannot control, as he states “I can never rest at all / When the rain begins to fall; / Ever must I twist and squirm, / Writhing like a baited worm, / While its primal measures drip / Through my body” (l. 73-79). These “primal measures” are irrepressible, something from within that he was born with and will never die. His religion, however, is a struggle—it doesn’t come naturally to him and is “high-priced” (l. 89). This passion that was bubbling and building in the first four stanzas begins to simmer and eventually dies.
In the fifth and sixth stanzas when our speaker mentions his religion, the movement ceases. No longer are there images of writhing bodies, pouncing jungle cats, or pulsing tides. The only movement in either of these two stanzas comes when the speaker describes the Africans shaping their gods out of clay and stone. The juxtaposition of movement and stillness suggests that his heritage has more life, gives more life, than his religion does—and why? Because he doesn’t feel connected to his god. He states that “Ever at Thy glowing alter / Must my heart grow sick and falter, / Wishing He I served were black” (l. 99-101). The speaker, whose pride comes from the color of his skin, feels sick knowing that the god he worships is white. Yet he believes that if he doesn’t “Quench [his] pride and cool [his] blood” (l. 119) then he will “perish in the flood” (l. 120). He painstakingly seeks justification for severing his ties with his heritage, stating that “The tree / Budding yearly must forget / How its past arose or set” (l. 53-55). Yet he can’t sever these ties because whenever he is still, the passion that brews deep in his blood surfaces, creating movement in his mind. It can’t be dissolved, as he “find[s] no peace / Night or day, no slight release / From the unremittent beat” (l. 64-66). His love and pride for his heritage is deep-rooted like the jungle trees, and no matter his faith, it will remain. Only when he comes to the realization that his people are civilized will he be able to live in harmony with both his passion for his heritage and his love for a white god.
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