Poems / poetry / verse

Una Maud Victoria Marson
‘Little Brown Girl’, 1937

Little brown girl,
Why do you wander alone
About the streets
Of the great city
Of London?

Why do you start and wince
When white folk stare at you?
Don’t you think they wonder

Why a little brown girl
Should roam about their city
Their white, white city?

Little brown girl,
Why did you leave
Your little sunlit land
Where we sometimes go
To rest and get brown
So we may look healthy?

What are you seeking
What would you have?
In London town
There are no laughing faces,
People frown if one really laughs,
Everyone is quiet,
That is respectable;
There’s nothing picturesque
To be seen in the streets,
Nothing but people clad
In coats, coats, coats,
Coats in Autumn, Winter and Spring,
And often in the Summer-
A city of coated people
But little to charm the eye.

And the folks are all white-
White, white, white,
And they all seem the same
As they say that Negroes seem.
No pretty copper-coloured skins,
No black and bronze and brown girls
Clad in smart colours
To blend with the complexion
And wearing delicate
Dainty shoes on dainty feet
That one can admire.
No friendly countryfolk
Parading the city
With bare feet,
Bright attractive bandanas,
Black faces, pearly teeth
And flashing eyes.
No heavy-laden donkeys
And weary, laden women
Balancing huge baskets
So cleverly on their heads
While they greet each other
And tell of little things
That mean so much to them.


Little brown girl,
Do you like the shops
And all the lovely things
In the show windows?
Wouldn’t you like a coat
With a fifty-pound tag on it,
Or one of those little hats
In Bond Street?


Little brown girl,
Why do you look so hard
At the Bobbies
And the bookstalls
And the city lights?
Why do you stop and look
At all the pictures
Outside the theatres?
Do you like shows?
Have you theatres
In your country,
And from whence are you,

Little brown girl?
I guess Africa, or India,
Ah no, from some Island,
In the West Indies,
But isn’t that India
All the same?

I hear you speak,
To the Bobby,
You speak good English,

Little brown girl;
How is it that you speak
English as though it belonged
To you?

Would you like to be white,
Little brown girl?
I don’t think you would,
For you toss your head
As though you are proud
To be brown.


Little brown girl,
Don’t you feel very strange
To be so often alone
In a crowd of whites?
Do you remember you are brown
Or do you forget?
Or do people staring at you
Remind you of your colour?


Little brown girl,
You are exotic,
And you make me wonder
All sorts of things
When you stroll about London
Seeking, seeking, seeking
What are you seeking
To discover in this dismal
City of ours?
From the look in your eyes,
Little brown girl,
I know it is something
That does not really exist

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Una_Marson