In Countee Cullen’s “Dialogue,” a person’s soul and body argue over what song can really do. The soul speaks first, almost rapturously: it calls song the strongest thing, a staff for the weak and a ladder from God. It promises that the singer will be fed with honeyed milk, led through green pastures, and even crowned among the dead. The body keeps interrupting with blunt physical objections—song is not food, drink, or shoes, and it will not buy a coffin to keep the flesh from scavengers. The contrast creates a tense, unresolved mood. The soul’s language is lush and biblical; the body’s is bare and practical. Neither side wins outright, and that is the point: the poem leaves us caught between the hunger for transcendence and the demands of the body.
Dialogue — Summary
Soul: There is no stronger thing than song; In sun and rain and leafy trees It wafts the timid soul along On crested waves of melodies.
Body: But leaves the body bare to feed Its hunger with its very need.
Soul: Although the frenzied belly writhes, Yet render up in song your tithes; Song is the weakling’s oaken rod, His Jacob’s ladder dropped from God.
Body: Song is not drink; song is not meat, Nor strong, thick shoes for naked feet.
Soul: Who sings by unseen hands is fed With honeyed milk and warm, white bread; His ways in pastures green are led, And perfumed oil illumes his head; His cup with wine is surfeited, And when the last low note is read, He sings among the lipless dead With singing stars to crown his head.
Body: But will song buy a wooden box The length of me from toe to crown, To keep me safe from carrion flocks When singing’s done and lyre laid down?