April Is National Poetry Month!
I, TOO SING, AMERICA
LANGSTON HUGHES
RENOWNED HARLEM RENAISSANCE POET X NOVELIST
X ESSAYIST X PLAYWRIGHT X COLUMNIST X SOCIAL ACTIVIST
I, Too, Sing, America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I’ll be at the table
When company comes
Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.
Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--
I, too, am American.
April Is National Poetry Month!
AMERICA
LANGSTON HUGHES
RENOWNED HARLEM RENAISSANCE POET X NOVELIST
X ESSAYIST X PLAYWRIGHT X COLUMNIST X SOCIAL ACTIVIST
April Is National Poetry Month!
The Negro Mother
Children, I come back today
To tell you a story of the long dark way
That I had to climb, that I had to know
In order that the race might live and grow.
Look at my face – dark as the night –
Yet shining like the sun with love's true light.
I am the child they stole from the sand
Three hundred years ago in Africa's land.
I am the dark girl who crossed the wide sea
Carrying in my body the seed of the free.
I am the woman who worked in the field
Bringing the cotton and corn to yield.
I am the one who labored as a slave,
Beaten and mistreated for the work that I gave –
Children sold away from me, husband sold, too.
No safety, no love no respect was I due.
Three hundred years in the deepest south:
But God put a song and a prayer in my mouth.
God put a dream like steel in my soul.
Now, through my children, I'm reaching the goal.
Now, through my children, young and free,
I realize the blessings denied to me.
I couldn't read then. I couldn't write.
I had nothing, back there in the night.
Sometimes, the valley was filled with tears,
But I kept trudging on through the lonely years.
Sometimes, the road was hot with sun,
But I had to keep on till my work was done:
I had to keep on! No stopping for me –
I was the seed of the coming Free.
I nourished the dream that nothing could smother
Deep in my breast – the Negro mother.
I had only hope then, but now through you
Dark ones of today, my dreams must come true:
All you dark children in the world out there,
Remember my sweat, my pain, my despair.
Remember my years, heavy with sorrow –
And make of those years a torch for tomorrow.
Make of my past a road to the light
Out of darkness, the ignorance, the night.
Lift high my banner out of the dust.
Stand like free men supporting my trust.
Believe in the right, let none push you back.
Remember the whip and the slaver's track.
Remember how the strong in struggle and strife
Still bar you the way, and deny you life –
But march ever forward, breaking down bars.
Look ever upward at the sun and the stars.
Oh, my dark children, may my dreams and my prayers
Impel you forever up the great stairs –
For I will be with you till no white brother
Dares keep down the children of the Negro mother.
April Is National Poetry Month!
Featured in Teamwork magazine, The Associated Negro Press, and in The American Negro Poetry magazine.
This poem is from the libretto of “Troubled Island.” An opera written by Langston Hughes and William Grant Still.
I
Dream a World
I
dream a world where man
No other man will scorn,
Where love will bless the earth
And peace its paths adorn.
I dream a world where all
Will know sweet freedom's way,
Where greed no longer saps the soul
Nor avarice blights our day.
A world I dream where black or white,
Whatever race you be,
Will share the bounties of the earth
And every man is free,
Where wretchedness will hang its head
And joy, like a pearl,
Attends the needs of all mankind –
of such I dream, my world!
April Is National Poetry Month!
Necessity
Work?
I don't have to work.
I don't have to do nothing
but eat, drink, stay black, and die.
This little old furnished room's
so small I can't whip a cat
without getting fur in my mouth
and my landlady's so old
her features is all run together
and God knows she sure can overcharge –
Which is why I reckon I does
have to work after all.
April Is National Poetry Month
Madam's Past History
My name is Johnson –
Madam Alberta K.
The madam stands for business.
I'm smart that way.
I had a
HAIR-DRESSING PARLOR
Before
The depression put
The prices lower.
Then I had a
BARBECUE STAND
Till I got mixed up
with a no-good man.
Cause I had insurance
The WPA
Said, We can't use you
Wealthy that way.
I said,
DON'T WORRY 'BOUT ME!
Just like the song,
You WPA folks take care of yourself –
And I'll get along.
I do cooking,
Day's work, too!
Alberta K. Johnson –
Madam to you.
April Is National Poetry Month
Before state lotteries, there was the numbers game. Illegal gambling where not only money rode on bets, but hopes and dreams, too. Many Numbers games operated throughout the black communities, Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit, and Atlanta.
My grandmother played the numbers in Baltimore.
Legendary Harlem Number Racketeers were Madame Queen and The Botito King.
First published in the Contemporary Poetry magazine during the Autumn of 1943 under the name “Madam and the Number Runner.”
I present the one and only Madam Alberta K. Johnson!
Madam and the Number Writer
Number runner
Come to my door.
I had swore
I wouldn't play no more.
He
said, Madam,
6-0-2
Looks like a likely
Hit for you.
I
said, Last night,
I dreamed 7-0-3
He said, That might
Be a hit for mie.
He
played a dime,
I played too,
Then we boxed 'em
Wouldn't you?
But
the number that day
was 3-2-6
And we both was in
The same old fix.
I
said, I swear I
Ain't gonna play no more
Till I get over
To the other shore--
Then
I can play
On them golden streets
Where the number not only
Comes out—but repeats!
The
runner said, Madam,
That's all very well –
But suppose
You goes to hell?
April Is National Poetry Month
Also named “Crossing Jordan,” with an alternate ending. The last two lines read, “Crossing Jordan! Crossing Jordan! Alone and by myself.”
Crossing
It
was that lonely day, folks
When I walked all by myself.
My friends was all around me
But it was if they'd left.
I went up on a mountain
In a high cold wind
And the coat that I was wearing
Was mosquito-netting thin.
I went down in the valley
And I crossed an icy stream
And the water I was crossing
Was no water in a dream
And the shoes I was wearing
No protection for that stream.
Then I stood out on a prairie
And as far as I could see
Wasn't nobody on that prairie
Looked like me.
It was that lonely day, folks
I walked all by myself:
My friends was right there with me
But was just as if they'd left.
April Is National Poetry Month
Harlem Sweeties
Have you dug the spill
Of Sugar Hill?
Cast your gims
On this Sepia thrill:
Brown sugar lassie,
Caramel treat,
Honey-gold baby
Sweet enough to eat.
Peach-skinned girlie.
Coffee and cream,
Chocolate darling
Out of a dream.
Walnut tinted
Or cocoa brown,
Pomegranate lipped
Pride of the town.
Rich cream colored
To plum-tinted black,
Feminine sweetness
In Harlem's no lack.
Glow of the quince
To blush of the rose.
Persimmon bronze
To cinnamon toes.
Blackberry cordial,
Virginia dare wine--
All those sweet colors
Flavor Harlem of mine!
Walnut or cocoa,
Let me repeat:
Caramel, brown sugar,
A chocolate treat.
Molasses taffy,
Coffee and cream,
Licorice, clove, cinnamon
To a honey-brown dream.
Ginger, wine-gold,
Persimmon, blackberry,
All through the spectrum
Harlem girls vary--
So if you want to know beauty's
Rainbow-sweet thrill,
Stroll down luscious,
Delicious, fine Sugar Hill.
April Is National Poetry Month
The poem was first published in The Carmel Pine Cone Newspaper on April 4, 1941.
If-ing
If I had some small change
I'd buy me a mule,
Get on that mule and
Ride like a fool.
If I had some greenbacks
I'd buy me a packard,
Fill it up with gas and
Drive that baby backward.
If I had a million
I'd get me a plane
And everybody in America'd
Think I was insane.
But I ain't got a million,
Fact is, ain't got a dime--
So just by if-ing
I have a good time!
April Is National Poetry Month
The poem first appeared in Poetry magazine in April 1940.
My life ain't nothin'
But a lot o' Gawd-knows-what.
I say my life ain't nothin'
But a lot o' Gawd-knows-what.
Just one thing after 'nother
Added to de trouble that I got.
When I got you I
Thought I had an angel-chile.
When I got you
Thought I had an angel-chile.
You turned out to be the devil
That mighty nigh drove me wild!
Tell me, tell me,
What makes love such an ache and pain?
Tell me what makes
Love such an ache and pain?
It takes you and it breaks you--
But you got to love again.
April Is National Poetry Month
This poem was first published in The Crisis magazine in March 1940.
Notes on Commercial Theatre
You've taken my blues and gone--
You sing 'em on Broadway
And you sing 'em in Hollywood Bowl,
And you mixed 'em up with symphonies
And you fixed 'em
So they don't sound like me.
Yep, you done taken my blues and gone.
You also took my spirituals and gone.
You put me in Macbeth and Carmen Jones
And all kinds of Swing Mikados
And in everything but what's about me--
But someday somebody'll
Stand up and talk about me,
And write about me--
Black and beautiful--
And sing about me,
And put on plays about me!
I reckon it'll be
Me myself!
Yes, it'll be me.
April Is National Poetry Month
This poem appeared in Opportunity: A Journal of Negro Life in September 1935.
Call of Ethiopia
Ethiopia
Lift your night-dark face,
Abyssinian
Son of Sheba's race!
Your palm trees tall
And your mountains high
Are shade and shelter
To men who die
For freedom's sake--
But in the wake of your sacrifice
May all Africa arise
With blazing eyes and night-dark face
In answer to the call of Sheba's race:
Ethiopias free!
Be like me,
All of Africa,
Arise and be free!
All you black peoples,
Be free! Be free!
April Is National Poetry Month
Originally entitled, “Pride,” first appeared in Opportunity: A Journal of Negro Life in December 1930.
Militant
Let all who will
Eat quietly the bread of shame.
I cannot,
Without complaining loud and long,
Tasting its bitterness in my throat,
And feeling to my very soul
It's wrong.
For honest work
You proffer me poor pay,
For honest dreams
Your spit is in my face,
And so my fist is clenched
Today--
To strike your face.
April Is National Poetry Month
Rent Party Shout-out! Harlem rent parties are legendary! This poem was first published in Amsterdam News on August 20, 1930.
Whip it to a jelly!
Too bad Jim!
Mamie's got ma man--
An' I can't find him.
Shake that thing! O!
Shake it slow!
That man I love is
Mean an' low.
Pistol an' razor!
Razor an' gun!
If I sees ma man he'd
Better run--
For I'll shoot him in de shoulder,
Else I'll cut him down,
Cause I knows I can find him
When he's in de ground--
Then can't no other women
Have him layin' round.
So play it, Mr. Nappy!
Yo' music's fine!
I'm gonna kill that
Man o' mine!
April Is National Poetry Month
Afro-American Fragment
So long,
So far away
Is Africa.
Not even memories alive
Save those that history books create,
Save those that songs
Beat back into the blood--
Beat out of blood with words sad-sung
In strange un-Negro tongue--
So long,
So far away
Is Africa.
Subdued and time-lost
Are the drums—and yet
Through some vast mist of race
There comes this song
I do not understand
This song of atavistic land,
Of bitter yearning lost
Without a place--
So long,
So far away
Is Africa's
Dark face.
April Is National Poetry Month
“Fire” was the name of a controversial literary magazine that was started by Langston Hughes, Zora Neale Hurston, Countee Cullen, along with five other prominent Harlem Renaissance figures. The magazine only printed one issue before the headquarters burned to the ground.
Fire
Fire,
Fire, Lord!
Fire gonna burn ma soul!
I ain't been good,
I ain't been clean--
I been stinkin', low-down, mean.
Fire,
Fire, Lord!
Fire gonna burn ma soul!
Tell me, brother,
Do you believe
If you wanta go to heaben
Got to moan an' grieve?
Fire,
Fire, Lord!
Fire gonna burn ma soul!
I been stealin'
Been tellin' lies,
Had more women
Than Pharaoh had wives.
Fire,
Fire, Lord!
Fire gonna burn ma soul!
I means Fire, Lord!
Fire gonna burn ma soul!
April Is National Poetry Month
Published in May 1925, in Opportunity: A Journal of Negro Life. “The Weary Blues” won first prize in a literary contest sponsored by Opportunity: A Journal of Negro Life.
The Weary Blues
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
He did a lazy sway....
He did a lazy sway....
To the tune o' those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He play that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man's soul.
O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan –
“Ain't got nobody in all this world,
Ain't got nobody but ma self.
I's gwine to quit ma frownin'
And put ma troubles on the shelf.”
Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more--
“I got the Weary Blues
And I can't be satisfied.
Got the Weary Blues
And can't be satisfied--
I ain't happy no mo'
And I wish that I had died.”
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.
April Is National Poetry Month
As I Grew Older
It was a long time ago.
I have almost forgotten my dream.
But it was there then,
In front of me,
Bright like a sun--
My dream.
And then the wall rose,
Rose slowly,
Slowly,
Between me and my dream.
Rose slowly, slowly,
Dimming,
Hiding,
The light of my dream.
Rose until it touched the sky ---
The wall.
Shadow.
I am black.
I lie down in the shadow.
No longer the light of my dream before me,
Above me.
Only the thick wall.
Only the shadow.
My hands!
My dark hands!
Break through the wall!
Find my dream!
Help me
shatter this darkness,
To smash this night,
To break this shadow
Into a thousand lights of sun,
Into a thousand whirling dreams
Of sun!
April Is National Poetry Month
Originally entitled “Strange Hurt She Knew.” This poem was first published in The New York Herald Tribune on February 14, 1926.
Strange Hurt
In times of stormy weather
She felt queer pain
That said,
“You'll find rain better
Than shelter from the rain.”
Days filled with fiery sunshine
Strange hurt she knew
That made
Her seek the burning sunlight
Rather than the shade.
In months of snowy winter
When cozy houses hold,
She'd break down doors
To wander naked
In the cold.
