In honor of Black History Month, this Poem Instant comes from the Harlem Renaissance. For more resources on the Harlem Renaissance, there is an excellent site available at Northern Kentucky University. To access this page,Click here.
Countee Cullen - "Incident"
Langston Hughes - "Dinner Guest: Me"
Jean Toomer - "Cotton Song"
Jay Wright - "Lying in a Hammock..."
Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a Baltimorean
Keep looking straight at me.
Now I was eight and very small,
And he was no whit bigger,
And so I smiled, but he poked out
His tongue, and called me, "Nigger."
I saw the whole of Baltimore
From May until December;
Of all the things that happened there
That´s all that I remember.
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Skip down to Toomer
I know I am
The Negro Problem
Being wined and dined,
Answering the usual questions
That come to white mind
Which seeks demurely
To Probe in polite way
The why and wherewithal
Of darkness U.S.A. --
Wondering how things got this way
In current democratic night,
Murmuring gently
Over fraises du bois,
"I´m so ashamed of being white."
The lobster is delicious,
The wine divine,
And center of attention
At the damask table, mine,
To be a Problem on
Park Avenue at eight
Is not so bad.
Solutions to the Problem,
Of course, wait.
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Come, brother, come. Lets lift it;
come now, hewit! roll away!
Shackles fall upon the Judgment Day
But lets not wait for it.
God´s body´s got a soul,
Bodies like to roll the soul,
Cant blame God if we dont roll,
Come, brother, roll, roll!
Cotton bales are the fleecy way,
Weary sinner´s bare feet trod,
Softly, softly to the throne of God,
"We aint agwine t wait until th Judgment Day!
Nassur; nassur,
Hump.
Eoho, eoho, roll away!
We aint agwine to wait until th Judgment Day!"
God´s body´s got a soul,
Bodies like to roll the soul,
Cant blame God if we dont roll,
Come, brother, roll, roll!
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Go up to Cullen´s "Incident".
Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year´s horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.
Return to top. As always, your comments and suggestions are welcome. Send me an e-mail if you want to suggest a site or poem to go along with this month´s theme; or if you just want to give me feedback. I definitely appreciate it: this site is always a work in progress Still to come this month: ©2005. All Rights Reserved.