SELECTED POEMS OF LANGSTON HUGHES
AUTHOR:
LANGSTON HUGHES
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
MR. HUGHES WAS BORN IN JOPLIN MISSOURI IN 1902. HIS FIRST POEM THAT APPEARED IN A NATIONAL KNOWN MAGAZINE NAMED CRISIS IN 1921 WAS "THE NEGRO SPEAKS OF RIVERS". IN 1925 HE WAS GIVEN THE AWARD FOR 1ST PRIZE FOR POETRY INSIDE THE MAGAZINE OPPORTUNITY THE POEM WAS "THE WEARY BLUES" WHICH WOULD BE COME THE TITLE FOR HIS FIRST BOOK IN 1926. DURING HIS LIFE HE WAS AWARDED WITH MANY AWARDS GUGGENHEIM FELLOWSHIP AWARD IN 1935, ROSENWALD FELLOWSHIP AWARD IN 1940 AND HONORARY LITT AWARD IN 1943 AND ALSO THE AMERICAN ACADEMY OF ARTS AND LETTERS GRANT IN 1947 AMONG OTHERS. HE WROTE POETRY SHORT STORIES, AUTOBIOGRAPHY, SONGS, ESSAYS, HUMOR AND ALSO PLAYS.
MY REVIEW AND THOUGHTS:
TO ME MR. HUGHES IS ONE OF THE GREATEST POETRY WRITERS TO EVER LIVE. HE HAS A POWERFUL WAY WITH WORDS MIXING JAZZ, SOUL, THE BLUES ALL TO TELL A STORY IN COMPLETE FLOW THAT IS SMOOTH TO THE READER READING. HE HAS AWAY WITH MIXING THE READER INTO HIS POETRY THAT VERY FEW POETS CAN DO. YOU FEEL MR. HUGHES IN HIS WORK AS YOU READ HIS STYLED WAYS IN SHOWCASING WHAT HE KNOWS, WHAT HE BELIEVES AND WHAT HE WANTS TO EXPRESS TO OTHERS AS YOU TURN EACH PAGE TO FINISH WHAT WAS BEING SAID.
ALL HIS POETRY TELL A STORY IN SOME WAY. SMALL OR LONG EACH POEM HAS LIFE AND ALSO HAS DEEP MEANING IN MOST CASES. MY FIRST POETRY BOOK I EVER BOUGHT WAS AT A USED BOOK STORE AND I WAS NINE YEARS OLD STAYING WITH MY GRANDPA EARL AND MY GRANDMA NANNY WHICH I DID ALMOST EVERY WEEKEND AND EVERY SUNDAY WOULD TAKE A RIDE TO THE LOCAL USED BOOK STORE. I ALREADY KNEW WHAT MY GRANDPA WOULD GET A WESTERN BY LOUIS L'MOUR AND MY GRANDMA WOULD GET THE NEXT DIME STORE ROMANCE WITH ALMOST NAKED PEOPLE ON THE COVER THAT FEED MY CHILDLIKE MIND WITH THOUGHTS BUT I ALWAYS SPENT MY TIME IN THE COMIC BOOK SECTION, THIS USED BOOK STORE HAD TONS OF COMICS BUT THAT DAY WAS DIFFERENT. I SCANNED THE BOOKS LINING THE SHELFS NOT LOOKING FOR REALLY ANYTHING, I SCANNED OVER THE STEPHEN KING BOOKS WHICH MY FATHER ALWAYS TALKED ABOUT THE STAND BEING HIS ALL TIME BEST AND THERE IN WHAT LOOKED LIKE THE UN-DUSTED AREA WAS SOMETHING NAMED POETRY WHICH I COULD NOT SAY OR UNDERSTAND WHAT IT WAS. ALL I SAW WAS POE AND THOUGHT OF HORROR MOVIES WITH VINCENT PRICE THAT I WOULD CATCH ON LATE NIGHT SAT. NIGHT T.V.
THERE I PICKED UP THE WEARY BLUES BY LANGSTON HUGHES AND THAT FOREVER CHANGED MY LIFE. I BECAME A LOVER OF POETRY RELIZING IT WAS NOT A VINCENT PRICE MOVIE.
FROM THAT DAY ON I CREDIT MR. HUGHES FOR OPENING THE FLOOD GATES ON MY INNER POET. I BEGAN READING, WRITING AND LOVING POETRY AND THIS BOOK TO ME THAT I AM REVIEWING HERE IS A MUST OWN BECAUSE IT CONTAINS ALMOST EVERY PIECE OF IMPORTANT POETRY BY MR. HUGHES. I READ THIS BOOK TWICE BEFORE REVIEWING IT BECAUSE I FEEL IN LOVE ALL OVER AGAIN WITH THE BEAUTY AND SIMPLE AND DEEP TONES THAT MR. HUGHES PUT INTO HIS WRITING TALENT.
NOW I WANT TO SHOWCASE THREE OF MY FAV. MR.HUGHES POEMS.
THE FIRST BEING:
MULATTO
I am your son, white man!
Georgia duskAnd the turpentine woods.
One of the pillars of the temple fell.
You are my son!Like Hell!
The moon over the turpentine woods.
The Southern nightFull of stars,
Great big yellow stars.
What's a body but a toy?
Juicy bodiesOf nigger wenches
Blue black
Against black fences.
O, you little bastard boy,
What's a body but a toy?
The scent of pine wood stings the soft night air.
What's the body of your mother?
Silver moonlight everywhere.
What's the body of your mother?
Sharp pine scent in the evening air.
A nigger night,
A nigger joy,
A little yellow
Bastard boy.
Naw, you ain't my brother.
Niggers ain't my brother.
Not ever.
Niggers ain't my brother.
The Southern night is full of stars,
Great big yellow stars.
O, sweet as earth,
Dusk dark bodies
Give sweet birth
To little yellow bastard boys.
Git on back there in the night,
You ain't white
The bright stars scatter everywhere.
Pine wood scent in the evening air.
A nigger night,
A nigger joy.
I am your son, white man!
A little yellow
Bastard boy.
I LOVE THAT POEM AND IT SHOWS YOU THE DEEP FEELINGS AND RICH TONES THAT MR. HUGHES COULD GO FOR, HE HAS A DEEP SENSE OF THE SOUL IN EXPRESSING HIMSELF IN HIS POETRY.
THE NEXT ONE THAT IS MY FAV. IS:
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 dark girl who crossed the red sea
Carrying in my body the seed of the free.
I am the woman who worked in the field
Bringing the cotton and the 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,
I'm 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 realized the blessing deed 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 the 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 pass a road to the light
Out of the 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.
NEED I SAY MORE ABOUT THAT. THAT SHOULD SHOW YOU THE BEAUTY AND AMAZING WAYS THAT LANGSTON HUGHES HAD ABOUT HIM. HIS PASSION FOR POETRY BLEEDS UPON THE READER THAT YOU FEEL EACH LINE AND EACH POEM THAT WAS BEING SPOKEN. I BELIEVE ONE OF THE GREATEST POEMS AROUND THAT STANDS UP TO ANY OTHER POEM AND SHOULD BE REMEMBERED AND TAUGHT AND SPOKEN ABOUT OFTEN IS:
FREEDOM'S PLOW
When a man starts out with nothing,
When a man starts out with his hands
Empty, but clean,
When a man starts to build a world,
He starts first with himself
And the faith that is in his heart-The strength there,
The will there to build.
First in the heart is the dream-
Then the mind starts seeking a way.
His eyes look out on the world,
On the great wooded world,
On the rich soil of the world,
On the rivers of the world.
The eyes see there materials for building,
See the difficulties, too, and the obstacles.
The mind seeks a way to overcome these obstacles.
The hand seeks tools to cut the wood,
To till the soil, and harness the power of the waters.
Then the hand seeks other hands to help,
A community of hands to help-
Thus the dream becomes not one man's dream alone,
But a community dream.
Not my dream alone, but our dream.
Not my world alone,
But your world and my world,
Belonging to all the hands who build.
A long time ago, but not too long ago,
Ships came from across the sea
Bringing the Pilgrims and prayer-makers,
Adventurers and booty seekers,
Free men and indentured servants,
Slave men and slave masters, all new-
To a new world, America!
With billowing sails the galleons came
Bringing men and dreams, women and dreams.
In little bands together,
Heart reaching out to heart,
Hand reaching out to hand,
They began to build our land.
Some were free hands
Seeking a greater freedom,
Some were indentured hands
Hoping to find their freedom,
Some were slave hands
Guarding in their hearts the seed of freedom,
But the word was there always:
Freedom.
Down into the earth went the plow
In the free hands and the slave hands,
In indentured hands and adventurous hands,
Turning the rich soil went the plow in many hands
That planted and harvested the food that fed
And the cotton that clothed America.
Clang against the trees went the ax into many hands
That hewed and shaped the rooftops of America.
Splash into the rivers and the seas went the boat-hulls
That moved and transported America.
Crack went the whips that drove the horses
Across the plains of America.
Free hands and slave hands,
Indentured hands, adventurous hands,
White hands and black hands
Held the plow handles,
Ax handles, hammer handles,
Launched the boats and whipped the horses
That fed and housed and moved America.
Thus together through labor,
All these hands made America.
Labor! Out of labor came villages
And the towns that grew cities.
Labor! Out of labor came the rowboats
And the sailboats and the steamboats,
Came the wagons, and the coaches,
Covered wagons, stage coaches,
Out of labor came the factories,
Came the foundries, came the railroads.
Came the marts and markets, shops and stores,
Came the mighty products moulded, manufactured,
Sold in shops, piled in warehouses,
Shipped the wide world over:
Out of labor-white hands and black hands-
Came the dream, the strength, the will,
And the way to build America.
Now it is Me here, and You there.
Now it's Manhattan, Chicago,Seattle, New Orleans,
Boston and El Paso-Now it's the U.S.A.
A long time ago, but not too long ago, a man said:
ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL--
ENDOWED BY THEIR CREATOR
WITH CERTAIN UNALIENABLE RIGHTS--
AMONG THESE LIFE, LIBERTY
AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS.
His name was Jefferson. There were slaves then,
But in their hearts the slaves believed him, too,
And silently too for granted
That what he said was also meant for them.
It was a long time ago,
But not so long ago at that, Lincoln said:
NO MAN IS GOOD ENOUGH
TO GOVERN ANOTHER MAN
WITHOUT THAT OTHER'S CONSENT.
There were slaves then, too,
But in their hearts the slaves knew
What he said must be meant for every human being-
Else it had no meaning for anyone.
Then a man said:
BETTER TO DIE FREE
THAN TO LIVE SLAVES
He was a colored man who had been a slave
But had run away to freedom.
And the slaves knew
What Frederick Douglass said was true.
With John Brown at Harper's Ferry, Negroes died.
John Brown was hung.
Before the Civil War, days were dark,
And nobody knew for sure
When freedom would triumph
"Or if it would," thought some.
But others new it had to triumph.
In those dark days of slavery,
Guarding in their hearts the seed of freedom,
The slaves made up a song:
Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!
That song meant just what it said: Hold On!
Freedom will come!
Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!
Out of war it came, bloody and terrible!
But it came!
Some there were, as always,
Who doubted that the war would end right,
That the slaves would be free,
Or that the union would stand,
But now we know how it all came out.
Out of the darkest days for people and a nation,
We know now how it came out.
There was light when the battle clouds rolled away.
There was a great wooded land,
And men united as a nation.
America is a dream.
The poet says it was promises.
The people say it is promises-that will come true.
The people do not always say things out loud,
Nor write them down on paper.
The people often hold
Great thoughts in their deepest hearts
And sometimes only blunderingly express them,
Haltingly and stumblingly say them,
And faultily put them into practice.
The people do not always understand each other.
But there is, somewhere there,
Always the trying to understand,
And the trying to say,
"You are a man. Together we are building our land."
America!
Land created in common,
Dream nourished in common,
Keep your hand on the plow! Hold on!
If the house is not yet finished,
Don't be discouraged, builder!
If the fight is not yet won,
Don't be weary, soldier!
The plan and the pattern is here,
Woven from the beginning
Into the warp and woof of America:
ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL.
NO MAN IS GOOD ENOUGH
TO GOVERN ANOTHER MAN
WITHOUT HIS CONSENT.
BETTER DIE FREE,
THAN TO LIVE SLAVES.
Who said those things? Americans!
Who owns those words? America!
Who is America? You, me!
We are America!
To the enemy who would conquer us from without,
We say, NO!
To the enemy who would divide
And conquer us from within,
We say, NO!
FREEDOM!
BROTHERHOOD!
DEMOCRACY!
To all the enemies of these great words:
We say, NO!
A long time ago,
An enslaved people heading toward freedom
Made up a song:
Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!
The plow plowed a new furrow
Across the field of history.
Into that furrow the freedom seed was dropped.
From that seed a tree grew, is growing, will ever grow.
That tree is for everybody,
For all America, for all the world.
May its branches spread and shelter grow
Until all races and all peoples know its shade.
KEEP YOUR HAND ON THE PLOW! HOLD ON!
I DON'T HAVE ANY NEGATIVE THING TO SAY ABOUT THIS BOOK, IT SHOWCASES HIS SIMPLE POEMS, HIS JAZZ MUSIC BLUES TYPE POEMS ALL THE WAY TO HIS VIVID FREEDOM POEMS THAT EXPRESES SO MUCH ABOUT WHERE WE HAVE COME FROM TO WHO WE ARE NOW.THE BOOK IS 300 PAGES LONG AND WORTH EVERY CENT I GAVE FOR IT. THIS IS POWERFUL READ THAT ANY POET LOVER SHOULD HAVE OR OWN.
THIS COLLECTION SHOWCASES POEMS FROM THE BOOKS BY HUGHES: "THE NEGRO SPEAKS OF RIVERS", "THE WEARY BLUES," "STILL HERE," "SONG FOR A DARK GIRL," "MONTAGE OF A DREAM DEFERRED," AND "REFUGEE IN AMERICA". BUY THIS AND LOVE EVERY WORD OF IT.
MY RATING:
5 OUT OF 5
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