Langston Hughes

Langston Hughes was the very core of the African-American writers living in Harlem during the Renaissance.  Hughes was the first Renaissance writer to be discovered and promoted by the black literary establishment of New York in the 1920s.  For Hughes, the basic expression of the African-American spirit was in music, especially in the blues and jazz of the time.  As a result, his poetry took on a lyrical quality, even a rhythmic quality.  When reading one of Hughes' poems such as "Weary Blue," the reader gets a sense of being in a Harlem cabaret during the 1920s.  Hughes was by far the most popular poet of the Harlem Renaissance, and his popularity is recognizable even today.  In 21st century American culture, we still find that the poetry of Hughes applies to our lives.

"America"

Little dark baby, Little Jew baby, Little outcast, America is seeking the stars, America is seeking tomorrow. You are America, I am America. America -- the dream. America -- the vision. America -- the star-seeking I. Out of yesterday, The chains of slavery; Out of yesterday, The ghettos of Europe. Out of yesterday, The poverty and pain of the old, old world, The building and struggle of this new one. We come, You and I, Seeking the stars. You and I, You of the blue eyes And the blonde hair, I of the dark eyes And crinkly hair. You and I Offering hands Being brothers, Being one, Being America. you and I. And I? Who am I? You know me: I am the Crispus Attucks of the Boston Tea Party; Jimmy Jones in the ranks of the last black troops marching for democracy. I am Sojourner Truth preaching and praying for the goodness of this wide, wide land; Today's Black mother bearing tomorrow's America. Who am I? You know me, Dream of my dreams, I am America. I am America seeking the stars. America -- Hoping, praying Fighting, dreaming. Knowing There are stains On the beauty of my democracy, I want to be clean. I want to grovel No longer in the mire. I want to reach always After stars. Who am I? I am the ghetto child, I am the dark baby, I am you And the blonde tomorrow And yet I am my one sole self, America seeking the stars.

Charles S. Johnson

Making Waves in Literature

to Harlem Renaissance Index

"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 played 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 ain 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.