Langston Hughes: “Montage of a Dream Deferred”

Posted: February 1, 2013 | Author: Zócalo Poets | Filed under: English, English: Black Canadian / American, Langston Hughes | Tags: Black History Month poems | Comments Off

Langston Hughes (born February 1^st 1902, died 1967)

“Montage of a Dream Deferred” (1951):  a selection of poems

.

“Children’s Rhymes”

.

When I was a chile we used to play,

“One – two – buckle my shoe!”

and things like that.  But now, Lord,

listen at them little varmints!

.

By what sends

the white kids

I ain’t sent:

I know I can’t

be President.

.

There is two thousand children

In this block, I do believe!

.

What don’t bug

them white kids

sure bugs me:

We knows everybody

ain’t free!

.

Some of these young ones is cert’ly bad –

One batted a hard ball right through my window

And my gold fish et the glass.

.

What’s written down

for white folks

ain’t for us a-tall:

“Liberty And Justice –

Huh – For All.”

.

Oop-pop-a-da!

Skee!  Daddle-de-do!

Be-bop!

.

Salt’ peanuts!

.

De-dop!

 

.     .     .

 

“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.

 

.     .     .

 

“Question (2)”

.

Said the lady, Can you do

what my other man can’t do –

that is

love me, daddy –

and feed me, too?

.

Figurine

.

De-dop!

 

.     .     .

 

“Easy Boogie”

.

Down in the bass

That steady beat

Walking walking walking

Like marching feet.

.

Down in the bass

That easy roll,

Rolling like I like it

In my soul.

.

Riffs, smears, breaks.

.

Hey, Lawdy, Mama!

Do you hear what I said?

Easy like I rock it

In my bed!

 

.     .     .

 

“What?  So Soon!”

.

I believe my old lady’s

pregnant again!

Fate must have

some kind of trickeration

to populate the

cllud nation!

Comment against Lamp Post

You call it fate?

Figurette

De-daddle-dy!

De-dop!

 

.     .     .

 

“Tomorrow”

.

Tomorrow may be

a thousand years off:

TWO DIMES AND A NICKEL ONLY

Says this particular

cigarette machine.

.

Others take a quarter straight.

.

Some dawns

wait.

 

.     .     .

 

“Café:  3 a.m.”

.

Detectives from the vice squad

with weary sadistic eyes

spotting fairies.

Degenerates,

some folks say.

.

But God, Nature,

or somebody

made them that way.

Police lady or Lesbian

over there?

Where?

.     .     .

 

“125^th Street”

.

Face like a chocolate bar

full of nuts and sweet.

.

Face like a jack-o’-lantern,

candle inside.

.

Face like a slice of melon,

grin that wide.

 

.     .     .

 

“Up-Beat”

.

In the gutter

boys who try

might meet girls

on the fly

as out of the gutter

girls who will

may meet boys

copping a thrill

while from the gutter

both can rise:

But it requires

Plenty eyes.

 

“Mystery”

.

When a chile gets to be thirteen

and ain’t seen Christ yet,

she needs to set on de moaner’s bench

night and day.

.

Jesus, lover of my soul!

.

Hail, Mary, mother of God!

.

Let me to thy bosom fly!

.

Amen!  Hallelujah!

.

Swing low, sweet chariot,

Coming for to carry me home.

.

Sunday morning where the rhythm flows,

How old nobody knows –

yet old as mystery,

older than creed,

basic and wondering

and lost as my need.

.

Eli, eli!

Te deum!

Mahomet!

Christ!

.

Father Bishop, Effendi, Mother Horne,

Father Divine, a Rabbi black

as black was born,

a jack-leg preacher, a Ph.D.

.

The mystery

and the darkness

and the song

and me.

 

.     .     .

 

“Nightmare Boogie”

.

I had a dream

and I could see

a million faces

black as me!

A nightmare dream:

Quicker than light

All them faces

Turned dead white!

Boogie-woogie,

Rolling bass,

Whirling treble

Of cat-gut lace.

 

.     .     .

 

“Blues at Dawn”

.

I don’t dare start thinking in the morning.

I don’t dare start thinking in the morning.

If I thought thoughts in bed,

Them thoughts would bust my head –

So I don’t dare start thinking in the morning.

.

I don’t dare remember in the morning

Don’t dare remember in the morning.

If I recall the day before,

I wouldn’t get up no more –

So I don’t dare remember in the morning.

 

.     .     .

 

“Neighbour”

.

Down home

he sets on a stoop

and watches the sun go by.

In Harlem

when his work is done

he sets in a bar with a beer.

He looks taller than he is

and younger than he ain’t.

He looks darker than he is, too.

And he’s smarter than he looks,

He ain’t smart.

That cat’s a fool.

Naw, he ain’t neither.

He’s a good man,

except that he talks too much.

In fact, he’s a great cat.

But when he drinks,

he drinks fast.

Sometimes

he don’t drink.

True,

he just

lets his glass

set there.

 

.     .     .

 

“Subway Rush Hour”

.

Mingled

breath and smell

so close

mingled

black and white

so near

no room for fear.

 

.     .     .

 

“Brothers”

.

We’re related – you and I,

You from the West Indies,

I from Kentucky.

.

Kinsmen – you and I,

You from Africa,

I from U.S.A.

.

Brothers – you and I.

 

.     .     .

 

“Sliver”

.

Cheap little rhymes

A cheap little tune

Are sometimes as dangerous

As a sliver of the moon.

A cheap little tune

To cheap little rhymes

Can cut a man’s

Throat sometimes.

 

.     .     .

 

“Hope (2)”

.

He rose up on his dying bed

and asked for fish.

His wife looked it up in her dream book

and played it.

 

.     .     .

 

“Harlem (2)”

.

What happens to a dream deferred?

.

Does it dry up

like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore –

and then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over –

like a syrupy sweet?

.

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

.

Or does it explode?

 

.     .     .

 

“Letter”

.

Dear Mama,

Time I pay rent and get my food

and laundry I don’t have much left

but here is five dollars for you

to show you I still appreciates you.

My girl-friend send her love and say

she hopes to lay eyes on you sometime in life.

Mama, it has been raining cats and dogs up

here.  Well, that is all so I will close.

You son baby

Respectably as ever,

Joe

 

.     .     .

 

“Motto”

.

I play it cool

And dig all jive.

That’s the reason

I stay alive.

.

My motto,

As I live and learn,

Is:

Dig And Be Dug

In Return.

 

 

.     .     .     .     .

From Hughes’ introduction to his 1951 collection “Montage of a Dream Deferred”:

“In terms of current Afro-American popular music and the sources from which it has progressed – jazz, ragtime, swing, blues, boogie-woogie, and be-bop – this poem on contemporary Harlem, like be-bop, is marked by conflicting changes, sudden nuances, sharp and impudent interjections, broken rhythms, and passages sometimes in the manner of the jam session, sometimes the popular song, punctuated by the riffs, runs, breaks, and distortions of the music of a community in transition.”

 

 

Editor’s note:

Langston Hughes’ poems “Theme for English B” and “Advice” – both of which were included in his publication of “Montage of a Dream Deferred” – are featured in separate Hughes’ posts on Zócalo Poets.

.     .     .     .     .

“Montage of a Dream Deferred”- from The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes, edited by Arnold Rampersad, with David Roessel, 1994

All poems © The Estate of Langston Hughes

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Love poems, Blues poems – from The Harlem Renaissance

Posted: February 1, 2013 | Author: Zócalo Poets | Filed under: English, English: Black Canadian / American, Langston Hughes | Tags: Black History Month poems | Comments Off

Love poems, Blues poems – from The Harlem Renaissance:

Langston Hughes verses composed between 1924 and 1930:

.     .     .

“Subway Face”

.

That I have been looking

For you all my life

Does not matter to you.

You do not know.

.

You never knew.

Nor did I.

Now you take the Harlem train uptown;

I take a local down.

 

(1924)

 

.     .     .

 

“Poem (2)” (To F. S.)

.

I loved my friend.

He went away from me.

There’s nothing more to say.

The poem ends,

Soft as it began –

I loved my friend.

 

(1925)

 

.     .     .

 

“Better”

.

Better in the quiet night

To sit and cry alone

Than rest my head on another’s shoulder

After you have gone.

.

Better, in the brilliant day,

Filled with sun and noise,

To listen to no song at all

Than hear another voice.

 

.     .     .

 

“Poem (4)” (To the Black Beloved)

.

Ah,

My black one,

Thou art not beautiful

Yet thou hast

A loveliness

Surpassing beauty.

.

Oh,

My black one,

Thou art not good

Yet thou hast

A purity

Surpassing goodness.

.

Ah,

My black one,

Thou art not luminous

Yet an altar of jewels,

An altar of shimmering jewels,

Would pale in the light

Of thy darkness,

Pale in the light

Of thy nightness.

 

.     .     .

 

“The Ring”

.

Love is the master of the ring

And life a circus tent.

What is this silly song you sing?

Love is the master of the ring.

.

I am afraid!

Afraid of Love

And of Love’s bitter whip!

Afraid,

Afraid of Love

And Love’s sharp, stinging whip.

.

What is this silly song you sing?

Love is the master of the ring.

 

(1926)

 

.     .     .

 

“Ma Man”

.

When ma man looks at me

He knocks me off ma feet.

When ma man looks at me

He knocks me off ma feet.

He’s got those ‘lectric-shockin’ eyes an’

De way he shocks me sho is sweet.

.

He kin play a banjo.

Lordy, he kin plunk, plunk, plunk.

He kin play a banjo.

I mean plunk, plunk…plunk, plunk.

He plays good when he’s sober

An’ better, better, better when he’s drunk.

.

Eagle-rockin’,

Daddy, eagle-rock with me.

Eagle rockin’,

Come an’ eagle-rock with me.

Honey baby,

Eagle-rockish as I kin be!

 

.     .     .

 

“Lament over Love”

.

I hope my child’ll

Never love a man.

I say I hope my child’ll

Never love a man.

Love can hurt you

Mo’n anything else can.

.

I’m goin’ down to the river

An’ I ain’t goin’ there to swim;

Down to the river,

Ain’t goin’ there to swim.

My true love’s left me

And I’m goin’ there to think about him.

.

Love is like whiskey,

Love is like red, red wine.

Love is like whiskey,

Like sweet red wine.

If you want to be happy

You got to  love all the time.

.

I’m goin’ up in a tower

Tall as a tree is tall,

Up in a tower

Tall as a tree is tall.

Gonna think about my man –

And let my fool-self fall.

 

(1926)

 

.     .     .

 

“Dressed Up”

.

I had ma clothes cleaned

Just like new.

I put ’em on but

I still feels blue.

.

I bought a new hat,

Sho is fine,

But I wish I had back that

Old gal o’ mine.

.

I got new shoes –

They don’t hurt ma feet,

But I ain’t got nobody

For to call me sweet.

 

.     .     .

 

“To a Little Lover-Lass, Dead”

.

She

Who searched for lovers

In the night

Has gone the quiet way

Into the still,

Dark land of death

Beyond the rim of day.

.

Now like a little lonely waif

She walks

An endless street

And gives her kiss to nothingness.

Would God his lips were sweet!

 

.     .     .

 

“Harlem Night Song”

.

Come,

Let us roam the night together

Singing.

.

I love you.

Across

The Harlem roof-tops

Moon is shining.

Night sky is blue.

Stars are great drops

Of golden dew.

.

Down the street

A band is playing.

.

I love you.

.

Come,

Let us roam the night together

Singing.

 

.     .     .

 

“Passing Love”

.

Because you are to me a song

I must not sing you over-long.

.

Because you are to me a prayer

I  cannot say you everywhere.

.

Because you are to me a rose –

You will not stay when summer goes.

 

(1927)

 

.     .     .

 

“Desire”

.

Desire to us

Was like a double death,

Swift dying

Of our mingled breath,

Evaporation

Of an unknown strange perfume

Between us quickly

In a naked

Room.

 

.     .     .

 

“Dreamer”

.

I take my dreams

And make of them a bronze vase,

And a wide round fountain

With a beautiful statue in its centre,

And a song with a broken heart,

And I ask you:

Do you understand my dreams?

Sometimes you say you do

And sometimes you say you don’t.

Either way

It doesn’t matter.

I continue to dream.

 

(1927)

 

.     .     .

 

“Lover’s Return”

.

My old time daddy

Came back home last night.

His face was pale and

His eyes didn’t look just right.

.

He says, “Mary, I’m

Comin’ home to you –

So sick and lonesome

I don’t know what to do.”

.

Oh, men treats women

Just like a pair o’ shoes –

You kicks ’em round and

Does ’em like you choose.

.

I looked at my daddy –

Lawd! and I wanted to cry.

He looked so thin –

Lawd! that I wanted to cry.

But the devil told me:

Damn a lover

Come home to die!

(1928)

 

.     .     .

 

“Hurt”

.

Who cares

About the hurt in your heart?

.

Make a song like this

for a jazz band to play:

Nobody cares.

Nobody cares.

Make a song like that

From your lips.

Nobody cares.

.     .     .

 

“Spring for Lovers”

.

Desire weaves its fantasy of dreams,

And all the world becomes a garden close

In which we wander, you and I together,

Believing in the symbol of the rose,

Believing only in the heart’s bright flower –

Forgetting – flowers wither in an hour.

 

(1930)

 

.     .     .

 

“Rent-Party Shout:  For a Lady Dancer”

.

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 man 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!

 

(1930)

.     .     .     .     .

In the manner of all great poets Langston Hughes (February 1st, 1902 – 1967) wrote love poems (and love-blues poems), using the voices and perspectives of both Man and Woman.  In addition to such art, Hughes’ homosexuality, real though undisclosed during his lifetime, probably was responsible for the subtle and highly-original poet’s voice he employed for three of the poems included here:  Subway Face, Poem (2), and Desire.  Hughes was among a wealth of black migrants born in The South or the Mid-West who gravitated toward Harlem in New York City from about 1920 onward.  Along with Countee Cullen, Zora Neale Hurston, Wallace Thurman and many others, Hughes became part of The Harlem Renaissance, that great-gorgeous fresh-flowering of Black-American culture.

.     .     .     .     .

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