I, Too

The Dream Keeper (M.A.Reilly, 2014)

I, Too

By Langston Hughes

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 America.

Poetry Break: Harlem Night Song

Moon Over Harlem (M.A. Reilly, 2012)

Harlem Night Song

     -Langston Hughes


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.

Langston Hughes: The Dream Keeper

In celebration of Langston Hughes's birthday. In so many ways, his words have become our collective dream keeper.

The Dream Keeper (M.A. Reilly, 2015)

The Weary Blues

Christmas in Central Park (M.A. Reilly, 2011)

The Weary Blues

 - Langston Hughes

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 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.

Say It Plain

America Never Was (M.A. Reilly, NYC, 2009).

Let America Be America Again

  by Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? 
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free?  Not me?
Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine—the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!

From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes, published by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Copyright © 1994 the Estate of Langston Hughes. Used with permission. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15609#sthash.UaNtlUzK.dpuf

New Contours: Guest Blog by Nelson Campbell

Friend and fellow artist and writer, Nelson Campbell, is the author of today's blog post.  Nelson is an exquisite thinker and artist. Although we have never actually met (in person), I number her on a short list, as friend. It gives me pause to consider how the Internet connects us, displaces us, re-imagines what it means to be friend, artist and in doing so perhaps, resituates one's sense of geography.  Similarly in this post, contemplating one's geography is in part the subject Nelson considers.  Her post is a bold, thoughtful and thought provoking work.  I am so pleased to be able to feature Nelson's words and images. 

If you are traveling to Vermont (or perhaps live there) this fall, you have the opportunity to see work by Nelson at the Shelburne Farms 23rd Art at the Coach Barn. The show runs from 9.23.10 - 10.24.10.  On Wednesday, Sept. 22 from 5 to 7 p.m. there will be a reception.

Shelburne Farms, 1611 Harbor Road, Shelburne, Vermont  

If you cannot see her work in person, please make time to visit her work on the Internet. 

Links to Nelson Campbell's Art: 

RedBubble
JPGMAG 

Big, Big Shadows. Image created by Nelson Campbell.

 

I have been displaced a number of times in my life - voluntarily and involuntarily. Sometimes I was excited - sometimes afraid, sometimes indifferent - sometimes shattered.

During these periods of transition, I notice that I start looking for touchstones - anchors - old friends -trees I recognize, flowers, mushrooms - birds.

In the process of searching for the "old," I unavoidably come into contact with the new. New flowers, new trees, new sounds...new contours, curves, peaks, and paths.

I have discovered tiny expatriates that have traveled with me from my old life...an old t-shirt revealed a clump of small burrs clustered near the hem. How is it that tiny burrs stuck to an old shirt can reduce me to tears just because they traveled with me from fields of a life now gone? 

Horses have always represented both grounding and transition. My love of horses is as old as I am. My first purchase for my new space was a sculpture of a horse made of driftwood from Lake Champlain.

Parabol. Image by Nelson Campbell.

This beautiful work of art represents a beginning synthesis between the past and present, the old and new.

We all seek to fill a space and make it our own. We seek to live beyond merely existing. To affirm beyond merely tolerating. An excerpt from Langston Hughes expresses the struggle and determination required to uproot and then replant:

...So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love —
But for livin' I was born


Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry —
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.


from Life is Fine, by Langston Hughes

Summer Porches. Image created by Nelson Campbell.