Black Poetry Day – U.S.
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This is a great excuse to delve into the poetry of such luminaries as Langston Hughes, Maya Angelou, Phillis Wheatley, and Paul Laurence Dunbar.
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Why October 17? It is the birthday of Jupiter Hammon (pictured above), the first published African American poet, who was born into slavery on this day in 1711.
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Hammon lived his whole life as a slave and was the son of two slaves. He lived during the time that slavery was legal in the North as well as the south, and he was owned by a family living in Queens, New York.
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Here are some poems and some links, to get your day off to a great start:
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Children’s Rhymes
by Langston Hughes
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By what sends
the white kids
I ain’t sent:
I know I can’t
be President.
What don’t bug
them white kids
sure bugs me:
We know everybody
ain’t free.
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Lies written down
for white folks
ain’t for us a-tall:
Liberty And Justice–
Huh!–For All?
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More from Langston Hughes here.
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We Real Cool
by Gwendolyn Brooks
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We real cool. We
Left School. We
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Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
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Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
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Jazz June. We
Die soon.
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More from Gwendolyn Brooks here.n
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An Easy Goin’ Feller
by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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THER’ ain’t no use in all this strife,
An’ hurryin’, pell-mell, right thro’ life.
I don’t believe in goin’ too fast
To see what kind o’ road you’ve passed.
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It ain’t no mortal kind o’ good,
’N’ I would n’t hurry ef I could.
I like to jest go joggin’ ‘long,
To limber up my soul with song;
To stop awhile ‘n’ chat the men,
’N’ drink some cider now an’ then.
Do’ want no boss a-standin’ by
To see me work; I allus try
To do my dooty right straight up,
An’ earn what fills my plate an’ cup.
An’ ez fur boss, I’ll be my own,
I like to jest be let alone,
To plough my strip an’ tend my bees,
An’ do jest like I doggoned please.
My head’s all right, an’ my heart’s meller,
But I’m a easy-goin’ feller.
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The Poet
by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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He sang of life, serenely sweet,
With, now and then, a deeper note.
From some high peak, nigh yet remote,
He voiced the world’s absorbing beat.
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He sang of love when earth was young,
And Love, itself, was in his lays.
But, ah, the world, it turned to praise
A jingle in a broken tongue.
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More from Paul Dunbar here.
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My First Memory (of Librarians)
by Nikki Giovanni
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This is my first memory:
A big room with heavy wooden tables that sat on a creaky
wood floor
A line of green shades—bankers’ lights—down the center
Heavy oak chairs that were too low or maybe I was simply
too short
For me to sit in and read
So my first book was always big.
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In the foyer up four steps a semi-circle desk presided
To the left side the card catalogue
On the right newspapers draped over what looked like
a quilt rack
Magazines face out from the wall.
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The welcoming smile of my librarian
The anticipation in my heart
All those books—another world—just waiting
At my fingertips.
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More from Nikki Giovanni here.
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