ZP_Dance_by Aaron Douglas 1899-1979
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.
. . . . .
