Selected Poems of Langston Hughes Read online

  A movie house in Harlem named after Lincoln,

  Nothing at all named after John Brown.

  Black people don’t remember

  any better than white.

  If you’re not alive and kicking,

  shame on you!

  World War II

  What a grand time was the war!

      Oh, my, my!

  What a grand time was the war!

      My, my, my!

  In wartime we had fun,

  Sorry that old war is done!

  What a grand time was the war,

      My, my!

  Echo:

      Did

      Somebody

      Die?

  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 Home,

  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.

  Sliver of Sermon

  When pimps out of loneliness cry:

        Great God!

  Whores in final weariness say:

        Great God!

        Oh, God!

        My God!

        Great

        God!

  Testimonial

  If I just had a piano,

  if I just had a organ,

  if I just had a drum,

  how I could praise my Lord!

  But I don’t need no piano,

        neither organ

        nor drum

  for to praise my Lord!

  Passing

  On sunny summer Sunday afternoons in Harlem

  when the air is one interminable ball game

  and grandma cannot get her gospel hymns

  from the Saints of God in Christ

  on account of the Dodgers on the radio,

  on sunny Sunday afternoons

  when the kids look all new

  and far too clean to stay that way,

  and Harlem has its

  washed-and-ironed-and-cleaned-best out,

  the ones who’ve crossed the line

  to live downtown

  miss you,

  Harlem of the bitter dream,

  since their dream has

  come true.

  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.

  Sunday by the Combination

  I feel like dancin’, baby,

  till the sun goes down.

  But I wonder where

  the sunrise

  Monday morning’s gonna be?

  I feel like dancin’!

  Baby, dance with me!

  Casualty

  He was a soldier in the army,

  But he doesn’t walk like one.

  He walks like his soldiering

  Days are done.

  Son! … Son!

  Night Funeral in Harlem

                           Night funeral

                           In Harlem:

                           Where did they get

                           Them two fine cars?

  Insurance man, he did not pay—

  His insurance lapsed the other day—

  Yet they got a satin box

  For his head to lay.

                           Night funeral

                           In Harlem:

                           Who was it sent

                           That wreath of flowers?

  Them flowers came

  from that poor boy’s friends—

  They’ll want flowers, too,

  When they meet their ends.

                           Night funeral

                           In Harlem:

                           Who preached that

                           Black boy to his grave?

  Old preacher-man

  Preached that boy away—

  Charged Five Dollars

  His girl friend had to pay.

                           Night funeral

                           In Harlem:

  When it was all over

  And the lid shut on his head

  and the organ had done played

  and the last prayers been said

  and six pallbearers

  Carried him out for dead

  And off down Lenox Avenue

  That long black hearse done sped,

                           The street light

                           At his corner

                           Shined just like a tear—

  That boy that they was mournin’

  Was so dear, so dear

  To them folks that brought the flowers,

  To that girl who paid the preacher man—

  It was all their tears that made

                           That poor boy’s

                           Funeral grand.

                           Night funeral

                           In Harlem.

  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.

  Dime

  Chile, these steps is hard to cl
imb.

      Grandma, lend me a dime.

  Montage of a dream deferred:

      Grandma acts like

      She ain’t heard.

  Chile, Granny ain’t got no dime.

      I might’ve knowed

      It all the time.

  Argument

  White is right,

  Yellow mellow,

  Black, get back!

      Do you believe that, Jack?

  Sure do!

      Then you’re a dope

      for which there ain’t no hope.

      Black is fine!

      And, God knows,

      It’s mine!

  Neighbor

  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.

  Evening Song

  A woman standing in the doorway

  Trying to make her where-with-all:

  Come here, baby, darlin’!

  Don’t you hear me call?

  If I was anybody’s sister,

  I’d tell her, Gimme a place to sleep.

  But I ain’t nobody’s sister.

  I’m just a poor lost sheep.

  Mary, Mary, Mary,

  Had a little lamb.

  Well, I hope that lamb of Mary’s

  Don’t turn out like I am.

  Chord

  Shadow faces

  In the shadow night

  Before the early dawn

  Bops bright.

  Fact

  There’s been an eagle on a nickel,

  An eagle on a quarter, too.

  But there ain’t no eagle

  On a dime.

  Joe Louis

  They worshipped Joe.

  A school teacher

  whose hair was gray

  said:

      Joe has sense enough to know

      He is a god.

      So many gods don’t know.

  “They say”…“They say”…“They say”…

  But the gossips had no

  “They say”

  to latch onto

  for Joe.

  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 the U.S.A.

  Brothers—you and I.

  Likewise

  The Jews:

      Groceries

      Suits

      Fruits

      Watches

      Diamond rings

      THE DAILY NEWS

  Jews sell me things.

  Yom Kippur, no!

  Shops all over Harlem

  close up tight that night.

  Some folks blame high prices on the Jews.

  (Some folks blame too much on Jews.)

  But in Harlem they don’t answer back,

  Just maybe shrug their shoulders,

  “What’s the use?”

  What’s the use

  in Harlem?

  What’s the use?

  What’s the Harlem

  use in Harlem

  what’s the lick?

  Hey!

  Baba-re-bop!

  Mop!

  On a be-bop kick!

  Sometimes I think

  Jews must have heard

  the music of a

  dream deferred.

  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

  He rose up on his dying bed

  and asked for fish.

  His wife looked it up in her dream book

  and played it.

  Dream Boogie: Variation

  Tinkling treble,

  Rolling bass,

  High noon teeth

  In a midnight face,

  Great long fingers

  On great big hands,

  Screaming pedals

  Where his twelve-shoe lands,

  Looks like his eyes

  Are teasing pain,

  A few minutes late

  For the Freedom Train.

  Harlem

  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?

  Good Morning

  Good morning, daddy!

  I was born here, he said,

  watched Harlem grow

  until colored folks spread

  from river to river

  across the middle of Manhattan

  out of Penn Station

  dark tenth of a nation,

  planes from Puerto Rico,

  and holds of boats, chico,

  up from Cuba Haiti Jamaica,

  in buses marked New York

  from Georgia Florida Louisiana

  to Harlem Brooklyn the Bronx

  but most of all to Harlem

  dusky sash across Manhattan

  I’ve seen them come dark

      wondering

      wide-eyed

      dreaming

  out of Penn Station—

  but the trains are late.

  The gates open—

  Yet there’re bars

  at each gate.

      What happens

      to a dream deferred?

  Daddy, ain’t you heard?

  Same in Blues

  I said to my baby,

  Baby, take it slow.

  I can’t, she said, I can’t!

  I got to go!

      There’s a certain

      amount of traveling

      in a dream deferred.

  Lulu said to Leonard,

  I want a diamond ring.

  Leonard said to Lulu,

  You won’t get a goddamn thing!

      A certain

      amount of nothing

      in a dream deferred.

  Daddy, daddy, daddy,

  All I want is you.

  You can have me, baby—

  but my lovin’ days is through.

      A certain

      amount of impotence


      in a dream deferred.

  Three parties

  On my party line—

  But that third party,

  Lord, ain’t mine!

      There’s liable

      to be confusion

      in a dream deferred.

  From river to river,

  Uptown and down,

  There’s liable to be confusion

  when a dream gets kicked around.

  Comment on Curb

  You talk like

  they don’t kick

  dreams around

  downtown.

      I expect they do—

      But I’m talking about

      Harlem to you!

  Letter

  Dear Mama,

      Time I pay rent and get my food

  and laundry I don’t hare 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.

                 Your son baby

                           Respectably as ever,