Selected Poems of Langston Hughes Read online

  Ku Klux

  They took me out

  To some lonesome place.

  They said, “Do you believe

  In the great white race?”

  I said, “Mister,

  To tell you the truth,

  I’d believe in anything

  If you’d just turn me loose.”

  The white man said, “Boy,

  Can it be

  You’re a-standin’ there

  A-sassin’ me?”

  They hit me in the head

  And knocked me down.

  And then they kicked me

  On the ground.

  A klansman said, “Nigger,

  Look me in the face—

  And tell me you believe in

  The great white race.”

  West Texas

  Down in West Texas where the sun

  Shines like the evil one

  I had a woman

  And her name

  Was Joe.

  Pickin’ cotton in the field

  Joe said I wonder how it would feel

  For us to pack up

  Our things

  And go?

  So we cranked up our old Ford

  And we started down the road

  Where we was goin’

  We didn’t know—

  Nor which way.

  But West Texas where the sun

  Shines like the evil one

  Ain’t no place

  For a colored

  Man to stay!

  Share-Croppers

  Just a herd of Negroes

  Driven to the field,

  Plowing, planting, hoeing,

  To make the cotton yield.

  When the cotton’s picked

  And the work is done

  Boss man takes the money

  And we get none,

  Leaves us hungry, ragged

  As we were before.

  Year by year goes by

  And we are nothing more

  Than a herd of Negroes

  Driven to the field—

  Plowing life away

  To make the cotton yield.

  Ruby Brown

  She was young and beautiful

  And golden like the sunshine

  That warmed her body.

  And because she was colored

  Mayville had no place to offer her,

  Nor fuel for the clean flame of joy

  That tried to burn within her soul.

  One day,

  Sitting on old Mrs. Latham’s back porch

  Polishing the silver,

  She asked herself two questions

  And they ran something like this:

  What can a colored girl do

  On the money from a white woman’s kitchen?

  And ain’t there any joy in this town?

  Now the streets down by the river

  Know more about this pretty Ruby Brown,

  And the sinister shuttered houses of the bottoms

  Hold a yellow girl

  Seeking an answer to her questions.

  The good church folk do not mention

  Her name any more.

  But the white men,

  Habitués of the high shuttered houses,

  Pay more money to her now

  Than they ever did before,

  When she worked in their kitchens.

  Roland Hayes Beaten (Georgia: 1942)

  Negroes,

  Sweet and docile,

  Meek, humble, and kind:

  Beware the day

  They change their minds!

  Wind

  In the cotton fields,

  Gentle breeze:

  Beware the hour

  It uproots trees!

  Uncle Tom

  Within—

  The beaten pride.

  Without—

  The grinning face,

  The low, obsequious,

  Double bow,

  The sly and servile grace

  Of one the white folks

  Long ago

  Taught well

  To know his

  Place.

  Porter

  I must say

  Yes, sir,

  To you all the time.

  Yes, sir!

  Yes, sir!

  All my days

  Climbing up a great big mountain

  Of yes, sirs!

  Rich old white man

  Owns the world.

  Gimme yo’ shoes

  To shine.

  Yes, sir!

  Blue Bayou

  I went walkin’

  By the blue bayou

  And I saw the sun go down.

  I thought about old Greeley

  And I thought about Lou

  And I saw the sun go down.

      White man

      Makes me work all day

      And I work too hard

      For too little pay—

      Then a white man

      Takes my woman away.

  I’ll kill old Greeley.

      The blue bayou

      Turns red as fire.

      Put the black man

      On a rope

      And pull him higher!

  I saw the sun go down.

      Put him on a rope

      And pull him higher!

      The blue bayou’s

      A pool of fire.

  And I saw the sun go down,

      Down,

                 Down,

  Lawd, I saw the sun go down!

  Silhouette

  Southern gentle lady,

  Do not swoon.

  They’ve just hung a black man

  In the dark of the moon.

  They’ve hung a black man

  To a roadside tree

  In the dark of the moon

  For the world to see

  How Dixie protects

  Its white womanhood.

  Southern gentle lady,

      Be good!

      Be good!

  Song for a Dark Girl

  Way Down South in Dixie

      (Break the heart of me)

  They hung my black young lover

      To a cross roads tree.

  Way Down South in Dixie

      (Bruised body high in air)

  I asked the white Lord Jesus

      What was the use of prayer.

  Way Down South in Dixie

      (Break the heart of me)

  Love is a naked shadow

      On a gnarled and naked tree.

  The South

  The lazy, laughing South

  With blood on its mouth.

  The sunny-faced South,

      Beast-strong,

      Idiot-brained.

  The child-minded South

  Scratching in the dead fire’s ashes

  For a Negro’s bones.

      Cotton and the moon,

      Warmth, earth, warmth,

      The sky, the sun, the stars,

      The magnolia-scented South.

  Beautiful, like a woman,

  Seductive as a dark-eyed whore,

      Passionate, cruel,

      Honey-lipped, syphilitic—

      That is the South.

  And I, who am black, would love her

  But she spits in my face.

  And I, who am black,

  Would give her many rare gifts

  But she turns her back upon me.

      So now I seek the North—

      The cold-faced North,

      For she, they say,

      Is a kinder mistress,

  And in her house my childr
en

  May escape the spell of the South.

  Bound No’th Blues

  Goin’ down the road, Lawd,

  Goin’ down the road.

  Down the road, Lawd,

  Way, way down the road.

  Got to find somebody

  To help me carry this load.

  Road’s in front o’ me,

  Nothin’ to do but walk.

  Road’s in front o’ me,

  Walk … an’ walk … an’ walk.

  I’d like to meet a good friend

  To come along an’ talk.

  Hates to be lonely,

  Lawd, I hates to be sad.

  Says I hates to be lonely,

  Hates to be lonely an’ sad,

  But ever friend you finds seems

  Like they try to do you bad.

  Road, road, road, O!

  Road, road … road … road, road!

  Road, road, road, O!

  On the no’thern road.

  These Mississippi towns ain’t

  Fit fer a hoppin’ toad.

  NAME

  IN

  UPHILL

  LETTERS

  One-Way Ticket

  I pick up my life

  And take it with me

  And I put it down in

  Chicago, Detroit,

  Buffalo, Scranton,

  Any place that is

  North and East—

  And not Dixie.

  I pick up my life

  And take it on the train

  To Los Angeles, Bakersfield,

  Seattle, Oakland, Salt Lake,

  Any place that is

  North and West—

  And not South.

  I am fed up

  With Jim Crow laws,

  People who are cruel

  And afraid,

  Who lynch and run,

  Who are scared of me

  And me of them.

  I pick up my life

  And take it away

  On a one-way ticket—

  Gone up North,

  Gone out West,

  Gone!

  Migrant

  (Chicago)

  Daddy-o

  Buddy-o

  Works at the foundry.

  Daddy-o

  Buddy-o

  Rides the State Street street car,

  Transfers to the West Side,

  Polish, Bohunk, Irish,

  Grabs a load of sunrise

  As he rides out on the prairie,

  Never knew DuSable,

  Has a lunch to carry.

  Iron lifting iron

  Makes iron of chocolate muscles.

  Iron lifting iron

  Makes hammer beat of drum beat

  And the heat

  Moulds and melts and moulds it

  On red heart become an anvil

  Until a glow is lighted

  In the eyes once soft benighted

  And the cotton field is frightened

  A thousand miles away.

  They draw up restrictive covenants

  In Australia, too, they say.

  Our President

  Takes up important matters

  Still left by V-J Day.

  Congress cases Russia.

  The Tribune’s hair

  Turns gray.

  Daddy-o

  Buddy-o

  Signs his name

  In uphill letters

  On the check that is his pay.

  But if he wasn’t in a hurry

  He wouldn’t write so

  Bad that way,

  Daddy-o.

  Summer Evening (Calumet Avenue)

  Mothers pass,

  Sweet watermelon in a baby carriage,

  Black seed for eyes

  And a rose pink mouth.

  Pimps in gray go by,

  Boots polished like a Murray head,

  Or in reverse

  Madam Walker

  On their shoe tips.

  I. W. Harper

  Stops to listen to gospel songs

  From a tent at the corner

  Where the carnival is Christian.

  Jitneys go by

  Full of chine bones in dark glasses,

  And a blind man plays an accordion

  Gurgling Jericho.

  Theresa Belle Aletha

  Throws a toothpick from her window,

  And the four bells she’s awaiting

  Do not ring, not even murmur.

  But maybe before midnight

  The tamale man will come by,

  And if Uncle Mac brings beer

  Night will pull its slack taut

  And wrap a string around its finger

  So as not to forget

  That tomorrow is Monday.

  A dime on those two bottles.

  Yes, they are yours,

  Too!

  And in another week

  It will again

  Be Sunday.

  Graduation

  Cinnamon and rayon,

  Jet and coconut eyes,

  Mary Lulu Jackson

  Smooths the skirt

  At her thighs.

  Mama, portly oven,

  Brings remainders from the kitchen

  Where the people all are icebergs

  Wrapped in checks and wealthy.

  DIPLOMA in its new frame:

  Mary Lulu Jackson,

  Eating chicken,

  Tells her mama she’s a typist

  And the clicking of the keys

  Will spell the name

  Of a job in a fine office

  Far removed from basic oven,

  Cookstoves,

  And iceberg’s kitchen.

  Mama says, Praise Jesus!

  Until then

  I’ll bring home chicken!

  The DIPLOMA bursts its frame

  To scatter star-dust in their eyes.

  Mama says, Praise Jesus!

  The colored race will rise!

  Mama says,

  Praise Jesus!

  Then,

  Because she’s tired,

  She sighs.

  Interne at Provident

  White coats

  White aprons

  White dresses

  White shoes

  Pain and a learning

  To take away to Alabama.

  Practice on a State Street cancer,

  Practice on a stockyards rupture,

  Practice on the small appendix

  Of 26-girl at the corner,

  Learning skills of surgeons

  Brown and wonderful with longing

  To cure ills of Africa,

  Democracy,

  And mankind,

  Also ills quite common

  Among all who stand on two feet.

  Brown hands

  Black hands

  Golden hands in white coat,

  Nurses’ hands on suture.

  Miracle maternity:

  Pain on hind legs rising,

  Pain tamed and subsiding

  Like a mule broke to the halter.

  Charity’s checked money

  Aids triumphant entry squalling

  After bitter thrust of bearing

  Chocolate and blood:

  Projection of a day!

  Tears of joy

  And Coca-Cola

  Twinkle on the rubber gloves

  He’s wearing.

  A crown of sweat

  Gleams on his forehead.

  In the white moon

  Of the amphitheatre

  Magi are staring.

  The light on the Palmolive Building

  Shines like a star in the East.

  Nurses turn glass doorknobs

  Opening into corridors.

  A mist of iodine and ether

  Follows the young doctor,

  Cellophanes his long stride,

  Cellophanes his future.

  Railroad Avenue

  Dusk dark

  On
Railroad Avenue.

  Lights in the fish joints,

  Lights in the pool rooms.

  A box-car some train

  Has forgotten

  In the middle of the

  Block.

  A player piano,

  A victrola.

      942

      Was the number.

  A boy

  Lounging on a corner.

  A passing girl

  With purple powdered skin.

      Laughter

      Suddenly

      Like a taut drum.

      Laughter

      Suddenly

      Neither truth nor lie.

      Laughter

  Hardening the dusk dark evening.

      Laughter

  Shaking the lights in the fish joints,

  Rolling white balls in the pool rooms,

  And leaving untouched the box-car

  Some train has forgotten.

  Mother to Son

  Well, son, I’ll tell you:

  Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

  It’s had tacks in it,

  And splinters,

  And boards torn up,

  And places with no carpet on the floor—

  Bare.

  But all the time

  I’se been a-climbin’ on,

  And reachin’ landin’s,

  And turnin’ corners,

  And sometimes goin’ in the dark

  Where there ain’t been no light.

  So boy, don’t you turn back.

  Don’t you set down on the steps

  ’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.

  Don’t you fall now—

  For I’se still goin’, honey,

  I’se still climbin’,

  And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

  Stars

  O, sweep of stars over Harlem streets,

  O, little breath of oblivion that is night.