You will be broken up into seven groups of three. As a group you must decide how to present your stanza on the i-quilt. Keep in mind diction, tempo, rhythm, and the visual; these should all help you to tell the message of your stanza. Feel free to use props and body language, be as creative as you are inspired to be! You will have five minutes to brainstorm and then we will film in order of the poem.
Clean the spittoons, boy.
Detroit,
Chicago,
Atlantic City,
Palm Beach.
--------------
Clean the spittoons.
The steam in hotel kitchens,
And the smoke in hotel lobbies,
And the slime in hotel spittoons:
Part of my life.
----------------
Hey, boy!
A nickel,
A dime,
A dollar,
Two dollars a day.
Hey, boy!
A nickel,
A dime,
A dollar,
Two dollars
----------------
Buy shoes for the baby.
House rent to pay.
Gin on Saturday,
Church on Sunday.
---------------
My God!
Babies and gin and church
And women and Sunday
All mixed with dimes and
Dollars and clean spittoons
And house rent to pay.
------------------
Hey, boy!
A bright bowl of brass is beautiful to the Lord.
Bright polished brass like the cymbals
Of King David’s dancers,
Like the wine cups of Solomon.
------------------
Hey, boy!
A clean spittoon on the altar of the Lord.
A clean bright spittoon all newly polished—
At least I can offer that.
Com’mere, boy!
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you—
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I’m what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you.
hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me—who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records—Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn’t make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white—
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That’s American.
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that’s true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me—
although you’re older—and white—
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
"Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly."
Hughes Typing
This is a book for LAI 580 Dr. Thompson's class
Not Without Laughter
Hughes' poem on Booker T.
Langston Hughes (1902-1967), known for his lyric poetry, often wrote insightful commentaries about African-American culture and race relations in the United States. In this 1941 poem he makes a case for the vindication of educator Booker T. Washington (1856-1915), the former slave and founder of Tuskegee Institute (1881) and the National Negro Business League (1900) who was harshly criticized by many people for emphasizing vocational education as the prerequisite for the political empowerment of black people. In his poem, Hughes stresses the fact that Washington wanted to train the head, the heart, and the hand. He focuses on Washington's practicality and explains the educator's strategy with the statement,
"Sometimes he had compromise in his talk--for a man must crawl before he can walkand in Alabama in '85a joker was luckyto be alive.
This simple poem says so much.I thought Booker T.Washington was a genius in his time.He had foresight that is desperately needed in today's world.Unfortunately, there was a great division of people on Booker's ideals. I think today we are seeing the results of what Booker T. was trying to prevent. Patty
"Sometimes he had compromise in his talk--for a man must crawl before he can walkand in Alabama in '85a joker was luckyto be alive.
This simple poem says so much.I thought Booker T.Washington was a genius in his time.He had foresight that is desperately needed in today's world.Unfortunately, there was a great division of people on Booker's ideals. I think today we are seeing the results of what Booker T. was trying to prevent. Patty
I Dream A World
I dream a world where man
No other man will scorn,
Were love will bless the earth
And peace its paths adorn.
I dream a world where all
Will know sweet freedom's way,
Where greed no longer saps the soul
Nor avarice blights our day.
A world I dream where black or white,
Whatever race you be,
Will share the bounties of the earth
And every man is free,
Where wretchedness will hang its head
And joy, like a pearl,
Attends the needs of all mankind--
Of such I dream, my world!
By Langston Hughes
No other man will scorn,
Were love will bless the earth
And peace its paths adorn.
I dream a world where all
Will know sweet freedom's way,
Where greed no longer saps the soul
Nor avarice blights our day.
A world I dream where black or white,
Whatever race you be,
Will share the bounties of the earth
And every man is free,
Where wretchedness will hang its head
And joy, like a pearl,
Attends the needs of all mankind--
Of such I dream, my world!
By Langston Hughes
"Theme for English B" by Langston Hughes
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you—
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I’m what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you.
hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me—who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records—Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn’t make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white—
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That’s American.
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that’s true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me—
although you’re older—and white—
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
"Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly."
LAI 513 Blogs & Wikis
Related Readings
- Fernandez, Erica. “A View of Harlem Hot Spots during the Great Harlem Renaissance.” Harlem Renaissance: a portrait of culture and society. 17 Feb. 2005
- "Booker T. Washington." Notable Black American Men. Gale Research, 1998.
- Du Bois, W.E.B. The Souls of Black Folk. Page by Page Books. 22 Feb. 2005 http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/W_E_B_DuBois/The_Souls_of_Black_Folk/Of_Our_Spiritual_Strivings_p2.html
- Fernandez, Erica. “Authors of the Harlem Renaissance.” Harlem Renaissance: a portrait of culture and society. 17 Feb. 2005
The joy of work
Hughes Typing
.
Poetry for Young People
This is a book for LAI 580 Dr. Thompson's class
The Five Senses
Chapter 7, p. 85 Hughes writes: "You could smelll fiah, an' you could see it red, an' taste de smoke, an' feel it stingin' yo' eyes." He captures all five senses in one sentence. The beauty of it does not end there. He also captures the southern dialect with it's rythmic poectic quality. At times we see poets use omissions of letters like the "d" in and or the "g" in Stinging. It works both as a dialect and an art. This sentense transports me to many different places that I have experienced such a sensory max, however, it effectively brings me to the place that Hughes is describing as well.
No comments:
Post a Comment