#AmericanWriters
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
Oh, silver tree! Oh, shining rivers of the soul! In a Harlem cabaret Six long—headed jazzers play. A dancing girl whose eyes are bold
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lo… Life and Death,
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
I went to the Gypsy’s. Gypsy settin’ all alone. I said, Tell me, Gypsy, When will my gal be home? Gypsy said, Silver,
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal… It’s had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up,
The night is beautiful, So the faces of my people. The stars are beautiful, So the eyes of my people. Beautiful, also, is the sun.
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
In the Quarter of the Negroes Where the doors are doors of paper Dust of dingy atoms Blows a scratchy sound. Amorphous jack—o’—Lanterns caper