Rating: 
Summary: worthy successot to Whitman, Sandburg, & Paul Dunbar
Review: Langston Hughes was born in Joplin, Missouri, in 1902. He spent a year at Columbia University, traveled to Mexico and Europe, moved to Harlem in 1924, finished college at Lincoln University in Pennsylvania and then returned to New York, where he became one of the pivotal figures in the Harlem Renaissance. His first book of poetry, The Weary Blues, was published in 1926 and he proceeded to write poetry, novels, short stories and plays that chronicled the Black experience in America for the next forty years. Hughes acknowledged the particular influence of Carl Sandburg and Paul Laurence Dunbar (growing up he says "almost every Negro home had a book of Dunbar poetry") on his own poetry. The other great influence on his work was Black music--Jazz, Blues and spirituals. One of his best and best-known poems was written when he was just 18, on a train ride passing over the Mississippi on his way to Mexico & was published in The Crisis--the official organ of the NAACP: The Negro Speaks of Rivers I've known rivers: I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins. My soul has grown deep like the rivers. I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young. I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it. I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset. I've known rivers: Ancient, dusky rivers. My soul has grown deep like the rivers. The influence of the Blues on his work is nicely captured here: Po' Boy Blues When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. Since I come up North de Whole damn world's turned cold. I was a good boy, Never done no wrong. Yes, I was a good boy, Never done no wrong, But this world is weary An' de road is hard an' long. I fell in love with A gal I thought was kind. Fell in love with A gal I thought was kind. She made me lose ma money An' almost lose ma mind. Weary, weary, Weary early in de morn. Weary, weary, Early, early in de morn. I's so weary I wish I'd never been born The Weary Blues Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon, I heard a Negro play. Down on Lenox Avenue the other night By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light He did a lazy sway . . . He did a lazy sway . . . To the tune o' those Weary Blues. With his ebony hands on each ivory key He made that poor piano moan with melody. O Blues! Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool. Sweet Blues! Coming from a black man's soul. O Blues! In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan-- "Ain't got nobody in all this world, Ain't got nobody but ma self. I's gwine to quit ma frownin' And put ma troubles on the shelf." Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor. He played a few chords then he sang some more-- "I got the Weary Blues And I can't be satisfied. Got the Weary Blues And can't be satisfied-- I ain't happy no mo' And I wish that I had died." And far into the night he crooned that tune. The stars went out and so did the moon. The singer stopped playing and went to bed While the Weary Blues echoed through his head. He slept like a rock or a man that's dead. Apparently, Hughes was criticized by some because his poetry was thought to be too frivolous, but the political nature of his writing is exemplified by the following selection: Let America Be America Again Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is free. (America never was America to me.) Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed-- Let it be that great strong land of love Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme That any man be crushed by one above. (It never was America to me.) O, let my land be a land where Liberty Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, But opportunity is real, and life is free, Equality is in the air we breathe. (There's never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.") Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars? I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars. I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek-- And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak. I am the young man, full of strength and hope, Tangled in that ancient endless chain Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need! Of work the men! Of take the pay! Of owning everything for one's own greed! I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. I am the worker sold to the machine. I am the Negro, servant to you all. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean-- Hungry yet today despite the dream. Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers! I am the man who never got ahead, The poorest worker bartered through the years. Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream In the Old World while still a serf of kings, Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true, That even yet its mighty daring sings In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned That's made America the land it has become. O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas In search of what I meant to be my home-- For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore, And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea, And torn from Black Africa's strand I came To build a "homeland of the free." The free? Who said the free? Not me? Surely not me? The millions on relief today? The millions shot down when we strike? The millions who have nothing for our pay? For all the dreams we've dreamed And all the songs we've sung And all the hopes we've held And all the flags we've hung, The millions who have nothing for our pay-- Except the dream that's almost dead today. O, let America be America again-- The land that never has been yet-- And yet must be--the land where every man is free. The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME-- Who made America, Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain, Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain, Must bring back our mighty dream again. Sure, call me any ugly name you choose-- The steel of freedom does not stain. From those who live like leeches on the people's lives, We must take back our land again, America! O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath-- America will be! Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, We, the people, must redeem The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers. The mountains and the endless plain-- All, all the stretch of these great green states-- And make America again! As these selections show, Hughes was a worthy successor to men like Whitman, Sandburg and Dunbar and the, small "d", democratic tradition in American poetry. GRADE: B+
Rating: 
Summary: Stunning and Satisfying
Review: Langston Hughes' body of work is a revolutionary accomplishment: boisterous lyricism, melodous imagery, and profound commentary blended to create one of the most amazing poetic experiences possible.
Here is a collection spanning his entire career, and representing it well. We see the poems about class, the political poems, the operatic verses of "Montage of a Dream Deferred," and are left, after a cursory reading with a sense of amazement at the artist's extraordinary craft.
But in the sheer volume these excellent selections provide the reader with material in almost any moment; there is almost always something new.
Rating:
Summary: Beautiful, lyrical, insightful poetry
Review: One of the most insightful books of poetry ever written. Hughes is a beautiful writer who writes not merely to reflect on the world he sees in his lyrical way, but in an attempt to improve that world through exposing humanity in its ugliness and beauty. Reading this book was an illuminating experience.
Rating:
Summary: A great recent addtion to my poetery collection
Review: This book has poetry that does not mince word or ideas. Langston Hughs gets his point across. I do not agree with all he has to say, but he always effects your point of view with his poems that make you think. His words have purpose and impact. There are not any unnecessary words in his poems, elegant and simple phrases bring out complex questions about racism, inequality and america. His poem on Fredrick Dougalass is one of my favorites.
Rating:
Summary: A great recent addtion to my poetery collection
Review: This book has poetry that does not mince word or ideas. Langston Hughs gets his point across. I do not agree with all he has to say, but he always effects your point of view with his poems that make you think. His words have purpose and impact. There are not any unnecessary words in his poems, elegant and simple phrases bring out complex questions about racism, inequality and america. His poem on Fredrick Dougalass is one of my favorites.
Rating:
Summary: Essential
Review: This is one of America's poets. Like Robert Frost or Billy Collins all should own and read Langston Hughes.
Rating:
Summary: Essential
Review: This is one of America's poets. Like Robert Frost or Billy Collins all should own and read Langston Hughes.
| 
