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POETS OF THE HARLEM RENAISSANCE. → A time of great creativity for African-Americans → Caused by the Black Migration from the rural South to the cities of the North during WWI → Started in Harlem, a part of New York City. COUNTEE CULLEN. 1903-1946. ET. YET DO I MARVEL.
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POETS OF THE HARLEM RENAISSANCE →A time of great creativity for African-Americans →Caused by the Black Migration from the rural South to the cities of the North during WWI →Started in Harlem, a part of New York City
COUNTEE CULLEN 1903-1946
YET DO I MARVEL I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind, And did He stoop to quibble could tell why The little buried mole continues blind, Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,… Yet do I marvel at this curious thing: To make a poet black, and bid him sing!
PAUL LAWRENCE DUNBAR1872-1906 First Black poet to use Negro dialect in poems and novels
WHEN ALL IS DONE When all is done, and my last word is said, And ye who loved me murmur, “He is dead,” Let no one weep for fear that I should know, And sorrow too that ye should sorrow so. When all is done and in the oozing clay, Ye lay this cast-off hull of mine away, Pray not for me, for, after long despair, The quiet of the grave will be a prayer.
For I have suffered loss and grievous pain, The hurts of hatred and the world’s disdain, And wounds so deep that love, well-tried and pure, Had not the power to ease them or to cure. When all is done, say not my day is o’er, And that thro’ night I seek a dimmer shore: Say rather that my morn has just begun, I greet the dawn and not a setting sun, When all is done.
LANGSTON HUGHES1902-1967 Most well-known poet of the Harlem Renaissance The Weary Blues first published book of poetry “The Negro Speaks of Rivers”
DREAM DEFFERED 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 just explode?
DREAM VARIATIONS • To fling my arms wideIn some place of the sun,To whirl and to danceTill the white day is done.Then rest at cool eveningBeneath a tall treeWhile night comes on gently, Dark like me--That is my dream!
To fling my arms wideIn the face of the sun,Dance! Whirl! Whirl!Till the quick day is done.Rest at pale evening . . .A tall, slim tree . . .Night coming tenderly Black like me.
DREAMS Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.
JESSIE REDMON FAUSET • Literary editor of Crisis magazine • Fostered careers of black poets like Langston Hughes • “midwife” of the Harlem Renaissance • Most prominent black woman writer • Short Story – “Mary Elizabeth”
JOSEPH SEAMON COTTER, JR. • 1895-1919 DIED OF TUBERCULOSIS • The Band of Gideon and Other Lyrics • On the Fields of France