IT Home Learning Lesson 2

MY FAVORITE POET

Who is this poet? He is none other than Langston Hughes.

What was he known for

Being an American poet, novelist, playwright, short story writer, and columnist, he was one of the earliest innovators of the new literary art form jazz poetry. Hughes is best-known for his during the Harlem Renaissance. Hughes, who claimed Paul Lawrence Dunbar, Carl Sandburg, and Walt Whitman as his primary influences, is also particularly known for his insightful, colorful portrayals of black life in America from the twenties through the sixties

Just some Biographical information

James Langston Hughes was born February 1, 1902, in Joplin, Missouri. His parents divorced when he was a small child, and his father moved to Mexico. He was raised by his grandmother until he was thirteen, when he moved to Lincoln, Illinois, to live with his mother and her husband, before the family eventually settled in Cleveland, Ohio. It was in Lincoln, Illinois, that Hughes began writing poetry. Following graduation, he spent a year in Mexico and a year at Columbia University. During these years, he held odd jobs as an assistant cook, launderer, and a busboy, and travelled to Africa and Europe working as a seaman. In November 1924, he moved to Washington, D.C. Hughes's first book of poetry, The Weary Blues, was published by Alfred A. Knopf in 1926. He finished his college education at Lincoln University in Pennsylvania three years later. In 1930 his first novel, Not Without Laughter, won the Harmon gold medal for literature.

Recognition and honors

This is a list if his recognitions and awards.

In 1943, Lincoln University awarded Hughes an honorary Litt.D.

In 1960, the NAACP awarded Hughes the Spingarn Medal for distinguished achievements by an African American.

1961 - Hughes was inducted into the National Institute of Arts and Letters.

1963 - Howard University awarded Hughes an honorary doctorate.

In 1973, the first Langston Hughes Medal was awarded by the City College of New York.

In 1981, New York City Landmark status was given to the Harlem home of Langston Hughes at 20 East 127th Street by the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission and 127th St. was renamed Langston Hughes Place.

On February 1, 2002, The United States Postal Service added the image of Langston Hughes to its Black Heritage series of postage stamps to commemorate both the centennial of Hughes' birth and the 25th anniversary of the Black Heritage Series.

In 2002, scholar Molefi Kete Asante listed Langston Hughes on his list of 100 Greatest African Americans.

Why I like him

I came to known this poet actually to be frankly true yesterday when my LA teacher asked asked to do some activity regarding poems, so I just clicked on the link he had provided and just started randomly reading some poems and I ended up reading this poem called “ I , too, sing America” written by the Langston Hughes. This was like one of the few poem that I read that actually make me stop and even google so as to find out more about the meaning of the poem.

The thing about this poem that really caught my attention was the meaning of it. As I was reading the poem I could actually feel for the blacks in America. The were several emotion that were just rushing through me as I read the poem. I was sympathetic towards the black yet in some sense happy for them in the end as they stand up for their rights especially at the last part of the poem it is written “ I, too, am America”.

Another thing about him that really like him is because of the fact that he was a African American. His career was during the time when African American were still being discriminated. Therefore, being mocked or laughed at must have been some thing inevitable for Langston Hughes. Despite that he did not these mockery affect him and he overcame everything that was thrown at him at eventually become such a great poet.

Just some of his great works.

I, too, sing America. I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.

Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--

I, too, am America. 

The Negro Mother

Children, I come back today
To tell you a story of the long dark way
That I had to climb, that I had to know
In order that the race might live and grow.
Look at my face -- dark as the night--
Yet shining like the sun with love's true light.
I am the child they stole from the sand
Three hundred years ago in Africa's land.
I am the dark girl who crossed the wide sea
Carrying in my body the seed of the free.
I am the woman who worked in the field
Bringing the cotton and the corn to yield.
I am the one who labored as a slave,
Beaten and mistreated for the work that I gave--
Children sold away from me, husband sold, too.
No safety, no love, no respect was I due.
Three hundred years in the deepest South:
But God put a song and a prayer in my mouth.
God put a dream like steel in my soul.
Now, through my children, I'm reaching the goal.
Now, through my children, young and free,
I realize the blessings denied to me.
I couldn't read then. I couldn't write.
I had nothing, back there in the night.
Sometimes, the valley was filled with tears,
But I kept trudging on through the lonely years.
Sometimes, the road was hot with sun,
But I had to keep on till my work was done:
I had to keep on! No stopping for me--
I was the seed of the coming Free.
I nourished the dream that nothing could smother
Deep in my breast--the Negro mother.
I had only hope then, but now through you,
Dark ones of today, my dreams must come true:
All you dark children in the world out there,
Remember my sweat, my pain, my despair.
Remember my years, heavy with sorrow--
And make of those years a torch for tomorrow.
Make of my past a road to the light
Out of the darkness, the ignorance, the night.
Lift high my banner out of the dust.
Stand like free men supporting my trust.
Believe in the right, let none push you back.
Remember the whip and the slaver's track.
Remember how the strong in struggle and strife
Still bar you the way, and deny you life--
But march ever forward, breaking down bars.
Look ever upward at the sun and the stars.
Oh, my dark children, may my dreams and my prayers
Impel you forever up the great stairs--
For I will be with you till no white brother
Dares keep down the children of the Negro mother.

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, 
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!

References

http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/83

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15615

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Langston_Hughes

http://www.eliteskills.com/c/11765

http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/Langston-Hughes/2395

http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/Langston-Hughes/2385