The Weary Blues (5 page)

They say she died,—

Although I do not know,

They say she died of grief

And in the earth-dark arms of Death

Sought calm relief,

And rest from pain of love

In loveless sleep.

Bring me all of your dreams,

You dreamers.

Bring me all of your

Heart melodies

That I may wrap them

In a blue cloud-cloth

Away from the too rough fingers

Of the world.

I loved my friend.

He went away from me.

There’s nothing more to say.

The poem ends,

Soft as it began,—

I loved my friend.

We should have a land of sun,

Of gorgeous sun,

And a land of fragrant water

Where the twilight

Is a soft bandanna handkerchief

Of rose and gold,

And not this land where life is cold.

We should have a land of trees,

Of tall thick trees

Bowed down with chattering parrots

Brilliant as the day,

And not this land where birds are grey.

Ah, we should have a land of joy,

Of love and joy and wine and song,

And not this land where joy is wrong.

Oh, sweet, away!

Ah, my beloved one, away!

I was a red man one time,

But the white men came.

I was a black man, too,

But the white men came.

They drove me out of the forest.

They took me away from the jungles.

I lost my trees.

I lost my silver moons.

Now they’ve caged me

In the circus of civilization.

Now I herd with the many—

Caged in the circus of civilization.

We cry among the skyscrapers

As our ancestors

Cried among the palms in Africa

Because we are alone,

It is night,

And we’re afraid.

    For the portrait of an African boy after the manner of

                                        Gauguin

All the tom-toms of the jungles beat in my blood,

And all the wild hot moons of the jungles shine in my soul.

I am afraid of this civilization—

    So hard,

               So strong,

                         So cold.

The sounds

Of the Harlem night

Drop one by one into stillness.

The last player-piano is closed.

The last victrola ceases with the

“Jazz Boy Blues.”

The last crying baby sleeps

And the night becomes

Still as a whispering heartbeat.

I toss

Without rest in the darkness,

Weary as the tired night,

My soul

Empty as the silence,

Empty with a vague,

Aching emptiness,

Desiring,

Needing someone,

Something.

I toss without rest

In the darkness

Until the new dawn,

Wan and pale,

Descends like a white mist

Into the court-yard.

I would be simple again,

Simple and clean

Like the earth,

Like the rain,

Nor ever know,

Dark Harlem,

The wild laughter

Of your mirth

Nor the salt tears

Of your pain.

Be kind to me,

Oh, great dark city.

Let me forget.

I will not come

To you again.

The low beating of the tom-toms,

The slow beating of the tom-toms,

    Low … slow

    Slow … low—

    Stirs your blood.

               Dance!

A night-veiled girl

    Whirls softly into a

    Circle of light.

    Whirls softly … slowly,

Like a wisp of smoke around the fire—

    And the tom-toms beat,

    And the tom-toms beat,

And the low beating of the tom-toms

    Stirs your blood.

I do not hate you,

For your faces are beautiful, too.

I do not hate you,

Your faces are whirling lights of loveliness and splendor, too.

Yet why do you torture me,

O, white strong ones,

Why do you torture me?

Well, son, I’ll tell you:

Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

It’s had tacks in it,

And splinters,

And boards torn up,

And places with no carpet on the floor—

Bare.

But all the time

I’se been a-climbin’ on,

And reachin’ landin’s,

And turnin’ corners,

And sometimes goin’ in the dark

Where there ain’t been no light.

So boy, don’t you turn back.

Don’t you set down on the steps

’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.

Don’t you fall now—

For I’se still goin’, honey,

I’se still climbin’,

And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

We have tomorrow

Bright before us

Like a flame.

Yesterday

A night-gone thing,

A sun-down name.

And dawn-today

Broad arch above the road we came.

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 sit 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.

ALSO BY LANGSTON HUGHES

POETRY

The Panther and the Lash: Poems for Our Times
(1967)

Ask Your Mama: 12 Moods for Jazz
(1961)

Selected Poems of Langston Hughes
(1959)

Montage of a Dream Deferred
(1951)

One-Way Ticket
(1949)

Fields of Wonder
(1947)

Shakespeare in Harlem
(1942)

Fine Clothes to the Jew
(1927)

FICTION

Something in Common and Other Stories
(1963)

The Sweet Flypaper of Life
(1955)
with Roy DeCarava (photographer)

Laughing to Keep from Crying
(1952)

The Ways of White Folks
(1934)

Not Without Laughter
(1930)

DRAMA

Five Plays by Langston Hughes
(1963)

HUMOR

Simple’s Uncle Sam
(1965)

The Best of Simple
(1961)

Simple Stakes a Claim
(1957)

Simple Takes a Wife
(1953)

Simple Speaks His Mind
(1950)

FOR YOUNG PEOPLE

The First Book of Africa
(1960)

The First Book of the West Indies
(1956)

The First Book of Jazz
(1955)

The First Book of Rhythms
(1954)

The First Book of the Negroes
(1952)

Pop and Fifina
(1932)
with Arna Bontemps

BIOGRAPHY AND AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Famous Negro Heroes of America
(1958)

I Wonder as I Wander
(1956)

Famous Negro Music Makers
(1955)

Famous American Negroes
(1954)

The Big Sea
(1940)

ANTHOLOGY

The Best Short Stories by Negro Writers: An Anthology from 1899 to the Present
(1967)

New Negro Poets: USA
(1964)

An African Treasury: Articles / Essays / Stories / Poems by Black Africans
(1960)

The Langston Hughes Reader
(1958)

The Book of Negro Folklore
(1958)
with Arna Bontemps

Poetry of the Negro
(1949)
with Arna Bontemps

HISTORY

Black Magic: A Pictorial History of the Negro in American Entertainment
(1967)
with Milton Meltzer

Fight for Freedom: The Story of the NAACP
(1962)

A Pictorial History of the Negro in America
(1956)
with Milton Meltzer

TRANSLATIONS

Selected Poems by Gabriela Mistral
(1957)

Cuba Libre: Poems by Nicolás Guillén
(1948)

Masters of the Dew
(1947)
with Mercer Cook. A translation of the novel

Gouverneurs de la rosée
by Jacques Roumain