Saturday, April 21, 2012

A Little Langston

My favorite poet is Langston Hughes. I, don't really like poetry at all, I find it full of ego and patronizing, but I like me some Langston. I reread my Langston Hughes reader often. It is full of coffee stains and pen strokes and highlighter marks and post its to direct me straight to my favorites, even from afar. I brought some poems with me to Lebanon. Here are a couple I read today.

Summer Night
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 emptines,
Needing someone,

I toss without rest
In the darkness
Until the new dawn,
Wan and pale,
Descends like a white mist
Into the court-yard.

My old man's a while old man
And my old mother's black.
If ever I cursed my white old man
I take my curses back.

If ever I cursed my black old mother
And wished she were in hell,
I'm sorry for that evil wish
And now I wish her well.

My old man died in a fine big house.
My ma died in a shack.
I wonder where I'm gonna die,
Being neither white nor black?

Also, we should do something about that climate change thing. It might make our coffee disappear, which would be bad for my future business endeavors, and my tolerance for other human beings, which is already low. on the good days.

Tomorrow is a hike in the Cedar forest, lunch at Ziad's parents house, a puppet show, and maybe some sunset yoga by candlelight on a rooftop terrace (of course its some hippey from California that hosts). I also bought a new camera battery so lots of photos to be taken soon!

Renee Claire

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