THE NEGRO SPEAKS OF RIVERS

THE NEGRO SPEAKS OF RIVERSTHE NEGRO SPEAKS OF RIVERS(To W. E. B. DuBois)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.CROSSMy old man’s a white old manAnd my old mother’s black.If ever I cursed my white old manI take my curses back.If ever I cursed my black old motherAnd wished she were in hell,I’m sorry for that evil wishAnd 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?THE JESTERIn one handI hold tragedyAnd in the otherComedy,—Masks for the soul.Laugh with me.You would laugh!Weep with me.You would weep!Tears are my laughter.Laughter is my pain.Cry at my grinning mouth,If you will.Laugh at my sorrow’s reign.I am the Black Jester,The dumb clown of the world,The booted, booted fool of silly men.Once I was wise.Shall I be wise again?THE SOUTHThe lazy, laughing SouthWith blood on its mouth.The sunny-faced South,Beast-strong,Idiot-brained.The child-minded SouthScratching in the dead fire’s ashesFor a Negro’s bones.Cotton and the moon,Warmth, earth, warmth,The sky, the sun, the stars,The magnolia-scented South.Beautiful, like a woman,Seductive as a dark-eyed whore,Passionate, cruel,Honey-lipped, syphilitic—That is the South.And I, who am black, would love herBut she spits in my face.And I, who am black,Would give her many rare giftsBut she turns her back upon me.So now I seek the North—The cold-faced North,For she, they say,Is a kinder mistress,And in her house my childrenMay escape the spell of the South.AS I GREW OLDERIt was a long time ago.I have almost forgotten my dream.But it was there then,In front of me,Bright like a sun,—My dream.And then the wall rose,Rose slowly,Slowly,Between me and my dream.Rose slowly, slowly,Dimming,Hiding,The light of my dream.Rose until it touched the sky,—The wall.Shadow.I am black.I lie down in the shadow.No longer the light of my dream before me,Above me.Only the thick wall.Only the shadow.My hands!My dark hands!Break through the wall!Find my dream!Help me to shatter this darkness,To smash this night,To break this shadowInto a thousand lights of sun,Into a thousand whirling dreamsOf sun!AUNT SUE’S STORIESAunt Sue has a head full of stories.Aunt Sue has a whole heart full of stories.Summer nights on the front porchAunt Sue cuddles a brown-faced child to her bosomAnd tells him stories.Black slavesWorking in the hot sun,And black slavesWalking in the dewy night,And black slavesSinging sorrow songs on the banks of a mighty riverMingle themselves softlyIn the flow of old Aunt Sue’s voice,Mingle themselves softlyIn the dark shadows that cross and recrossAunt Sue’s stories.And the dark-faced child, listening,Knows that Aunt Sue’s stories are real stories.He knows that Aunt SueNever got her stories out of any book at all,But that they cameRight out of her own life.And the dark-faced child is quietOf a summer nightListening to Aunt Sue’s stories.POEMThe night is beautiful,So the faces of my people.The stars are beautiful,So the eyes of my people.Beautiful, also, is the sun.Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.

THE NEGRO SPEAKS OF RIVERS(To W. E. B. DuBois)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.

(To W. E. B. DuBois)

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.

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 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.

I’ve known rivers:

Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

CROSSMy old man’s a white old manAnd my old mother’s black.If ever I cursed my white old manI take my curses back.If ever I cursed my black old motherAnd wished she were in hell,I’m sorry for that evil wishAnd 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?

My old man’s a white old manAnd my old mother’s black.If ever I cursed my white old manI take my curses back.If ever I cursed my black old motherAnd wished she were in hell,I’m sorry for that evil wishAnd 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?

My old man’s a white old manAnd my old mother’s black.If ever I cursed my white old manI take my curses back.

My old man’s a white 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 motherAnd wished she were in hell,I’m sorry for that evil wishAnd now I wish her well.

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?

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?

THE JESTERIn one handI hold tragedyAnd in the otherComedy,—Masks for the soul.Laugh with me.You would laugh!Weep with me.You would weep!Tears are my laughter.Laughter is my pain.Cry at my grinning mouth,If you will.Laugh at my sorrow’s reign.I am the Black Jester,The dumb clown of the world,The booted, booted fool of silly men.Once I was wise.Shall I be wise again?

In one handI hold tragedyAnd in the otherComedy,—Masks for the soul.Laugh with me.You would laugh!Weep with me.You would weep!Tears are my laughter.Laughter is my pain.Cry at my grinning mouth,If you will.Laugh at my sorrow’s reign.I am the Black Jester,The dumb clown of the world,The booted, booted fool of silly men.Once I was wise.Shall I be wise again?

In one hand

I hold tragedy

And in the other

Comedy,—

Masks for the soul.

Laugh with me.

You would laugh!

Weep with me.

You would weep!

Tears are my laughter.

Laughter is my pain.

Cry at my grinning mouth,

If you will.

Laugh at my sorrow’s reign.

I am the Black Jester,

The dumb clown of the world,

The booted, booted fool of silly men.

Once I was wise.

Shall I be wise again?

THE SOUTHThe lazy, laughing SouthWith blood on its mouth.The sunny-faced South,Beast-strong,Idiot-brained.The child-minded SouthScratching in the dead fire’s ashesFor a Negro’s bones.Cotton and the moon,Warmth, earth, warmth,The sky, the sun, the stars,The magnolia-scented South.Beautiful, like a woman,Seductive as a dark-eyed whore,Passionate, cruel,Honey-lipped, syphilitic—That is the South.And I, who am black, would love herBut she spits in my face.And I, who am black,Would give her many rare giftsBut she turns her back upon me.So now I seek the North—The cold-faced North,For she, they say,Is a kinder mistress,And in her house my childrenMay escape the spell of the South.

The lazy, laughing SouthWith blood on its mouth.The sunny-faced South,Beast-strong,Idiot-brained.The child-minded SouthScratching in the dead fire’s ashesFor a Negro’s bones.Cotton and the moon,Warmth, earth, warmth,The sky, the sun, the stars,The magnolia-scented South.Beautiful, like a woman,Seductive as a dark-eyed whore,Passionate, cruel,Honey-lipped, syphilitic—That is the South.And I, who am black, would love herBut she spits in my face.And I, who am black,Would give her many rare giftsBut she turns her back upon me.So now I seek the North—The cold-faced North,For she, they say,Is a kinder mistress,And in her house my childrenMay escape the spell of the South.

The lazy, laughing South

With blood on its mouth.

The sunny-faced South,

Beast-strong,

Idiot-brained.

The child-minded South

Scratching in the dead fire’s ashes

For a Negro’s bones.

Cotton and the moon,

Warmth, earth, warmth,

The sky, the sun, the stars,

The magnolia-scented South.

Beautiful, like a woman,

Seductive as a dark-eyed whore,

Passionate, cruel,

Honey-lipped, syphilitic—

That is the South.

And I, who am black, would love her

But she spits in my face.

And I, who am black,

Would give her many rare gifts

But she turns her back upon me.

So now I seek the North—

The cold-faced North,

For she, they say,

Is a kinder mistress,

And in her house my children

May escape the spell of the South.

AS I GREW OLDERIt was a long time ago.I have almost forgotten my dream.But it was there then,In front of me,Bright like a sun,—My dream.And then the wall rose,Rose slowly,Slowly,Between me and my dream.Rose slowly, slowly,Dimming,Hiding,The light of my dream.Rose until it touched the sky,—The wall.Shadow.I am black.I lie down in the shadow.No longer the light of my dream before me,Above me.Only the thick wall.Only the shadow.My hands!My dark hands!Break through the wall!Find my dream!Help me to shatter this darkness,To smash this night,To break this shadowInto a thousand lights of sun,Into a thousand whirling dreamsOf sun!

It was a long time ago.I have almost forgotten my dream.But it was there then,In front of me,Bright like a sun,—My dream.And then the wall rose,Rose slowly,Slowly,Between me and my dream.Rose slowly, slowly,Dimming,Hiding,The light of my dream.Rose until it touched the sky,—The wall.Shadow.I am black.I lie down in the shadow.No longer the light of my dream before me,Above me.Only the thick wall.Only the shadow.My hands!My dark hands!Break through the wall!Find my dream!Help me to shatter this darkness,To smash this night,To break this shadowInto a thousand lights of sun,Into a thousand whirling dreamsOf sun!

It was a long time ago.I have almost forgotten my dream.But it was there then,In front of me,Bright like a sun,—My dream.

It was a long time ago.

I have almost forgotten my dream.

But it was there then,

In front of me,

Bright like a sun,—

My dream.

And then the wall rose,Rose slowly,Slowly,Between me and my dream.Rose slowly, slowly,Dimming,Hiding,The light of my dream.Rose until it touched the sky,—The wall.

And then the wall rose,

Rose slowly,

Slowly,

Between me and my dream.

Rose slowly, slowly,

Dimming,

Hiding,

The light of my dream.

Rose until it touched the sky,—

The wall.

Shadow.I am black.

Shadow.

I am black.

I lie down in the shadow.No longer the light of my dream before me,Above me.Only the thick wall.Only the shadow.

I lie down in the shadow.

No longer the light of my dream before me,

Above me.

Only the thick wall.

Only the shadow.

My hands!My dark hands!Break through the wall!Find my dream!Help me to shatter this darkness,To smash this night,To break this shadowInto a thousand lights of sun,Into a thousand whirling dreamsOf sun!

My hands!

My dark hands!

Break through the wall!

Find my dream!

Help me to shatter this darkness,

To smash this night,

To break this shadow

Into a thousand lights of sun,

Into a thousand whirling dreams

Of sun!

AUNT SUE’S STORIESAunt Sue has a head full of stories.Aunt Sue has a whole heart full of stories.Summer nights on the front porchAunt Sue cuddles a brown-faced child to her bosomAnd tells him stories.Black slavesWorking in the hot sun,And black slavesWalking in the dewy night,And black slavesSinging sorrow songs on the banks of a mighty riverMingle themselves softlyIn the flow of old Aunt Sue’s voice,Mingle themselves softlyIn the dark shadows that cross and recrossAunt Sue’s stories.And the dark-faced child, listening,Knows that Aunt Sue’s stories are real stories.He knows that Aunt SueNever got her stories out of any book at all,But that they cameRight out of her own life.And the dark-faced child is quietOf a summer nightListening to Aunt Sue’s stories.

Aunt Sue has a head full of stories.Aunt Sue has a whole heart full of stories.Summer nights on the front porchAunt Sue cuddles a brown-faced child to her bosomAnd tells him stories.Black slavesWorking in the hot sun,And black slavesWalking in the dewy night,And black slavesSinging sorrow songs on the banks of a mighty riverMingle themselves softlyIn the flow of old Aunt Sue’s voice,Mingle themselves softlyIn the dark shadows that cross and recrossAunt Sue’s stories.And the dark-faced child, listening,Knows that Aunt Sue’s stories are real stories.He knows that Aunt SueNever got her stories out of any book at all,But that they cameRight out of her own life.And the dark-faced child is quietOf a summer nightListening to Aunt Sue’s stories.

Aunt Sue has a head full of stories.Aunt Sue has a whole heart full of stories.Summer nights on the front porchAunt Sue cuddles a brown-faced child to her bosomAnd tells him stories.

Aunt Sue has a head full of stories.

Aunt Sue has a whole heart full of stories.

Summer nights on the front porch

Aunt Sue cuddles a brown-faced child to her bosom

And tells him stories.

Black slavesWorking in the hot sun,And black slavesWalking in the dewy night,And black slavesSinging sorrow songs on the banks of a mighty riverMingle themselves softlyIn the flow of old Aunt Sue’s voice,Mingle themselves softlyIn the dark shadows that cross and recrossAunt Sue’s stories.

Black slaves

Working in the hot sun,

And black slaves

Walking in the dewy night,

And black slaves

Singing sorrow songs on the banks of a mighty river

Mingle themselves softly

In the flow of old Aunt Sue’s voice,

Mingle themselves softly

In the dark shadows that cross and recross

Aunt Sue’s stories.

And the dark-faced child, listening,Knows that Aunt Sue’s stories are real stories.He knows that Aunt SueNever got her stories out of any book at all,But that they cameRight out of her own life.

And the dark-faced child, listening,

Knows that Aunt Sue’s stories are real stories.

He knows that Aunt Sue

Never got her stories out of any book at all,

But that they came

Right out of her own life.

And the dark-faced child is quietOf a summer nightListening to Aunt Sue’s stories.

And the dark-faced child is quiet

Of a summer night

Listening to Aunt Sue’s stories.

POEMThe night is beautiful,So the faces of my people.The stars are beautiful,So the eyes of my people.Beautiful, also, is the sun.Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.

The night is beautiful,So the faces of my people.The stars are beautiful,So the eyes of my people.Beautiful, also, is the sun.Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.

The night is beautiful,So the faces of my people.

The night is beautiful,

So the faces of my people.

The stars are beautiful,So the eyes of my people.

The stars are beautiful,

So the eyes of my people.

Beautiful, also, is the sun.Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.

Beautiful, also, is the sun.

Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.

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