#AmericanWriters
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
Oh, silver tree! Oh, shining rivers of the soul! In a Harlem cabaret Six long—headed jazzers play. A dancing girl whose eyes are bold
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
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—
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
It’s such a Bore Being always Poor.
I look at the world From awakening eyes in a black fac… And this is what I see: This fenced—off narrow space Assigned to me.
I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the w… flow of human blood in human veins My soul has grown deep like the ri… I bathed in the Euphrates when da…
Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry—go—round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
She, In the dark, Found light Brighter than many ever see. She,
I could take the Harlem night and wrap around you, Take the neon lights and make a cr… Take the Lenox Avenue busses, Taxis, subways,
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
I got to leave this town. It’s a lonesome place. Got to leave this town cause It’s a lonesome place. A po’, po’ boy can’t
2 and 2 are 4. 4 and 4 are 8. But what would happen If the last 4 was late? And how would it be