Every detail minding
Of the seeking or the finding.
Pleasured equally
In seeking as in finding,
Each detail minding,
Old Walt went seeking
And finding.
Kid in the Park
Lonely little question mark
on a bench in the park:
See the people passing by?
See the airplanes in the sky?
See the birds
flying home
before
dark?
Home’s just around
the corner
there—
but not really
anywhere.
Song for Billie Holiday
What can purge my heart
Of the song
And the sadness?
What can purge my heart
But the song
Of the sadness?
What can purge my heart
Of the sadness
Of the song?
Do not speak of sorrow
With dust in her hair,
Or bits of dust in eyes
A chance wind blows there.
The sorrow that I speak of
Is dusted with despair.
Voice of muted trumpet,
Cold brass in warm air.
Bitter television blurred
By sound that shimmers—
Where?
Fantasy in Purple
Beat the drums of tragedy for me.
Beat the drums of tragedy and death.
And let the choir sing a stormy song
To drown the rattle of my dying breath.
Beat the drums of tragedy for me,
And let the white violins whir thin and slow,
But blow one blaring trumpet note of sun
To go with me
to the darkness
where I go.
AFTER
HOURS
Midnight Raffle
I put my nickel
In the raffle of the night.
Somehow that raffle
Didn’t turn out right.
I lost my nickel.
I lost my time.
I got back home
Without a dime.
When I dropped that nickel
In the subway slot,
I wouldn’t have dropped it,
Knowing what I got.
I could just as well’ve
Stayed home inside:
My bread wasn’t buttered
On neither side.
What?
Some pimps wear summer hats
Into late fall
Since the money that comes in
Won’t cover it all—
Suit, overcoat, shoes—
And hat, too!
Got to neglect something,
So what would you do?
Gone Boy
Playboy of the dawn,
Solid gone!
Out all night
Until 12—1—2 a.m.
Next day
When he should be gone
To work—
Dog-gone!
He ain’t gone.
50–50
I’m all alone in this world, she said,
Ain’t got nobody to share my bed,
Ain’t got nobody to hold my hand—
The truth of the matter’s
I ain’t got no man.
Big Boy opened his mouth and said,
Trouble with you is
You ain’t got no head!
If you had a head and used your mind
You could have me with you
All the time.
She answered, Babe, what must I do?
He said, Share your bed—
And your money, too.
Maybe
I asked you, baby,
If you understood—
You told me that you didn’t,
But you thought you would.
Lover’s Return
My old time daddy
Came back home last night.
His face was pale and
His eyes didn’t look just right.
He says, “Mary, I’m
Comin’ home to you—
So sick and lonesome
I don’t know what to do.”
Oh, men treats women
Just like a pair o’ shoes—
You kicks ’em round and
Does ’em like you choose.
I looked at my daddy—
Lawd! and I wanted to cry.
He looked so thin—
Lawd! that I wanted to cry.
But the devil told me:
Damn a lover
Come home to die!
Miss Blues’es Child
If the blues would let me,
Lord knows I would smile.
If the blues would let me,
I would smile, smile, smile.
Instead of that I’m cryin’—
I must be Miss Blues’es child.
You were my moon up in the sky,
At night my wishing star.
I love you, oh, I love you so—
But you have gone so far!
Now my days are lonely,
And night-time drives me wild.
In my heart I’m crying,
I’m just Miss Blues’es child!
Trumpet Player
The Negro
With the trumpet at his lips
Has dark moons of weariness
Beneath his eyes
Where the smoldering memory
Of slave ships
Blazed to the crack of whips
About his thighs.
The Negro
With the trumpet at his lips
Has a head of vibrant hair
Tamed down,
Patent-leathered now
Until it gleams
Like jet—
Were jet a crown.
The music
From the trumpet at his lips
Is honey
Mixed with liquid fire.
The rhythm
From the trumpet at his lips
Is ecstasy
Distilled from old desire—
Desire
That is longing for the moon
Where the moonlight’s but a spotlight
In his eyes,
Desire
That is longing for the sea
Where the sea’s a bar-glass
Sucker size.
The Negro
With the trumpet at his lips
Whose jacket
Has a fine one-button roll,
Does not know
Upon what riff the music slips
Its hypodermic needle
To his soul—
But softly
As the tune comes from his throat
Trouble
Mellows to a golden note.
Monroe’s Blues
Monroe’s fell on evil days—
His woman and his friend is dead.
Monroe’s fell on evil days,
Can’t hardly get his bread.
Monroe sings a little blues,
His little blues is sad.
Monroe sings a little blues—
My woman and my friend is dead.
Stony Lonesome
They done took Cordelia
Out to stony lonesome ground.
Done took Cordelia
To stony lon
esome,
Laid her down.
They done put Cordelia
Underneath that
Grassless mound.
Ay-Lord!
Ay-Lord!
Ay-Lord!
She done left po’ Buddy
To struggle by his self.
Po’ Buddy Jones,
Yes, he’s done been left.
She’s out in stony lonesome,
Lordy! Sleepin’ by herself.
Cordelia’s
In stony
Lonesome
Ground!
Black Maria
Must be the Black Maria
That I see,
The Black Maria that I see—
But I hope it
Ain’t comin’ for me.
Hear that music playin’ upstairs?
Aw, my heart is
Full of cares—
But that music playin’ upstairs
Is for me.
Babe, did you ever
See the sun
Rise at dawnin’ full of fun?
Says, did you ever see the sun rise
Full of fun, full of fun?
Then you know a new day’s
Done begun.
Black Maria passin’ by
Leaves the sunrise in the sky—
And a new day,
Yes, a new day’s
Done begun!
LIFE
IS
FINE
Life Is Fine
I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn’t,
So I jumped in and sank.
I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn’t a-been so cold
I might’ve sunk and died.
But it was
Cold in that water!
It was cold!
I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.
I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn’t a-been so high
I might’ve jumped and died.
But it was
High up there!
It was high!
So since I’m still here livin’,
I guess I will live on.
I could’ve died for love—
But for livin’ I was born.
Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry—
I’ll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.
Life is fine!
Fine as wine!
Life is fine!
Still Here
I’ve been scarred and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me, sun has baked me.
Looks like between ’em
They done tried to make me
Stop laughin’, stop lovin’, stop livin’—
But I don’t care!
I’m still here!
Ballad of the Gypsy
I went to the Gypsy’s.
Gypsy settin’ all alone.
I said, Tell me, Gypsy,
When will my gal be home?
Gypsy said, Silver,
Put some silver in my hand
And I’ll look into the future
And tell you all I can.
I crossed her palm with silver,
Then she started in to lie.
She said, Now, listen, Mister,
She’ll be here by and by.
Aw, what a lie!
I been waitin’ and a-waitin’
And she ain’t come home yet.
Something musta happened
To make my gal forget.
Uh! I hates a lyin’ Gypsy
Will take good money from you,
Tell you pretty stories
And take your money from you—
But if I was a Gypsy
I would take your money, too.
Me and the Mule
My old mule,
He’s got a grin on his face.
He’s been a mule so long
He’s forgot about his race.
I’m like that old mule—
Black—and don’t give a damn!
You got to take me
Like I am.
Kid Sleepy
Listen, Kid Sleepy,
Don’t you want to run around
To the other side of the house
Where the shade is?
It’s sunny here
And your skin’ll turn
A reddish-purple in the sun.
Kid Sleepy said,
I don’t care.
Listen, Kid Sleepy,
Don’t you want to get up
And go to work down-Town somewhere
To earn enough
For lunches and car fare?
Kid Sleepy said,
I don’t care.
Or would you rather,
Kid Sleepy, just
Stay here?
Rather just
Stay here.
Little Lyric (Of Great Importance)
I wish the rent
Was heaven sent.
Fired
Awake all night with loving
The bright day caught me
Unawares—asleep.
“Late to work again,”
The boss man said.
“You’re fired!”
So I went on back to bed—
And dreamed the sweetest dream
With Caledonia’s arm
Beneath my head.
Midnight Dancer
Wine-maiden
Of the jazz-tuned night,
Lips
Sweet as purple dew,
Breasts
Like the pillows of all sweet dreams,
Who crushed
The grapes of joy
And dripped their juice
On you?
Blue Monday
No use in my going
Downtown to work today,
It’s eight,
I’m late—
And it’s marked down that-a-way.
Saturday and Sunday’s
Fun to sport around.
But no use denying—
Monday’ll get you down.
That old blue Monday
Will surely get you down.
Ennui
It’s such a
Bore
Being always
Poor.
Mama and Daughter
Mama, please brush off my coat
I’m going down the street.
Where’re you going, daughter?
To see my sugar-sweet.
Who is your sugar, honey?
Turn around—I’ll brush behind.
He is that young man, mama,
I can’t get off my mind.
Daughter, once upon a time—
Let me brush the hem—
Your father, yes, he was the one!
I felt like that about him.
But it was a long time ago
He up and went his way.
I hope that wild young son-of-a-gun
Rots in hell today!
Mama, dad couldn’t be still young.
He was young yesterday.
He was young when he—
&nbs
p; Turn around!
So I can brush your back, I say!
Delinquent
Little Julie
Has grown quite tall.
Folks say she don’t like
To stay home at all.
Little Julie
Has grown quite stout.
Folks say it’s not just
Stomach sticking out.
Little Julie
Has grown quite wise—
A tiger, a lion, and an owl
In her eyes.
Little Julie
Says she don’t care!
What she means is:
Nobody cares
Anywhere.
S-sss-ss-sh!
Her great adventure ended
As great adventures should
In life being created
Anew—and good.
Except the neighbors
And her mother
Did not think it good!
Nature has a way
Of not caring much
About marriage
Licenses and such.
But the neighbors
And her mother
Cared very much!
The baby came one morning,
Almost with the sun.
The neighbors—
And its grandma—
Were outdone!
Selected Poems of Langston Hughes Page 4
