IOC Grading Rubric:ioc_hl_and_sl.pdf

Cultural, Historical, and Literary Context of Langston Hughes' Body of Work

Time, Space, and the Text
​
The "New Negro" Renaissance, aka Harlem Renaissance:
http://exhibitions.nypl.org/africanaage/essay-renaissance.html

​Lynching, the KKK , and Jim Crow Laws in the South:
http://www.americanlynchingdata.com/history.html​

The Roaring Twenties and The Great Gatsby:
Discussion using the annotation on the left

Langston Hughes (1902-1967)

    Harlem
    What happens to a dream deferred?

      Does it dry up
      like a raisin in the sun?
      Or fester like a sore--
      And then run?
      Does it stink like rotten meat?
      Or crust and sugar over--
      like a syrupy sweet?

      Maybe it just sags
      like a heavy load.

      Or does it explode?

Dreams

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
 
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

​

Dream Variations

To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
till the white day is done.
Then rest at cool evening
Beneath a tall tree
While night comes on gently,
     Dark like me--
That is my dream!

To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance! Whirl! Whirl!
Till the quick day is done.
Rest at pale evening . . . 
A tall, slim tree . . . 
Night coming tenderly 
     Black like me. 
​

I, Too

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 be 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.

Mother to Son

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.

Dream Boogie

Good morning, daddy!
Ain’t you heard
The boogie-woogie rumble
Of a dream deferred?
 
Listen closely:
You’ll hear their feet
Beating out and beating out a--
 
            You think
            It’s a happy beat?
 
Listen to it closely:
Ain’t you heard
something underneath
like a--
 
            What did I say?
 
Sure,
I’m happy!
Take it away!
 
            Hey, pop!
            Re-bop!
            Mop!
 
            Y-e-a-h!

The Negro Speaks of 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’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.