A Black Poet Langston Hughes Speaks
James Mercer Langston Hughes
(February 1,1902 - May 22,1967)
SONG TO A NEGRO WASH WOMAN
OH, WASH-WOMAN,
Arms elbow deep in white suds,
Soul washed clean,
Clothes washed clean,
I have many songs to sing you
Could I find but the words.
Was it four o'clock or six o'clock on a winter afternoon,
I saw you wringing out the last shirt in Miss White
Lady's kitchen? Was it four o'clock or six o'clock?
I don't remember.
But I know, at seven one spring morning you were on
Vermont street with a bundle in your arms going to
wash clothes.
And I know I've seen you in the New York subway in
the late afternoon coming home from washing clothes.
Yes, I know you, wash-woman.
I know how you send your children to school, and
high school and even college.
I know how you work to help your man even when times
are hard.
I know how you build your house up from the washtub
and call it home.
And how you raise your churches from white suds for
the service of the Holy God.
I've seen you singing, wash-woman. Out in the backyard
garden under the apple trees, singing, hanging
white clothes on long lines in the sunshine.
And I've seen you in church on Sunday morning singing,
praising your Jesus because someday you're
going to sit on the right hand side of the Son of God
And forget you ever were a wash-woman.
And the aching back and the bundles of clothes will be
unremembered then.
Yes, I've seen you singing.
So for you,
O singing wash-woman,
For you, singing little brown woman,
Singing strong black woman,
Singing tall yellow woman,
Arms deep in white suds,
Soul washed clean,
Clothes washed clean,
For you I have
Many songs to sing
Could I but find the words.
Langston Hughes
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.
Langston Hughes
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 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.
Langston Hughes