American Literature: Poems

for June

e Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; en took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim Because it was grassy and wanted wear, ough as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I marked the rst for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the di erence.
Robert Frost ( )

e Gi Outright
e land was ours before we were the lands. She was our land more than a hundred years Before we were her people. She was ours In Massachusetts, in Virginia, But we were Englands, still colonials, Possessing what we still were unpossessed by, Possessed by what we now no more possessed. Something we were withholding made us weak Until we found out that it was ourselves We were withholding from our land of living, And forthwith found salvation in surrender. Such as we were we gave ourselves outright ( e deed of gi was many deeds of war) To the land vaguely realizing westward, But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced, Such as she was, such as she would become. I Have Been One Acquainted with the Night I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say good-bye; And further still at an unearthly height, A luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night.
Robert Frost ( )

In a Station of the Metro

e apparition of these faces in the crowd; petals on a wet, black bough. Further Instructions Come, my songs, let us express our baser passions. Let us express our envy for the man with a steady job and no worry about the future. You are very idle, my songs, I fear you will come to a bad end. You stand about the streets, You loiter at the corners and bus-stops, You do next to nothing at all. You do not even express our inner nobilitys, You will come to a very bad end. And I? I have gone half-cracked. I have talked to you so much that I almost see you about me, Insolent little beasts! Shameless! Devoid of clothing! But you, newest song of the lot, You are not old enough to have done much mischief. I will get you a green coat out of China With dragons worked upon it. I will get you the scarlet silk trousers From the statue of the infant Christ at Santa Maria Novella; Lest they say we are lacking in taste, Or that there is no caste in this family.
Ezra Pound ( )

To a Poor Old Woman

munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand ey taste good to her ey taste good to her. ey taste good to her You can see it by the way she gives herself to the one half sucked out in her hand Comforted a solace of ripe plums seeming to ll the air ey taste good to her
William Carlos Williams ( )

e Red Wheelbarrow
so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens.
William Carlos Williams ( )

Spring and All

By the road to the contagious hospital under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy elds brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen patches of standing water the scattering of tall trees All along the road the reddish purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy stu of bushes and small trees with dead, brown leaves under them lea ess vines Lifeless in appearance, sluggish dazed spring approaches ey enter the new world naked, cold, uncertain of all save that they enter. All about them the cold, familiar wind Now the grass, tomorrow the sti curl of wildcarrot leaf One by one objects are de ned It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf But now the stark dignity of entrance Still, the profound change has come upon them: rooted they grip down and begin to awaken
William Carlos Williams ( )

Vernal Equinox
e scent of hyacinths, like a pale mist, lies between me and my book; And the South Wind, washing through the room, Makes the candles quiver. My nerves sting at a spatter of rain on the shutter, And I am uneasy with the thrusting of green shoots Outside, in the night.
Amy Lowell ( )

Mise en scene
When I think of you, Beloved, I see a smooth and stately garden With parterres of gold and crimson tulips And the bursting lilac leaves. ere is a low-lipped basin in the midst, Where a statue of veined cream marble Perpetually pours water over her shoulder From a rounded urn. When the wind blows, e water-stream blows before it And spatters into the basin with a light tinkling, And your shawl the colour of red violets Flares out behind you in great curves Like the swirling draperies of a painted Madonna.
Amy Lowell ( )

We Wear

e Mask

We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes, is debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties. Why should the world be overwise, In counting all our tears and sighs? Nay, let them only see us, while We wear the mask. We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries To thee from tortured souls arise. We sing, but oh the clay is vile Beneath our feet, and long the mile; But let the world dream otherwise, We wear the mask!
Paul Lawrence Dunbar ( )

e Negro Speaks of Rivers

Ive known rivers: Ive known rivers ancient as the world and older than the ow 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 Ive seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset. Ive known rivers: Ancient, dusky rivers. My soul has grown deep like the rivers. e Weary Blues Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon, I heard a Negro play. Down on Lenox Avenue the other night By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light He did a lazy sway .... He did a lazy sway .... To the tune o those Weary Blues. With his ebony hands on each ivory key He made that poor piano moan with melody. O Blues! Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool. Sweet Blues! Coming from a black mans soul. O Blues! In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan "Aint got nobody in all this world, Aint got nobody but ma self. Is gwine to quit ma frownin And put ma troubles on the shelf." ump, thump, thump, went his foot on the oor. He played a few chords then he sang some more "I got the Weary Blues And I cant be satis ed. Got the Weary Blues And cant be satis ed I aint happy no mo And I wish that I had died." And far into the night he crooned that tune. e stars went out and so did the moon. e singer stopped playing and went to bed While the Weary Blues echoed through his head. He slept like a rock or a man thats dead.
Langston Hughes ( )

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?
Langston Hughes ( )

Enslaved
Oh when I think of my long-su ering race, For weary centuries despised, oppressed, Enslaved and lynched, denied a human place In the great life line of the Christian West; And in the Black Land disinherited, Robbed in the ancient country of its birth, My heart grows sick with hate, becomes as lead, For this my race that has no home on earth. en from the dark depths of my soul I cry To the avenging angel to consume e white mans world of wonders utterly: Let it be swallowed up in earths vast womb, Or upward roll as sacri cial smoke To liberate my people from its yoke!
Claude McKay ( )

A Woman Speaks
Moon marked and touched by sun my magic is unwritten but when the sea turns back it will leave my shape behind. I seek no favor untouched by blood unrelenting as the curse of love permanent as my errors or my pride I do not mix love with pity nor hate with scorn and if you would know me look into the entrails of Uranus where the restless oceans pound. I do not dwell within my birth nor my divinities who am ageless and half-grown and still seeking my sisters witches in Dahomey wear me inside their coiled cloths as our mother did mourning. I have been woman for a long time beware my smile I am treacherous with old magic and the noons new fury with all your wide futures promised I am woman and not white.
Audre Lorde ( )

In Memoriam: Martin Luther King, Jr

honey people murder mercy U.S.A. the milkland turn to monsters teach to kill to violate pull down destroy the weakly freedom growing fruit from being born America tomorrow yesterday rip rape exacerbate despoil dis gure crazy running threat the deadly thrall appall belief dispel the wildlife burn the breast the onward tongue the outward hand deform the normal rainy riot sunshine shelter wreck of darkness derogate delimit blank explode deprive assassinate and batten up like bullets fatten up the raving greed reactivate a springtime terrorizing death by men by more than you or I can STOP II ey sleep who know a regulated place or pulse or tide or changing sky according to some universal stage direction obvious like shorewashed shells we share an a ernoon of mourning in between no next predictable except for wild reversal hearse rehearsal bleach the blacklong lunging ritual of fright insanity and more deplorable abortion more and more
June Jordan ( )