The Big Sea - Langston Hughes

I have known of Langston Hughes for a long time but never read anything he wrote or knew anything much beyond his name until last year when I read When Harlem Was in Vogue about the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s. For this year's Back to the Classics challenge for the BIPOC category, I decided to read Hughes' autobiography, The Big Sea, which chronicles his childhood through young adulthood. A second memoir, I Wonder As I Wander, recounts his life during the 1930s. Since Hughes was born in 1901, he spent his 20s in the 1920s, and so on. 

I absolutely loved reading The Big Sea and gave it 5 stars on GoodReads. I think it was a great introduction to the man and his work--he sprinkles some of poems throughout, providing the backstory to how and when he came to write specific milestone works and putting his thoughts about his early work into perspective.

I was particularly interested in hearing about his many travels and the various jobs he did to support himself and his mother while he was a teenager and young man. His father and mother split up early in their marriage, and his father lived in Mexico where Langston visited him during the summers when he was in high school. Langston also worked on many ships, travelling to Africa and Europe and the Caribbean. He lived for awhile in Paris as well. He says many times that his best writing was done during low points in his life, and he definitely had many hard times.

Reading about the Harlem Renaissance, of which he was an active participant, and his interactions with the other major players--the artists, promoters, and patrons--was absolutely fascinating, especially after reading When Harlem Was in Vogue. I found myself looking up people, places, songs, and other things that he mentioned.

I'm always interested in reading about the writing life, and the motivations, inspiration, and work habits of great writers is a topic that I never grow tired of. One of the things I liked about this memoir is that Hughes doesn't brag about his accomplishments but he is not coy about them either. He knows he is a gifted writer and poet. He is self-aware and acknowledges when his work is at its best, and I really appreciate his willingness to embrace who he is and what he has to offer the world. Published in 1940, when he was just 39 years old, so much of his major work was still in front of him when he wrote this memoir. That's actually one of the things that makes this so interesting--he wasn't an old man looking back and remembering. Much of what he recounted was still relatively fresh and recent.

I will probably read I Wonder As I Wander later this year, after I get my hands on some of his poetry books. I now think that I will have the right frame of mind to appreciate them more than if I had simply dove into the deep end.

The Tables Turned - Wordsworth

Who wants to go hiking near Windermere?

I found this on Twitter this morning, courtesy of the Keats-Shelly Blog, and liked it so much I wanted to share it.

The Tables Turned 

William Wordsworth (written in 1798)

Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;

Or surely you'll grow double:

Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;

Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun above the mountain's head,

A freshening lustre mellow

Through all the long green fields has spread,

His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:

Come, hear the woodland linnet,

How sweet his music! on my life,

There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!

He, too, is no mean preacher:

Come forth into the light of things,

Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,

Our minds and hearts to bless—

Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,

Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood

May teach you more of man,

Of moral evil and of good,

Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;

Our meddling intellect

Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:—

We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;

Close up those barren leaves;

Come forth, and bring with you a heart

That watches and receives.

Corinna's Going a-Maying

Happy May Day!

I recently started reading Caroline Kennedy's poetry anthology She Walks in Beauty: A Woman's Journey Through Poems and read this one last night and thought it would make a perfect May Day post.

Corinna's Going a-Maying

by Robert Herrick, 1591 - 1674

 Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn 
    Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. 
    See how Aurora throws her fair 
    Fresh-quilted colours through the air: 
    Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see       
    The dew bespangling herb and tree! 
Each flower has wept and bow'd toward the east 
Above an hour since, yet you not drest; 
    Nay! not so much as out of bed? 
    When all the birds have matins said 
    And sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin, 
    Nay, profanation, to keep in, 
Whereas a thousand virgins on this day 
Spring sooner than the lark, to fetch in May. 

Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen 
To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green, 
    And sweet as Flora. Take no care 
    For jewels for your gown or hair: 
    Fear not; the leaves will strew 
    Gems in abundance upon you: 
Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, 
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept. 
    Come, and receive them while the light 
    Hangs on the dew-locks of the night: 
    And Titan on the eastern hill 
    Retires himself, or else stands still 
Till you come forth! Wash, dress, be brief in praying: 
Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying. 

Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, mark 
How each field turns a street, each street a park, 
    Made green and trimm'd with trees! see how 
    Devotion gives each house a bough 
    Or branch! each porch, each door, ere this, 
    An ark, a tabernacle is, 
Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove, 
As if here were those cooler shades of love. 
    Can such delights be in the street 
    And open fields, and we not see 't? 
    Come, we'll abroad: and let 's obey 
    The proclamation made for May, 
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; 
But, my Corinna, come, let 's go a-Maying. 

There 's not a budding boy or girl this day 
But is got up and gone to bring in May. 
    A deal of youth ere this is come 
    Back, and with white-thorn laden home. 
    Some have despatch'd their cakes and cream, 
    Before that we have left to dream: 
And some have wept and woo'd, and plighted troth, 
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:
    Many a green-gown has been given, 
    Many a kiss, both odd and even: 
    Many a glance, too, has been sent 
    From out the eye, love's firmament: 
Many a jest told of the keys betraying
This night, and locks pick'd: yet we're not a-Maying! 

Come, let us go, while we are in our prime, 
And take the harmless folly of the time! 
    We shall grow old apace, and die 
    Before we know our liberty.
    Our life is short, and our days run 
    As fast away as does the sun. 
And, as a vapour or a drop of rain, 
Once lost, can ne'er be found again, 
    So when or you or I are made
    A fable, song, or fleeting shade, 
    All love, all liking, all delight 
    Lies drown'd with us in endless night. 
Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying, 
Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.