Bearden, Romare. "The Negro Artist and Modern Art." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 138-41. Print.
Bearden hits the nail on the head in this little essay. He all but says that the blacks in the Renaissance that are creating art are not representative of their race, and he suggests (a bit timidly) that the art that is being produced is merely a shallow reflection of what white people expect to see. Although he isn’t as scathing as other writers have been, as well as myself, he manages to get the same message across without the hostility. The message he is conveying comes back to the idea that the people we remember from the Harlem Renaissance were merely white-ified blacks that in no way represented black culture as a whole. This may be an extreme position, for surely they represented some aspects of black society, but isn’t far from the mark.
The lack of depth that Bearden speaks of is apparent not just in artists of the Renaissance that he speaks of, but in artists in general. Today it is easy for any nobody to grab a laptop and begin writing, only to produce a horrible novel that, because it is watered down and generic, gets published. The Twilight books are a perfect example of this: the writer, Stephanie Meyer, has absolutely no advanced composition skills, nor can she weave a coherent story. Yet she is famous and rich for her books. Generic dime-a-dozen bands release albums that no one will remember in five years, while paintings and artwork are splayed across the internet so thickly it is difficult to retrieve any of the worth from the depths of mediocrity. And the reason for this? There is an unguided believe in the world today that anybody can be an artist. I do not believe this to be true. Art requires a level of introspectiveness and pessimism that many people simply do not possess (as well as a degree of intelligence that, too, many are void of), which is why there are so many worthless pieces of art and literature floating around clogging up the art scene.
What Bearden is saying, and what I’m arguing, is that people need to leave art to those that have something to say. Rather than recreate what is popular, create something new. Rather than give art a bad name, step back and let those who know what they are doing perform their work. The Harlem Renaissance had a lot of junk produced, some of which we’ve read for this class, others of which are mentioned very directly by Aaron Douglas, which, perhaps, weakened aspects of art that should have been taken more seriously. Of course, it had a lot of worth created as well, and much of that is what we remember today. I suppose, really, the things that deserve to be remembered end up being written into history, while the rest pass by.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
The Negro Takes His Place in American Art
Locke, Alain. "The Negro Takes His Place in American Art." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 134-37. Print.
Apparently, according to this pompous writer, being black and an artist necessitates being an artist that deals with black themes. Obviously, because color is so ultimate and important to the lives of everyone in the world, one must always adhere to the clichéd norm demanded by their race. The young black artist Locke mentions who wanted to be known as an artist rather than a black artist was completely in the wrong – no one should ever be expected to break the repetitious mold of the obvious. My God, what if that young man had actually gone on to produce works of art indistinguishable from white, red, and yellow artists? It would be detrimental to the cause of black artists all over the world! Thank Christ, though, that Locke was sympathetic enough to suggest that the young man’s views were (perhaps!) pardonable, for if he hadn’t allowed such a horrible deviance, surely the entirety of black culture would have been ruined.
I am, of course, being sarcastic. Obviously, Alain Locke is an obnoxious egotist who cannot see outside of his own very narrow realm of art. He is the kind of moron who, because he has been so privileged and so elevated within his field by the public, believes himself to be the end-all to artistic merit. He is an idiot, and exactly the kind of man who would have promoted the racial divide rather than blend whites and blacks. Thank God there are people like the young man he referenced that are willing to get over themselves.
Apparently, according to this pompous writer, being black and an artist necessitates being an artist that deals with black themes. Obviously, because color is so ultimate and important to the lives of everyone in the world, one must always adhere to the clichéd norm demanded by their race. The young black artist Locke mentions who wanted to be known as an artist rather than a black artist was completely in the wrong – no one should ever be expected to break the repetitious mold of the obvious. My God, what if that young man had actually gone on to produce works of art indistinguishable from white, red, and yellow artists? It would be detrimental to the cause of black artists all over the world! Thank Christ, though, that Locke was sympathetic enough to suggest that the young man’s views were (perhaps!) pardonable, for if he hadn’t allowed such a horrible deviance, surely the entirety of black culture would have been ruined.
I am, of course, being sarcastic. Obviously, Alain Locke is an obnoxious egotist who cannot see outside of his own very narrow realm of art. He is the kind of moron who, because he has been so privileged and so elevated within his field by the public, believes himself to be the end-all to artistic merit. He is an idiot, and exactly the kind of man who would have promoted the racial divide rather than blend whites and blacks. Thank God there are people like the young man he referenced that are willing to get over themselves.
Negro Art and America
Barnes, Albert C. "Negro Art and America." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 128-33. Print.
This essay goes out of its way to homogenize the black race, and in doing so makes itself a pathetic waste of paper. The artists and great minds of the Harlem Renaissance do not, implicitly, represent black culture as a whole. They were a select few who, through riches or contacts, managed to rise above the rest in order to live whiter lives. I do not in any way see how these deviants represent all black people, but rather represent how a few people in every society get lucky once in a while. It is like George Carlin preaching about the evils of wealthy white men when he himself was one of the wealthiest white comedians in the world (as a disclaimer, Carlin is one of my all-time heroes and favorite performers): it’s a caricature, or a low-budget television reenactment, of the horrors and woes of a suppressed race.
The line that struck me the hardest was Barnes’ claim that America’s only great music was black spirituals. A very simple, honest response to this is: no, it isn’t. I do agree that spirituals, particularly blues and jazz, hold a special place in American art and are very exemplary forms of music, but they are not the only American music that is worth something. For example, several contemporaries of the Harlem Renaissance are considered the voices of America to this day: Igor Stravinsky, Aaron Copland, and Leonard Bernstein.
I’ve noticed this attitude in other essays that we’ve read for this class, and every time it comes up I have to scoff. Claiming that black culture is important doesn’t bother me, but claiming that is it the only importance America has ever had is ignorant and childish, like a young teenager convinced that their band is the “best ever period”. It isn’t. Putting things into perspective, such as referencing black culture against American culture as a whole, would make essays like this a bit less frustrating and, perhaps, a bit more meaningful.
This essay goes out of its way to homogenize the black race, and in doing so makes itself a pathetic waste of paper. The artists and great minds of the Harlem Renaissance do not, implicitly, represent black culture as a whole. They were a select few who, through riches or contacts, managed to rise above the rest in order to live whiter lives. I do not in any way see how these deviants represent all black people, but rather represent how a few people in every society get lucky once in a while. It is like George Carlin preaching about the evils of wealthy white men when he himself was one of the wealthiest white comedians in the world (as a disclaimer, Carlin is one of my all-time heroes and favorite performers): it’s a caricature, or a low-budget television reenactment, of the horrors and woes of a suppressed race.
The line that struck me the hardest was Barnes’ claim that America’s only great music was black spirituals. A very simple, honest response to this is: no, it isn’t. I do agree that spirituals, particularly blues and jazz, hold a special place in American art and are very exemplary forms of music, but they are not the only American music that is worth something. For example, several contemporaries of the Harlem Renaissance are considered the voices of America to this day: Igor Stravinsky, Aaron Copland, and Leonard Bernstein.
I’ve noticed this attitude in other essays that we’ve read for this class, and every time it comes up I have to scoff. Claiming that black culture is important doesn’t bother me, but claiming that is it the only importance America has ever had is ignorant and childish, like a young teenager convinced that their band is the “best ever period”. It isn’t. Putting things into perspective, such as referencing black culture against American culture as a whole, would make essays like this a bit less frustrating and, perhaps, a bit more meaningful.
Aaron Douglas Chats about the Harlem Renaissance
Douglas, Aaron. "Aaron Douglas Chats about the Harlem Renaissance." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 1118-27. Print.
It’s interesting to get a glimpse of what someone involved in the Renaissance felt and thought during their time producing art and literature therein. I hadn’t really considered the notion that many people of the Renaissance weren’t particularly aware of the Renaissance as we are today. Obviously, now that it has been mentioned, the effect is obvious; much like with World War I, which was not known as such until much later, many of those involved had no idea that the war they were fighting was to be a “World” war. The association that I’ve made subconsciously throughout this class of the Harlem Renaissance is one of a university or profession: it is easy to define where and what you are when you belong to organized institutions, such as saying “I am a teacher and such an such school in such a such district,” but the institution (or organization) of the Renaissance did not really become a construct until after the fact.
Douglass’ reflections on his time during the Renaissance make the whole thing a bit more humble. He was just a guy getting by and trying to make a name for himself, much as many others do every day. He took jobs that appealed to his artistic desires as well as ones that paid well, and just sort of did his thing unaware of his contributing to what would later be known as the Harlem Renaissance. I suppose my last few posts have been somewhat negative, suggesting that many of those in the Renaissance were selfish and did not represent black Americans but rather a select few. I still hold this to be true, but rather than for the selfish reasons I had stated earlier, I now believe that the individuals in the Renaissance were just doing what they did naturally and, through no real fault of their own, later became associated with the progressive movement.
It’s interesting to get a glimpse of what someone involved in the Renaissance felt and thought during their time producing art and literature therein. I hadn’t really considered the notion that many people of the Renaissance weren’t particularly aware of the Renaissance as we are today. Obviously, now that it has been mentioned, the effect is obvious; much like with World War I, which was not known as such until much later, many of those involved had no idea that the war they were fighting was to be a “World” war. The association that I’ve made subconsciously throughout this class of the Harlem Renaissance is one of a university or profession: it is easy to define where and what you are when you belong to organized institutions, such as saying “I am a teacher and such an such school in such a such district,” but the institution (or organization) of the Renaissance did not really become a construct until after the fact.
Douglass’ reflections on his time during the Renaissance make the whole thing a bit more humble. He was just a guy getting by and trying to make a name for himself, much as many others do every day. He took jobs that appealed to his artistic desires as well as ones that paid well, and just sort of did his thing unaware of his contributing to what would later be known as the Harlem Renaissance. I suppose my last few posts have been somewhat negative, suggesting that many of those in the Renaissance were selfish and did not represent black Americans but rather a select few. I still hold this to be true, but rather than for the selfish reasons I had stated earlier, I now believe that the individuals in the Renaissance were just doing what they did naturally and, through no real fault of their own, later became associated with the progressive movement.
Monday, December 7, 2009
A Long Way from Home
McKay, Claude. "A Long Way From Home." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 157-72. Print.
Perhaps it is because I am reading these essays and excerpts one after another without any breaks, but they’ve all begun to flow into one big stream of the same stuff. McKay is saying much the same in these excerpts that Johnson and Wright said in their essays, and further affirm my growing dislike of Du Bois. I wonder if this inner-circle fighting and back talking is part of what led to the downfall of the Renaissance – it certainly is growing old in my mind. It is funny, too, that the equality and unification that all of the players of the Harlem Renaissance preach so fluently about is only an illusion to their social group.
I can’t help but shake the feeling that the talented tenth/literati/whatever were really just a group of friends who liked to play favorites and pat themselves and each other on the back. The more we read these articles, the more I see the authors talking less and less about the racial problems and more and more about how they feel and relate to other famous people. It is almost becoming a game of “who can name the most famous names,” and it is stupid, like a high school clique. It is no wonder, then, that the Renaissance failed so completely and that it did almost nothing for the betterment of black society. My guess is that most blacks outside of the clique did not much care for these people, and I don’t think that I do now either.
Perhaps it is because I am reading these essays and excerpts one after another without any breaks, but they’ve all begun to flow into one big stream of the same stuff. McKay is saying much the same in these excerpts that Johnson and Wright said in their essays, and further affirm my growing dislike of Du Bois. I wonder if this inner-circle fighting and back talking is part of what led to the downfall of the Renaissance – it certainly is growing old in my mind. It is funny, too, that the equality and unification that all of the players of the Harlem Renaissance preach so fluently about is only an illusion to their social group.
I can’t help but shake the feeling that the talented tenth/literati/whatever were really just a group of friends who liked to play favorites and pat themselves and each other on the back. The more we read these articles, the more I see the authors talking less and less about the racial problems and more and more about how they feel and relate to other famous people. It is almost becoming a game of “who can name the most famous names,” and it is stupid, like a high school clique. It is no wonder, then, that the Renaissance failed so completely and that it did almost nothing for the betterment of black society. My guess is that most blacks outside of the clique did not much care for these people, and I don’t think that I do now either.
Black No More
Schuyler, George. "Black No More." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 655-66. Print.
Three references came to mind when reading this excerpt: Catch-22, the third X-Men movie, and the Dr. Seuss book where the creatures have machines to give them stars on their bellies. The second two references are obvious, and Catch-22 comes to mind simply because of the overtly sarcastic satire. I really enjoyed reading this except, and I plan on getting the full novel soon. My favorite satirical image in it is the Marcus Garvey character (who would have thought), with the Du Bois reference coming in a close second. Schuyler really hits the nail on the head in his depictions of the NAACP consisting of white and mostly white men who are trying to aid and assist blacks that they have no contact with. The readings for this week have been leading to this kind of realization, and I have to agree that much of the work done during the Renaissance was a load of hot air. My previous post goes into a lot of detail about how I feel about this. I’m curious to learn more about how whites and black reacted to this novel, and particularly how the Harlem literati reacted to the caricatures of themselves.
Three references came to mind when reading this excerpt: Catch-22, the third X-Men movie, and the Dr. Seuss book where the creatures have machines to give them stars on their bellies. The second two references are obvious, and Catch-22 comes to mind simply because of the overtly sarcastic satire. I really enjoyed reading this except, and I plan on getting the full novel soon. My favorite satirical image in it is the Marcus Garvey character (who would have thought), with the Du Bois reference coming in a close second. Schuyler really hits the nail on the head in his depictions of the NAACP consisting of white and mostly white men who are trying to aid and assist blacks that they have no contact with. The readings for this week have been leading to this kind of realization, and I have to agree that much of the work done during the Renaissance was a load of hot air. My previous post goes into a lot of detail about how I feel about this. I’m curious to learn more about how whites and black reacted to this novel, and particularly how the Harlem literati reacted to the caricatures of themselves.
The Negro Renaissance and Its Significance
Johnson, Charles S. "The Negro Renaissance and Its Significance." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 206-18. Print.
This article makes me wonder about the actual relevance the Harlem Renaissance had on furthering black society in America. Rather than discuss the impact of the Renaissance or how average Joe Black viewed the writings and artwork of those famous for the Renaissance, Johnson discusses the careers and lives of the select few who are notable during this time period. While this was obviously his case on the outset of this essay, it still brings up the question of impact. Was the Renaissance really about black society uprising, or was it more about the 20 or so people who are now remembered as playing a part in it? As we finish this class, I sadly am beginning to think it is more of the latter. This is particularly evident as we read some of the later essays by Du Bois, Washington and even McKay that deal almost solely with themselves and their opinions rather than the facts of action and life of blacks in America. Although the literati did a good job of maintaining the ostensible role of voices for societal change, I think that they sold out fairly early on in the Renaissance. This is probably why the Renaissance died out before it probably should have, and why there was not a lot of change in society until Rosa Parks and her lot began to actually do something about segregation thirty and forty years later.
The last part of this essay discusses briefly the books of black writers, and it brought me on a bit of a quest to find one black author in today’s world who does not write about black this and that. I read a lot of science fiction, thrillers, and drama, and not one of the authors I am familiar with is black. Interestingly, only one of the 20 or so authors that I religiously follow is anything other than a white man – women seem to be just as ostracized in popular fiction. A Google search for any black science fiction writers resulted in only one name that I am familiar with, Octavia Butler, who I consider to be a disastrously bad writer. I read Kindred by her (a horrible, head-ache inducing experience marked by the fiery desire to see all of her one-dimensional, pointless and hateable characters burn in Hell), and while it barely qualifies as science fiction (I would judge it to be more of a dark fantasy), it still is entirely about black society and culture. Indeed, I could not find one single black writer of science fiction whose novels do not in some way deal with racial issues. So I wonder, then, how far have we really come with regards to integration of the races? If a black man had written Foundation, would it have been taken as seriously as it had since Asimov wrote it? I honestly do not have an answer, and that is somewhat depressing.
This article makes me wonder about the actual relevance the Harlem Renaissance had on furthering black society in America. Rather than discuss the impact of the Renaissance or how average Joe Black viewed the writings and artwork of those famous for the Renaissance, Johnson discusses the careers and lives of the select few who are notable during this time period. While this was obviously his case on the outset of this essay, it still brings up the question of impact. Was the Renaissance really about black society uprising, or was it more about the 20 or so people who are now remembered as playing a part in it? As we finish this class, I sadly am beginning to think it is more of the latter. This is particularly evident as we read some of the later essays by Du Bois, Washington and even McKay that deal almost solely with themselves and their opinions rather than the facts of action and life of blacks in America. Although the literati did a good job of maintaining the ostensible role of voices for societal change, I think that they sold out fairly early on in the Renaissance. This is probably why the Renaissance died out before it probably should have, and why there was not a lot of change in society until Rosa Parks and her lot began to actually do something about segregation thirty and forty years later.
The last part of this essay discusses briefly the books of black writers, and it brought me on a bit of a quest to find one black author in today’s world who does not write about black this and that. I read a lot of science fiction, thrillers, and drama, and not one of the authors I am familiar with is black. Interestingly, only one of the 20 or so authors that I religiously follow is anything other than a white man – women seem to be just as ostracized in popular fiction. A Google search for any black science fiction writers resulted in only one name that I am familiar with, Octavia Butler, who I consider to be a disastrously bad writer. I read Kindred by her (a horrible, head-ache inducing experience marked by the fiery desire to see all of her one-dimensional, pointless and hateable characters burn in Hell), and while it barely qualifies as science fiction (I would judge it to be more of a dark fantasy), it still is entirely about black society and culture. Indeed, I could not find one single black writer of science fiction whose novels do not in some way deal with racial issues. So I wonder, then, how far have we really come with regards to integration of the races? If a black man had written Foundation, would it have been taken as seriously as it had since Asimov wrote it? I honestly do not have an answer, and that is somewhat depressing.
Blueprint for Negro Writing
Wright, Richard. "Blueprint for Negro Writing." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 194-205. Print.
I’m not sure how to understand Wright’s position. On one hand he is arguing for a reduced focus on the black world seen through the eyes of the Harlem bourgeoisie, yet on the other he is urging the writers of Harlem to unite under a common culture. Wright does not really understand (or at least does not articulate) what this culture should be, other than an overarching generalization of the “magical wonder” Negro life has (according to Wright, anyway). I agree with Wright’s bottom line: unification of all blacks in order to gain credibility in the eyes of white society, but I do not believe that Wright really thought through his argument before having it published. Do the literati change their writing, or should they disband? Do they disband or unite? What exactly are they writing about, and who is to judge what is or is not a generalization (Wright throws this term into his essay in an ironic generalization of the generalization of black literature)?
I also am unable to reconcile Wright’s views on Black Nationalism. He seems to suggest that blacks should assimilate as Americans under one nationalistic pride, yet to me this entails the necessity of accepting white culture – since, in the 20s, American culture and white culture were synonymous. I believe that Wright was trying to get at a culture revolution where blacks across the country unite and alter the worldwide conception of Americanism to include black culture. But if this is true, then, again, who is going to decide what cultural norms are American and which are ethnocentric? Or are all cultural norms ethnocentric, even within the term “American”? I do not think that Wright addresses or even understands these questions, which is why his hopeful essay is a load of hot air. The effect is actually somewhat in tune with Marcus Garvey, who I can’t help but continue to reference. Although Garvey pushed for nationalism based on African traditions and for the relocation of blacks to Africa, his way of creating nationalistic pride at least make more sense than Wright’s idea of combining white and black tradition into one American culture (of course I’m speaking in the time of his writing, not as the world is today).
One further point that I want to make is that Wright does not understand economics. He urges the black literati to forgo writing their generalized versions of blacks as well as their pleas to be taken seriously in lieu of writing more to the unification of blacks under one umbrella culture. Yet, at the same time, he notes that black writers relied on white publishers to be heard. So how is it, then, that these same black writers are supposed to discontinue their expected writings and begin writing about something that white culture does not want to read? It simply cannot be done, and, as Du Bois pointed out in the previous essay we read, white publishers would just not have it. The black literati may have been selfish and generic, but, given the bad situation of blacks, they at least were able to live comfortable lives. I would not put it past many of them, too, to be conscious of the little good they did to better black condition. After all, you have to look out for yourself before you can look out for others.
I feel bad destroying Wright’s ideas and arguments like this; they are hopeful and, in a way, very beautiful. However, they are simplistic and naïve, and, I suppose, naivety, despite its warm friendliness and the subsequent desire to give it some credence, will get you nowhere.
I’m not sure how to understand Wright’s position. On one hand he is arguing for a reduced focus on the black world seen through the eyes of the Harlem bourgeoisie, yet on the other he is urging the writers of Harlem to unite under a common culture. Wright does not really understand (or at least does not articulate) what this culture should be, other than an overarching generalization of the “magical wonder” Negro life has (according to Wright, anyway). I agree with Wright’s bottom line: unification of all blacks in order to gain credibility in the eyes of white society, but I do not believe that Wright really thought through his argument before having it published. Do the literati change their writing, or should they disband? Do they disband or unite? What exactly are they writing about, and who is to judge what is or is not a generalization (Wright throws this term into his essay in an ironic generalization of the generalization of black literature)?
I also am unable to reconcile Wright’s views on Black Nationalism. He seems to suggest that blacks should assimilate as Americans under one nationalistic pride, yet to me this entails the necessity of accepting white culture – since, in the 20s, American culture and white culture were synonymous. I believe that Wright was trying to get at a culture revolution where blacks across the country unite and alter the worldwide conception of Americanism to include black culture. But if this is true, then, again, who is going to decide what cultural norms are American and which are ethnocentric? Or are all cultural norms ethnocentric, even within the term “American”? I do not think that Wright addresses or even understands these questions, which is why his hopeful essay is a load of hot air. The effect is actually somewhat in tune with Marcus Garvey, who I can’t help but continue to reference. Although Garvey pushed for nationalism based on African traditions and for the relocation of blacks to Africa, his way of creating nationalistic pride at least make more sense than Wright’s idea of combining white and black tradition into one American culture (of course I’m speaking in the time of his writing, not as the world is today).
One further point that I want to make is that Wright does not understand economics. He urges the black literati to forgo writing their generalized versions of blacks as well as their pleas to be taken seriously in lieu of writing more to the unification of blacks under one umbrella culture. Yet, at the same time, he notes that black writers relied on white publishers to be heard. So how is it, then, that these same black writers are supposed to discontinue their expected writings and begin writing about something that white culture does not want to read? It simply cannot be done, and, as Du Bois pointed out in the previous essay we read, white publishers would just not have it. The black literati may have been selfish and generic, but, given the bad situation of blacks, they at least were able to live comfortable lives. I would not put it past many of them, too, to be conscious of the little good they did to better black condition. After all, you have to look out for yourself before you can look out for others.
I feel bad destroying Wright’s ideas and arguments like this; they are hopeful and, in a way, very beautiful. However, they are simplistic and naïve, and, I suppose, naivety, despite its warm friendliness and the subsequent desire to give it some credence, will get you nowhere.
Criteria of Negro Art
Du Bois, W.E.B. "Criteria of Negro Art." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 100-05. Print.
Although I can appreciate Du Bois’ points and style, I can’t help but feel he began beating a dead horse after the third or fourth essay. The points he is making are much the same as the ones in previous essays, particularly Hokum, and therefore reading on becomes an act of tedious review. I felt that, by the end of this essay, I could have written something that resembled whatever it was that Du Bois actually wrote simply by virtue of his unnecessarily repetitious language. There are only so many ways to say the exact same thing before people begin looking the other way. Perhaps it is not a dead horse, but a bored one.
In this essay, Du Bois is arguing that, yet again, all aspects of black life in America is merely the reflection of presumptions and assertions made by the dominant whites. While this is true, I do not believe Du Bois gives white society as much credit as they deserve. Nor does he give his fellow blacks the credit they deserve. In his continued argument for distinguished black art, Du Bois manages to segregate further the blacks and the whites in society. Rather than speak of humanity as a whole, he reinforces black and white. While pointing out that black art is good in its own right without the acceptance of white minds he is further underlining the racial divide. Instead of writing on the merits of black art, he writes on the supposed propaganda inherent in art and art acceptance and how black art must reflect white expectations. It is getting old, and, as I said, Du Bois needs to find a different topic to preach on. We get it: move on.
Although I can appreciate Du Bois’ points and style, I can’t help but feel he began beating a dead horse after the third or fourth essay. The points he is making are much the same as the ones in previous essays, particularly Hokum, and therefore reading on becomes an act of tedious review. I felt that, by the end of this essay, I could have written something that resembled whatever it was that Du Bois actually wrote simply by virtue of his unnecessarily repetitious language. There are only so many ways to say the exact same thing before people begin looking the other way. Perhaps it is not a dead horse, but a bored one.
In this essay, Du Bois is arguing that, yet again, all aspects of black life in America is merely the reflection of presumptions and assertions made by the dominant whites. While this is true, I do not believe Du Bois gives white society as much credit as they deserve. Nor does he give his fellow blacks the credit they deserve. In his continued argument for distinguished black art, Du Bois manages to segregate further the blacks and the whites in society. Rather than speak of humanity as a whole, he reinforces black and white. While pointing out that black art is good in its own right without the acceptance of white minds he is further underlining the racial divide. Instead of writing on the merits of black art, he writes on the supposed propaganda inherent in art and art acceptance and how black art must reflect white expectations. It is getting old, and, as I said, Du Bois needs to find a different topic to preach on. We get it: move on.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Helene Johnson Poetry
Johnson, Helene. "Helene Johnson." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 276-78. Print.
Sonnet to a Negro in Harlem once again addresses the issues of blacks disagreeing with the major players of the Harlem Renaissance, in this case a bit hypocritically. Helene Johnson accuses the talented tenth of aspiring to be white and failing due to their hatred for whites while using prose and language fitted to the tenth. Perhaps she was filled with self-hate, but I’m going to wager that she was simply blind to her own position in society.
Johnson would have fit well with people like Garvey, but perhaps not for the same reasons. Garvey was interested in abandoning America, and I could see a side of Johnson that would agree. However, Johnson seems more interested in forgoing the efforts by many blacks to be white and simply be black. The problems this mind-set encourages are fairly obvious, particularly if she was interested in racial equality (which I don’t actually see any evidence for in this selection of her poetry), but also a bit more realistic than Garvey’s. Perhaps she would fit in more with the likes of writers like Walter White, who assume black identity without the anger and resentment towards whites. Obviously it is possible, but it does seem that many black activists of the time period were dead-set on the race issue and how to correct it. I’ve already discussed this in my other posts, so I won’t elaborate much further than to say that the Harlem Renaissance was misguided in its focus on racial equality and would have been far more successful if it had been about the art, not the politics. I believe that Helene Johnson recognized this, as did Zora Neale Hurston – which is probably why I enjoyed her works more than any of the others in this anthology.
Sonnet to a Negro in Harlem once again addresses the issues of blacks disagreeing with the major players of the Harlem Renaissance, in this case a bit hypocritically. Helene Johnson accuses the talented tenth of aspiring to be white and failing due to their hatred for whites while using prose and language fitted to the tenth. Perhaps she was filled with self-hate, but I’m going to wager that she was simply blind to her own position in society.
Johnson would have fit well with people like Garvey, but perhaps not for the same reasons. Garvey was interested in abandoning America, and I could see a side of Johnson that would agree. However, Johnson seems more interested in forgoing the efforts by many blacks to be white and simply be black. The problems this mind-set encourages are fairly obvious, particularly if she was interested in racial equality (which I don’t actually see any evidence for in this selection of her poetry), but also a bit more realistic than Garvey’s. Perhaps she would fit in more with the likes of writers like Walter White, who assume black identity without the anger and resentment towards whites. Obviously it is possible, but it does seem that many black activists of the time period were dead-set on the race issue and how to correct it. I’ve already discussed this in my other posts, so I won’t elaborate much further than to say that the Harlem Renaissance was misguided in its focus on racial equality and would have been far more successful if it had been about the art, not the politics. I believe that Helene Johnson recognized this, as did Zora Neale Hurston – which is probably why I enjoyed her works more than any of the others in this anthology.
Georgia Douglas Johnson Poetry
Johnson, Georgia D. "Georgia Douglas Johnson." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 273-75. Print.
The third poem in this section, Black Woman, brought back something we read earlier in the semester, The Closing Door. The notion of not having children because the world is a bad place to live is not exclusive to blacks, but it has been brought up several times now in this anthology and is worth taking a deeper look at.
The theme of infanticide takes on an assumption of innocence for unborn children, which in turn denotes that any evil comes from the hand of man. To cut off a child’s life before it can encounter men is, in a way, saving it from the horrors of life, and I believe it is a bit immature. Life is difficult and, to put it bluntly, crappy, and to assume that your child needs to be protected from the nitty-gritty of living is naïve. I’m not arguing that the blacks didn’t have it bad in the early twentieth century, but I do have trouble believing that life was so utterly terrible for blacks that they would kill their children before giving them a chance. I suppose it is the result of hopelessness, but how can someone give up on change altogether?
The poem by Johnson was interesting because it takes on the situation of a pregnant woman who is ignoring her unborn baby’s movements. The woman begs the child to stop trying to be free from her womb because she cannot stand the thought of it coming into a hard life. She also begs, however, for the child to remain silent so she doesn’t have to turn a deaf ear to it – something that, ultimately, is saying that she wishes the child were not conceived. It is a bad position to be in; a kind of “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” scenario that, apparently, led to some mothers killing their children. Perhaps this can be used as a way of understanding just how terrible some people did have it – what would it take to bring someone today to consider infanticide based on social circumstances?
The third poem in this section, Black Woman, brought back something we read earlier in the semester, The Closing Door. The notion of not having children because the world is a bad place to live is not exclusive to blacks, but it has been brought up several times now in this anthology and is worth taking a deeper look at.
The theme of infanticide takes on an assumption of innocence for unborn children, which in turn denotes that any evil comes from the hand of man. To cut off a child’s life before it can encounter men is, in a way, saving it from the horrors of life, and I believe it is a bit immature. Life is difficult and, to put it bluntly, crappy, and to assume that your child needs to be protected from the nitty-gritty of living is naïve. I’m not arguing that the blacks didn’t have it bad in the early twentieth century, but I do have trouble believing that life was so utterly terrible for blacks that they would kill their children before giving them a chance. I suppose it is the result of hopelessness, but how can someone give up on change altogether?
The poem by Johnson was interesting because it takes on the situation of a pregnant woman who is ignoring her unborn baby’s movements. The woman begs the child to stop trying to be free from her womb because she cannot stand the thought of it coming into a hard life. She also begs, however, for the child to remain silent so she doesn’t have to turn a deaf ear to it – something that, ultimately, is saying that she wishes the child were not conceived. It is a bad position to be in; a kind of “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” scenario that, apparently, led to some mothers killing their children. Perhaps this can be used as a way of understanding just how terrible some people did have it – what would it take to bring someone today to consider infanticide based on social circumstances?
Claude McKay Poetry
McKay, Claude. "Claude McKay." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 289-98. Print.
It was interesting to return to Claude McKay’s poems at this point in the semester. If I remember correctly, I commented in some length on If We Must Die very early on in the semester, most likely in that detached academic frame that I lambasted in my last post. I want to briefly revisit the same poem and then bring in a bit on one of the others that caught my attention.
If We Must Die is much as I said in my earlier post, sans the lack of emotion. What really drives this home, and what really makes it stand out among McKay’s poetry, is the raw anger it emits. McKay isn’t commenting on the plight of the blacks, he is telling – ordering – them to get out of their homes and start kicking some butt. It is probably the rebel in me leftover from my teenage years, but McKay is spot on here. He is, very succinctly, telling his fellow blacks to stop pouting and do something, and I don’t think I can find anyone who won’t agree. There are so many bad places to belong to in society, and far too many of them do not have the daring to stand up for themselves. McKay saw this in the blacks of the 20s, and I see it in the gays of the 2000’s. Nothing, really, has changed other than the surface presentation of those who are being discriminated against. I don’t pretend to be an activist myself (they tend to annoy me, actually), but there is something very warm to be said about people who can put themselves out there and fight for a cause.
Now, the other poem that caught my attention in this section destroys much of the credit McKay had in my mind. The poem is The Tropics in New York. Perhaps it is the Garvey-esque idealization, or perhaps it is the whinny self-absorbedness that If We Must Die speaks so directly against, but this poem is just terrible. I’m not sure which of the two was written before the other, but something must have happened in McKay’s life to sever his courage and cause him to resort to the kind of useless crying he so adamantly opposed. Further, the short intro to this section of the anthology mentions that McKay eventually moved to the USSR. I don’t think that running away from one’s problems is a bad thing (rather, I’ve been outspoken about the ridiculous stupidity of machismo our society places on “sticking to your guns”), but I do find it hard to reconcile some of the things McKay wrote about with his defection. I can only assume that he moved to the USSR not as an act of retreat from the segregated and racist United Stated, but as a safe haven from the pretentiousness of the Harlem Renaissance with which he was so often associated and so openly ridiculed.
What is there to be said, then, about a man who can face racism but can’t bare his own fellows? I think that this theme is overlooked in much of the literature we’ve discussed in this class, but it is one of some importance: what about the blacks who did not agree with the Renaissance? Just as many gays today do not follow the Human Rights Movement or attend gay pride parades, many blacks of the 20s did not do anything for the Renaissance nor even endorse it. I suppose the fact that the Renaissance is discussed as an all-encompassing event is an artifact of the way we record history – no one of the time period cared about the dissenters, and therefore today we do not learn about them.
It was interesting to return to Claude McKay’s poems at this point in the semester. If I remember correctly, I commented in some length on If We Must Die very early on in the semester, most likely in that detached academic frame that I lambasted in my last post. I want to briefly revisit the same poem and then bring in a bit on one of the others that caught my attention.
If We Must Die is much as I said in my earlier post, sans the lack of emotion. What really drives this home, and what really makes it stand out among McKay’s poetry, is the raw anger it emits. McKay isn’t commenting on the plight of the blacks, he is telling – ordering – them to get out of their homes and start kicking some butt. It is probably the rebel in me leftover from my teenage years, but McKay is spot on here. He is, very succinctly, telling his fellow blacks to stop pouting and do something, and I don’t think I can find anyone who won’t agree. There are so many bad places to belong to in society, and far too many of them do not have the daring to stand up for themselves. McKay saw this in the blacks of the 20s, and I see it in the gays of the 2000’s. Nothing, really, has changed other than the surface presentation of those who are being discriminated against. I don’t pretend to be an activist myself (they tend to annoy me, actually), but there is something very warm to be said about people who can put themselves out there and fight for a cause.
Now, the other poem that caught my attention in this section destroys much of the credit McKay had in my mind. The poem is The Tropics in New York. Perhaps it is the Garvey-esque idealization, or perhaps it is the whinny self-absorbedness that If We Must Die speaks so directly against, but this poem is just terrible. I’m not sure which of the two was written before the other, but something must have happened in McKay’s life to sever his courage and cause him to resort to the kind of useless crying he so adamantly opposed. Further, the short intro to this section of the anthology mentions that McKay eventually moved to the USSR. I don’t think that running away from one’s problems is a bad thing (rather, I’ve been outspoken about the ridiculous stupidity of machismo our society places on “sticking to your guns”), but I do find it hard to reconcile some of the things McKay wrote about with his defection. I can only assume that he moved to the USSR not as an act of retreat from the segregated and racist United Stated, but as a safe haven from the pretentiousness of the Harlem Renaissance with which he was so often associated and so openly ridiculed.
What is there to be said, then, about a man who can face racism but can’t bare his own fellows? I think that this theme is overlooked in much of the literature we’ve discussed in this class, but it is one of some importance: what about the blacks who did not agree with the Renaissance? Just as many gays today do not follow the Human Rights Movement or attend gay pride parades, many blacks of the 20s did not do anything for the Renaissance nor even endorse it. I suppose the fact that the Renaissance is discussed as an all-encompassing event is an artifact of the way we record history – no one of the time period cared about the dissenters, and therefore today we do not learn about them.
James Weldon Johnson Poetry
Johnson, James W. "James Weldon Johnson." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 279-88. Print.
I had a problem reading these poems in the context given by the short introduction to Johnson. The fact that the man was an agnostic but wrote almost exclusively about God and Jesus doesn’t sit particularly well with me, especially because he does not use the concepts of God or allusions to the Bible as literary tools, but as direct references. As I went through the section of poems in our anthology, I couldn’t help but begin to feel that Johnson used Christianity, despite his own disbelief, as a cheap win-all card kept up his sleeve to gather more attention to himself and his poetry. By doing this, he is not only cheating his readers into believing that he has a meaningful connection with their deity, but himself as well. Part of being an agnostic requires a suspension of resolution – something that is difficult to do in our society. For Johnson to focus so singularly on Christianity creates an irreconcilable position between his agnosticism and his work; you cannot have your cake and eat it too, so to speak.
The poetry itself, too, I found bland and uninspired. There is a kind of academic detachment in the writings of those who profess to be atheistic or agnostic and yet attempt to write from the point of view of a Christian (or whatever religious follower). I know I have this problem too; I write a lot of fiction, most of which with a somewhat heavy (and biased) view against organized religion. In order to do this, I like to show what I see to be the good in religion by writing characters that are religious and attempt to work their beliefs into the life of an otherwise sound character, while simultaneously giving my writing a platform for religious discussions. The problem with me, as well as with Johnson, is that taking on the religious mind and attempting to write therein is impossible, and it shows. Something about the forced level of acceptance is transparent, which in turn makes anything else being said of less or no value.
I had a problem reading these poems in the context given by the short introduction to Johnson. The fact that the man was an agnostic but wrote almost exclusively about God and Jesus doesn’t sit particularly well with me, especially because he does not use the concepts of God or allusions to the Bible as literary tools, but as direct references. As I went through the section of poems in our anthology, I couldn’t help but begin to feel that Johnson used Christianity, despite his own disbelief, as a cheap win-all card kept up his sleeve to gather more attention to himself and his poetry. By doing this, he is not only cheating his readers into believing that he has a meaningful connection with their deity, but himself as well. Part of being an agnostic requires a suspension of resolution – something that is difficult to do in our society. For Johnson to focus so singularly on Christianity creates an irreconcilable position between his agnosticism and his work; you cannot have your cake and eat it too, so to speak.
The poetry itself, too, I found bland and uninspired. There is a kind of academic detachment in the writings of those who profess to be atheistic or agnostic and yet attempt to write from the point of view of a Christian (or whatever religious follower). I know I have this problem too; I write a lot of fiction, most of which with a somewhat heavy (and biased) view against organized religion. In order to do this, I like to show what I see to be the good in religion by writing characters that are religious and attempt to work their beliefs into the life of an otherwise sound character, while simultaneously giving my writing a platform for religious discussions. The problem with me, as well as with Johnson, is that taking on the religious mind and attempting to write therein is impossible, and it shows. Something about the forced level of acceptance is transparent, which in turn makes anything else being said of less or no value.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
La Bourgeoisie Noire
Frazier, Edward F. "La Bourgeoisie Noire." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 173-81. Print.
Well, we have another nature documentary on that elusive animal known as “the Negro” to read through. I’ve seen documentaries on the Discovery Channel about meerkats that were more interesting than this trash. Firstly, the author supposes that society is below him. The people he is talking about are discussed with the lexicon of an outside observer free from prejudice, which he is anything but. Secondly, who cares? He does not make a point, but rather goes on about the intricacies of black society and how no one likes anyone else. The world is not the way Frazier seems to make it out to be. Although he preempts much of what he says with the proclamation that no ethnic group is socially homogeneous, he then goes on to argue exactly the opposite; all black businessmen are too white to care for their poorer brothers, all field workers are too ignorant to want anything more, and so on. No point is made other than the author is himself bigoted, and yet does not realize it.
Those who attempt to derive generalizations from a society are always going to fail. Why? Because society is an abstract concept that has become a blanket word for individuals who, through one means or another, become grouped under one label. It is not a physical thing, nor is it something that has one definition or one lexicon. Ask three different sociologists what a society is and, aside from the dry textbook definitions, you will receive three very different pictures. Frazier, in his essay, has absolutely no concept of this. To him, societies are unbreakable and absolute, which is why his essay is a load of garbage that, frankly, should not be included in this anthology.
Well, we have another nature documentary on that elusive animal known as “the Negro” to read through. I’ve seen documentaries on the Discovery Channel about meerkats that were more interesting than this trash. Firstly, the author supposes that society is below him. The people he is talking about are discussed with the lexicon of an outside observer free from prejudice, which he is anything but. Secondly, who cares? He does not make a point, but rather goes on about the intricacies of black society and how no one likes anyone else. The world is not the way Frazier seems to make it out to be. Although he preempts much of what he says with the proclamation that no ethnic group is socially homogeneous, he then goes on to argue exactly the opposite; all black businessmen are too white to care for their poorer brothers, all field workers are too ignorant to want anything more, and so on. No point is made other than the author is himself bigoted, and yet does not realize it.
Those who attempt to derive generalizations from a society are always going to fail. Why? Because society is an abstract concept that has become a blanket word for individuals who, through one means or another, become grouped under one label. It is not a physical thing, nor is it something that has one definition or one lexicon. Ask three different sociologists what a society is and, aside from the dry textbook definitions, you will receive three very different pictures. Frazier, in his essay, has absolutely no concept of this. To him, societies are unbreakable and absolute, which is why his essay is a load of garbage that, frankly, should not be included in this anthology.
With Langston Hughes in the USSR
Patterson, Louise T. "With Langston Hughes in the USSR." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 182-89. Print.
This little essay was interesting on a few levels, but foremost because of the controversy that arose between the two camps of the group in Russia. It wasn’t informative because there was a schism – who could spend months with a small set of people and not incur some harsh feelings? – but because of the way the public reacted to the differing statements released by each group. Rather than publish and focus on the statement by Hughes and his group that attested to the poor quality of script and the inability, therefore, to create a movie in any reasonable length of time, the American newspapers decided to distribute the statement that the Russians had betrayed African Americans by not making the movie. They turned what was an innocently bad product into a political statement, and the media ate it up.
While I am in no way surprised that the media of our country decided that the Russian “betrayal” was more news-worthy (besides, who actually believes that the News is news?), I am surprised that they sided with the African Americans. The position the media networks were put in is this: either portray the Russians as hospitable, good people who simply were unable to fulfill their promises to a group of blacks, or to turn the Russians into an evil country of bigotry that is too racist to make a movie concerning Africans. Taken in line with the state of the country during this time period and its rampant racism and bigotry, the hypocrisy is overwhelming. Apparently, though, the Russians were more evil than the blacks – at least to the news networks.
This little essay was interesting on a few levels, but foremost because of the controversy that arose between the two camps of the group in Russia. It wasn’t informative because there was a schism – who could spend months with a small set of people and not incur some harsh feelings? – but because of the way the public reacted to the differing statements released by each group. Rather than publish and focus on the statement by Hughes and his group that attested to the poor quality of script and the inability, therefore, to create a movie in any reasonable length of time, the American newspapers decided to distribute the statement that the Russians had betrayed African Americans by not making the movie. They turned what was an innocently bad product into a political statement, and the media ate it up.
While I am in no way surprised that the media of our country decided that the Russian “betrayal” was more news-worthy (besides, who actually believes that the News is news?), I am surprised that they sided with the African Americans. The position the media networks were put in is this: either portray the Russians as hospitable, good people who simply were unable to fulfill their promises to a group of blacks, or to turn the Russians into an evil country of bigotry that is too racist to make a movie concerning Africans. Taken in line with the state of the country during this time period and its rampant racism and bigotry, the hypocrisy is overwhelming. Apparently, though, the Russians were more evil than the blacks – at least to the news networks.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
The Task of Negro Womanhood
McDougald, Elise J. "The Task of Negro Womanhood." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 68-75. Print.
In an effort to be as un-PC as I can be (I must be in a mood today…), I want to start this post by making an observation. That is, I find that the most enjoyable, wonderful and interesting people in the world are overweight black lesbians. This is, of course, just a generalization, but I find more often than not that people who fall under these descriptions are just as I’ve described, and more often so than people who do not. The reason behind this, I believe, is that they are in such an ostracized position of life that there is no other defense than to be pleasant. I’m sure there are those who despise the world and everyone in it because of the prejudice inherent in any of the four categories these things entail (homosexuality, obesity, female, and black), but the people who make the most of it seem to be the brightest shiners in the world.
The reason I bring this up is because the article, which was so incredibly void of emotion, was basically trying to get at the same idea that I’ve dived into. Because it was written like a nature documentary from the 60’s, however, it comes off as sterile, lacking the emotion necessary to really get the point across. That point is, as I’ve already gotten at, that discriminated people have a capacity for love and compassion that far surpasses those who fall into the majority. This may be a somewhat optimistic focus on what is, in reality, a somewhat difficult position in life, but I’m bored of the pessimism our anthology oozes. Pessimism, on that note, is becoming more and more the reserve emotion for artists who have nothing left to talk about. Pessimism is easy; happiness is the true challenge. Where is the joy in life? Where is the life in life? The more I read the assignments for this class, the more I am aware of how academic it all is. Academia is fine in its place, but doesn’t anyone have any raw emotion anymore? The fine-tuned and politically correct dissertations of men and women who don’t even live the lives of the people they attest to be are not only void, but they’re boring. I’m sure this article fulfills some necessary spot in the canon of Harlem Renaissance literature, but for God’s sake, why can’t this topic be given its rightful due? David Lewis should ask someone with some fire in their soul to rewrite the thing to make it say what it needs to say in a way that does it justice.
In an effort to be as un-PC as I can be (I must be in a mood today…), I want to start this post by making an observation. That is, I find that the most enjoyable, wonderful and interesting people in the world are overweight black lesbians. This is, of course, just a generalization, but I find more often than not that people who fall under these descriptions are just as I’ve described, and more often so than people who do not. The reason behind this, I believe, is that they are in such an ostracized position of life that there is no other defense than to be pleasant. I’m sure there are those who despise the world and everyone in it because of the prejudice inherent in any of the four categories these things entail (homosexuality, obesity, female, and black), but the people who make the most of it seem to be the brightest shiners in the world.
The reason I bring this up is because the article, which was so incredibly void of emotion, was basically trying to get at the same idea that I’ve dived into. Because it was written like a nature documentary from the 60’s, however, it comes off as sterile, lacking the emotion necessary to really get the point across. That point is, as I’ve already gotten at, that discriminated people have a capacity for love and compassion that far surpasses those who fall into the majority. This may be a somewhat optimistic focus on what is, in reality, a somewhat difficult position in life, but I’m bored of the pessimism our anthology oozes. Pessimism, on that note, is becoming more and more the reserve emotion for artists who have nothing left to talk about. Pessimism is easy; happiness is the true challenge. Where is the joy in life? Where is the life in life? The more I read the assignments for this class, the more I am aware of how academic it all is. Academia is fine in its place, but doesn’t anyone have any raw emotion anymore? The fine-tuned and politically correct dissertations of men and women who don’t even live the lives of the people they attest to be are not only void, but they’re boring. I’m sure this article fulfills some necessary spot in the canon of Harlem Renaissance literature, but for God’s sake, why can’t this topic be given its rightful due? David Lewis should ask someone with some fire in their soul to rewrite the thing to make it say what it needs to say in a way that does it justice.
The Negro Digs Up His Past
Schomburg, Arthur A. "The Negro Digs Up His Past." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 61-67. Print.
I have a strong position on the common-place focus on rectifying the wrongs of past slavery that often is met with the rebuttal of racism. I am (or try to be, anyway), as any decently educated person, not in the least bit racially motivated; that does not mean, however, that I am going to keep quiet when absurd notions concerning race are upheld in the face of reason. Affirmative Action falls under this category, and I consider it to be more racist than any other modern “rectification” of past wrongs (or whatever justification you want to give AA). The absurdity I am talking about in this post is the incessant focus on revisiting the wrongs of slavery and this notion of repayment by whites to blacks for it. Of all the most ridiculously stupid things, this must take the cake. Pain, suffering, and emotional compromises are not passed on hereditarily. My grandmother may lose an arm, and I still keep both of mine; why should the issue of slavery be any different? To claim that white people owe modern-day blacks for the slavery that their remote ancestors endured is so incredibly shallow and unreasonable it boils my blood. No, these people who are demanding retribution were never slaves, and, unless they are exceptionally old, neither were their parents. They never lived the life of a slave, never endured the hardships of those poor people, and therefore have no right to claim that whites owe them anything. In the same vein, the whites of today were never slave-holders. Neither were many of the parents of white people today, or their grandparents. To say that whites who are now generations removed from slaveholders owe anything to blacks who are now generations away from slavery is picking at a wound in an effort to milk it for all it’s worth, and it is, frankly, disgusting. If true equality – something everyone should strive for – is to become a reality, the people who refuse to let this false idea of “repayment” go need to, for lack of a less emphatic phrase, shut the Hell up.
This article deals with this idea very properly. Rather than constantly and sickly revisit this “repayment” for slavery as the pinnacle of black history, Schomburg points to all of the black art, artists, and recognizable people/things from farther in the past. Bringing the focus off of inequality and putting it on the wonder and creativity of a people not only is the true path to actual equality, but it is far more educational and interesting. And, too, all of this isn’t to say that the writers and vocalists who did center their art on inequality aren’t worthy of integration into the curriculum of black history, but rather that the focus must be on the person and their cause, and not as a cheap method of guilt-tripping.
I’m sure that my views are controversial (as I’ve said, those who don’t bother to listen to my argument just assume I’m a bigot), but I am very sure about my reasoning. The best analogy I can make between the incessant focus on slavery in black history as a tool of creating guilt is, as I’ve already pointed out, one of picking at a wound and refusing to let it heal. It doesn’t help anything, and, if you pick it long enough, it is bound to get infected.
I have a strong position on the common-place focus on rectifying the wrongs of past slavery that often is met with the rebuttal of racism. I am (or try to be, anyway), as any decently educated person, not in the least bit racially motivated; that does not mean, however, that I am going to keep quiet when absurd notions concerning race are upheld in the face of reason. Affirmative Action falls under this category, and I consider it to be more racist than any other modern “rectification” of past wrongs (or whatever justification you want to give AA). The absurdity I am talking about in this post is the incessant focus on revisiting the wrongs of slavery and this notion of repayment by whites to blacks for it. Of all the most ridiculously stupid things, this must take the cake. Pain, suffering, and emotional compromises are not passed on hereditarily. My grandmother may lose an arm, and I still keep both of mine; why should the issue of slavery be any different? To claim that white people owe modern-day blacks for the slavery that their remote ancestors endured is so incredibly shallow and unreasonable it boils my blood. No, these people who are demanding retribution were never slaves, and, unless they are exceptionally old, neither were their parents. They never lived the life of a slave, never endured the hardships of those poor people, and therefore have no right to claim that whites owe them anything. In the same vein, the whites of today were never slave-holders. Neither were many of the parents of white people today, or their grandparents. To say that whites who are now generations removed from slaveholders owe anything to blacks who are now generations away from slavery is picking at a wound in an effort to milk it for all it’s worth, and it is, frankly, disgusting. If true equality – something everyone should strive for – is to become a reality, the people who refuse to let this false idea of “repayment” go need to, for lack of a less emphatic phrase, shut the Hell up.
This article deals with this idea very properly. Rather than constantly and sickly revisit this “repayment” for slavery as the pinnacle of black history, Schomburg points to all of the black art, artists, and recognizable people/things from farther in the past. Bringing the focus off of inequality and putting it on the wonder and creativity of a people not only is the true path to actual equality, but it is far more educational and interesting. And, too, all of this isn’t to say that the writers and vocalists who did center their art on inequality aren’t worthy of integration into the curriculum of black history, but rather that the focus must be on the person and their cause, and not as a cheap method of guilt-tripping.
I’m sure that my views are controversial (as I’ve said, those who don’t bother to listen to my argument just assume I’m a bigot), but I am very sure about my reasoning. The best analogy I can make between the incessant focus on slavery in black history as a tool of creating guilt is, as I’ve already pointed out, one of picking at a wound and refusing to let it heal. It doesn’t help anything, and, if you pick it long enough, it is bound to get infected.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Arna Bontemps Poetry
Bontemps, Arna. "Arna Bontemps." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 224-26. Print.
I am going to focus on The Day-Breakers rather than its longer associate. Golgotha is a Mountain is a fine poem, certainly worth exploring (especially when considering all of the different possible notions the symbol of the mountain represents – I am partial to replacing “mountain” with something very simple, like “idea” or “thought”), but The Day-Breakers is more in-line with the other works we’ve studied in this class.
The immediate connection between this poem and Returning Soldiers is obvious. The imagery of war, battles, fighting, death and so on are all too common in the poetry found in this anthology. However, I believe that Bontemps adds something that I have yet to find in any of the other similarly-themed works. Instead of doing the equivalent of literary whining (or rallying, if you want to be progressive about it), he has a very lone notion of something boarding nostalgia hidden in his words. The first two lines:
We are not come to wage a strife
With swords upon this hill,
are not very open to vast interpretation (i.e. the meaning is fairly static). Bontemps is simply stating that the black race did not barge into America looking for a fight, nor did they barge in at all. Now, the next two lines are where that nostalgic sadness comes in:
It is not wise to waste the life
Against a stubborn will.
I’m not sure why I’ve decided this is nostalgic – pessimistic is more fitting to the theme, however “pessimistic” does not do justice to the feelings these lines evoke. I believe that the “stubborn will” is referencing racism, or perhaps whites in general. Firstly, he uses the word “waste” as an absolute; there is no recourse or opening for any “if’s” or “maybe’s.” He sees rebellion as futile, and ultimately a willing of one’s own death. However, he does not necessarily condemn “wasting the life,” but merely notes that it is not wise to do so. The use of the word “wise” is, now that I’m working through it, why I’ve labeled this poem nostalgic: it isn’t really nostalgic in the traditional sense of the word, but in a more spiritual eventuality. Again, spiritual may be leaning in the wrong direction (perhaps try substituting in a word like “empirical”… which I think is too harsh and scientific for what I’m trying to get at here). “Wise” is the word of an old man who has given up on the fire of youth. Again, he does not condemn the fire (which is necessary to foolishly waste one’s life), but merely notes that it isn’t the best of ideas. I can picture Bontemps as an old man having his say to his grandsons who are readying themselves for a mob-riot against racial discrimination: he understands the fire that drives them, yet he has lived long enough to have grown beyond it. I’m sorry if this is unclear; I’m having trouble polishing it down.
The second to last line:
Yet would we die as some have done.
reaffirms what I’ve already stated. The old, removed man understands that the fire of youth drives people to do things that lead to their deaths (i.e. is “unwise”), and furthermore he accepts that it happens. He may even accept that it happens not because of the specific exemplum of black discrimination, but as a facet of any individual’s life. Bontemps cheats himself in this line by letting in the word “some.” He is removing what could have been a very effective generalization and diminishing its effect, and I sort of wish he hadn’t. A more proper word (at least for my own reading of this poem) would be something very simple, such as “others”, or even a pronoun like “he”. It removes the implied doubt in assertion inherent in the word “some” (at least as it is being used here).
The final line turns what I’ve labeled nostalgia around and offers a small, distant glimpse of hope:
Beating a way for the rising sun.
What must be remembered when viewing this final line, however, is that Bontemps is referencing an “unwise” person dying for their cause. Again, this goes back to what I was saying before and adds to it: Bontemps understands and accepts the fire of youth, even to the point of pseudo-suicide, and furthermore he accepts and promotes the reasoning behind doing so (“the rising sun” being used as symbolism for a “brighter tomorrow” (oh the cliché!)). So the question I am left with is this: who, really, is unwise? Obviously, Bontemps believes that fighting for a cause when death is a given is unwise, but then how does he reconcile his acceptance of fighting and advocate the cause as the brighter tomorrow he believes it to be? Ultimately, Bontemps is calling himself a fool here, and I believe he did this on purpose. In a very circular kind of way, he has concluded that fighting is foolish, but fighting is also necessary despite its foolishness. And, now that I’ve reached this conclusion, I think that the title makes a lot more sense.
I am going to focus on The Day-Breakers rather than its longer associate. Golgotha is a Mountain is a fine poem, certainly worth exploring (especially when considering all of the different possible notions the symbol of the mountain represents – I am partial to replacing “mountain” with something very simple, like “idea” or “thought”), but The Day-Breakers is more in-line with the other works we’ve studied in this class.
The immediate connection between this poem and Returning Soldiers is obvious. The imagery of war, battles, fighting, death and so on are all too common in the poetry found in this anthology. However, I believe that Bontemps adds something that I have yet to find in any of the other similarly-themed works. Instead of doing the equivalent of literary whining (or rallying, if you want to be progressive about it), he has a very lone notion of something boarding nostalgia hidden in his words. The first two lines:
We are not come to wage a strife
With swords upon this hill,
are not very open to vast interpretation (i.e. the meaning is fairly static). Bontemps is simply stating that the black race did not barge into America looking for a fight, nor did they barge in at all. Now, the next two lines are where that nostalgic sadness comes in:
It is not wise to waste the life
Against a stubborn will.
I’m not sure why I’ve decided this is nostalgic – pessimistic is more fitting to the theme, however “pessimistic” does not do justice to the feelings these lines evoke. I believe that the “stubborn will” is referencing racism, or perhaps whites in general. Firstly, he uses the word “waste” as an absolute; there is no recourse or opening for any “if’s” or “maybe’s.” He sees rebellion as futile, and ultimately a willing of one’s own death. However, he does not necessarily condemn “wasting the life,” but merely notes that it is not wise to do so. The use of the word “wise” is, now that I’m working through it, why I’ve labeled this poem nostalgic: it isn’t really nostalgic in the traditional sense of the word, but in a more spiritual eventuality. Again, spiritual may be leaning in the wrong direction (perhaps try substituting in a word like “empirical”… which I think is too harsh and scientific for what I’m trying to get at here). “Wise” is the word of an old man who has given up on the fire of youth. Again, he does not condemn the fire (which is necessary to foolishly waste one’s life), but merely notes that it isn’t the best of ideas. I can picture Bontemps as an old man having his say to his grandsons who are readying themselves for a mob-riot against racial discrimination: he understands the fire that drives them, yet he has lived long enough to have grown beyond it. I’m sorry if this is unclear; I’m having trouble polishing it down.
The second to last line:
Yet would we die as some have done.
reaffirms what I’ve already stated. The old, removed man understands that the fire of youth drives people to do things that lead to their deaths (i.e. is “unwise”), and furthermore he accepts that it happens. He may even accept that it happens not because of the specific exemplum of black discrimination, but as a facet of any individual’s life. Bontemps cheats himself in this line by letting in the word “some.” He is removing what could have been a very effective generalization and diminishing its effect, and I sort of wish he hadn’t. A more proper word (at least for my own reading of this poem) would be something very simple, such as “others”, or even a pronoun like “he”. It removes the implied doubt in assertion inherent in the word “some” (at least as it is being used here).
The final line turns what I’ve labeled nostalgia around and offers a small, distant glimpse of hope:
Beating a way for the rising sun.
What must be remembered when viewing this final line, however, is that Bontemps is referencing an “unwise” person dying for their cause. Again, this goes back to what I was saying before and adds to it: Bontemps understands and accepts the fire of youth, even to the point of pseudo-suicide, and furthermore he accepts and promotes the reasoning behind doing so (“the rising sun” being used as symbolism for a “brighter tomorrow” (oh the cliché!)). So the question I am left with is this: who, really, is unwise? Obviously, Bontemps believes that fighting for a cause when death is a given is unwise, but then how does he reconcile his acceptance of fighting and advocate the cause as the brighter tomorrow he believes it to be? Ultimately, Bontemps is calling himself a fool here, and I believe he did this on purpose. In a very circular kind of way, he has concluded that fighting is foolish, but fighting is also necessary despite its foolishness. And, now that I’ve reached this conclusion, I think that the title makes a lot more sense.
Mule-Bone
Hurston, Zora N., and Langston Hughes. "Mule-Bone." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 729-38. Print.
I think that the irony of this play and the surrounding circumstances are phenomenal – the kind of thing you should only be able to find in fiction. And yet, as our text and other sources point out, it seems to have taken place in reality. The irony I’m talking about is, of course, that a play about overcoming intra-racial differences caused one of the largest and most fatal real-world splits intra-racially, at least as far as the Harlem Renaissance was concerned. Although the split between Hurston and Hughes was superficial and trivial in the larger scope of the Renaissance, it still managed to divide up blacks in Harlem into two camps, one supporting either of the play’s two authors. Perhaps it was fated to happen, if you believe in that kind of thing; a play that tempts the status quo intra-racially is, itself, the heart of an intra-racial divide. I’m not sure how many other ways there are to say this, but I can’t get over how sad and hilarious these circumstances are.
Now, with that aside, I thought that Mule-Bone was very ordinary compared to some of the other things we’ve read in this class, and certainly ordinary in comparison to other pieces by Hughes and, especially, Hurston. I am, actually, somewhat surprised that Hurston would have been involved in its writing. Her stances on equality as a perceived reality in her writings are somewhat at odds with this in-your-face pseudo-propaganda on intra-racial divide. Hughes, on the other hand, seems to fit the bill pretty well. Although, from what I’ve read, I would have expected a higher level of obvious pride in the work than what it offered. To me, Mule-Bone felt half-hearted, like the kind of thing a professional writer might doodle in their spare time and then forget away in some folder somewhere.
The moral of Mule-Bone, that the once-divided blacks can overcome whatever it is that is dividing them (I like the subtle commentary of using a woman instead of white society/racism – sexist much?) is fine and a bit overdone. The two once-divided black men reunite at the expense of the obstacle (symbolism 101) and order is restored to their lives. As I said, this is hardly the kind of work I would have associated with either of the authors, and I’m a bit upset that the ultimate divide between the two was over something so… plain.
I think that the irony of this play and the surrounding circumstances are phenomenal – the kind of thing you should only be able to find in fiction. And yet, as our text and other sources point out, it seems to have taken place in reality. The irony I’m talking about is, of course, that a play about overcoming intra-racial differences caused one of the largest and most fatal real-world splits intra-racially, at least as far as the Harlem Renaissance was concerned. Although the split between Hurston and Hughes was superficial and trivial in the larger scope of the Renaissance, it still managed to divide up blacks in Harlem into two camps, one supporting either of the play’s two authors. Perhaps it was fated to happen, if you believe in that kind of thing; a play that tempts the status quo intra-racially is, itself, the heart of an intra-racial divide. I’m not sure how many other ways there are to say this, but I can’t get over how sad and hilarious these circumstances are.
Now, with that aside, I thought that Mule-Bone was very ordinary compared to some of the other things we’ve read in this class, and certainly ordinary in comparison to other pieces by Hughes and, especially, Hurston. I am, actually, somewhat surprised that Hurston would have been involved in its writing. Her stances on equality as a perceived reality in her writings are somewhat at odds with this in-your-face pseudo-propaganda on intra-racial divide. Hughes, on the other hand, seems to fit the bill pretty well. Although, from what I’ve read, I would have expected a higher level of obvious pride in the work than what it offered. To me, Mule-Bone felt half-hearted, like the kind of thing a professional writer might doodle in their spare time and then forget away in some folder somewhere.
The moral of Mule-Bone, that the once-divided blacks can overcome whatever it is that is dividing them (I like the subtle commentary of using a woman instead of white society/racism – sexist much?) is fine and a bit overdone. The two once-divided black men reunite at the expense of the obstacle (symbolism 101) and order is restored to their lives. As I said, this is hardly the kind of work I would have associated with either of the authors, and I’m a bit upset that the ultimate divide between the two was over something so… plain.
Dust Tracks on a Road
Hurston, Zora N. "Dust Tracks on a Road." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 142-55. Print.
Two things caught my attention in this excerpt. The first is the extreme parallel between Zora and Helga Crane, from Quicksand. Both moved to New York in a sudden, almost impulsive act and arrived with almost no money. The fact that this happening appears twice in literature from the Harlem Renaissance (that I’ve read, anyway) leads me to believe that it was a commonplace thing to do. Even if it is a bit foolhardy, it feels like the people who believed in Harlem really, truly believed in Harlem – no if’s and’s or but’s about it. And, of course, this says a lot about the social milieu of the time. That people were willing to uproot themselves and travel to Harlem with barely a dollar in their pocket is a statement in and of itself; that it happened over and over again is an even stronger statement. The amount of hope that the Renaissance emitted must have been enormous; what else could have attracted people so fully?
The second thing that caught my attention was the reference to Du Bois’ assertion that the Racial Mountain prevented writers from expanding their creativity to topics outside of the race problem. Zora is obviously well aware of this, but for reasons other than the ones put forth by Du Bois. Du Bois seemed to support the idea that Harlem Renaissance writers wrote about the race problem (I could be wrong about this – his article about it could very easily have been written in jest), whereas Hurston wanted to branch out from the topic into themes of her own. Her claim that there are no inherent differences between the races brought back the story of the black doctor in The Fire in the Flint who attempted to live as if race was not an issue. I admire the conscious thick-headedness as a means of overcoming discrimination (and I’m being honest; that sentence came off as sarcastic, but it wasn’t). I appreciate Zora’s philosophy on life, and now that I’m discussing it I wonder what she would have thought of her works appearing in a compilation of literature from The Harlem Renaissance.
Two things caught my attention in this excerpt. The first is the extreme parallel between Zora and Helga Crane, from Quicksand. Both moved to New York in a sudden, almost impulsive act and arrived with almost no money. The fact that this happening appears twice in literature from the Harlem Renaissance (that I’ve read, anyway) leads me to believe that it was a commonplace thing to do. Even if it is a bit foolhardy, it feels like the people who believed in Harlem really, truly believed in Harlem – no if’s and’s or but’s about it. And, of course, this says a lot about the social milieu of the time. That people were willing to uproot themselves and travel to Harlem with barely a dollar in their pocket is a statement in and of itself; that it happened over and over again is an even stronger statement. The amount of hope that the Renaissance emitted must have been enormous; what else could have attracted people so fully?
The second thing that caught my attention was the reference to Du Bois’ assertion that the Racial Mountain prevented writers from expanding their creativity to topics outside of the race problem. Zora is obviously well aware of this, but for reasons other than the ones put forth by Du Bois. Du Bois seemed to support the idea that Harlem Renaissance writers wrote about the race problem (I could be wrong about this – his article about it could very easily have been written in jest), whereas Hurston wanted to branch out from the topic into themes of her own. Her claim that there are no inherent differences between the races brought back the story of the black doctor in The Fire in the Flint who attempted to live as if race was not an issue. I admire the conscious thick-headedness as a means of overcoming discrimination (and I’m being honest; that sentence came off as sarcastic, but it wasn’t). I appreciate Zora’s philosophy on life, and now that I’m discussing it I wonder what she would have thought of her works appearing in a compilation of literature from The Harlem Renaissance.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Zora Neale Hurston
Hurston, Zora N. "Zora Neale Huston." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Penguin Viking, 1994. 695-728. Print.
The first thing I thought of when reading this little story was Scout from To Kill a Mockingbird, despite the race differences. Both are carefree, fun young girls who don’t generally think about consequences when they run off to do something. With that said, I really enjoyed reading Hurston’s writings. The way she completely ignores race issues between whites and blacks works really well to create a world where people live side by side without addressing the issue of black or white. I think that, despite not writing directly about it, though, Hurston is making a stronger comment about the racial divide than many of the other author’s we’ve studied thus far. Instead of preaching to the choir like so many of the other writers did, Huston writes about a world that doesn’t take race into account. In Color Struck, the issue of race is addressed not as a problem between whites and blacks (there are whites and blacks riding the train together as if it were nothing), but as a problem between different kinds of blacks (mulatto vs. completely black). The same issue is brought up in Jonah’s Gourd Vine, between the all-black stepfather and his half-white stepson.
I’m not sure what to make of Hurston’s focus on inter-racial problems, rather than the intra-racial issues between whites and blacks. Her own upbringing is a bit of insight into this, since many of her works seem to reflect her own life in some way or other. Her message, I believe, is that inter-racial problems are more poignant than the overall issue of white and black. By addressing and solving the problems within the different sects of blackness, Huston seems to believe that unification is possible and will lead to a better chance against the intra-racial issues that she ignores. I wonder if, had black unification occurred in her lifetime, she would have switched gears and addressed the issues of white and black.
The first thing I thought of when reading this little story was Scout from To Kill a Mockingbird, despite the race differences. Both are carefree, fun young girls who don’t generally think about consequences when they run off to do something. With that said, I really enjoyed reading Hurston’s writings. The way she completely ignores race issues between whites and blacks works really well to create a world where people live side by side without addressing the issue of black or white. I think that, despite not writing directly about it, though, Hurston is making a stronger comment about the racial divide than many of the other author’s we’ve studied thus far. Instead of preaching to the choir like so many of the other writers did, Huston writes about a world that doesn’t take race into account. In Color Struck, the issue of race is addressed not as a problem between whites and blacks (there are whites and blacks riding the train together as if it were nothing), but as a problem between different kinds of blacks (mulatto vs. completely black). The same issue is brought up in Jonah’s Gourd Vine, between the all-black stepfather and his half-white stepson.
I’m not sure what to make of Hurston’s focus on inter-racial problems, rather than the intra-racial issues between whites and blacks. Her own upbringing is a bit of insight into this, since many of her works seem to reflect her own life in some way or other. Her message, I believe, is that inter-racial problems are more poignant than the overall issue of white and black. By addressing and solving the problems within the different sects of blackness, Huston seems to believe that unification is possible and will lead to a better chance against the intra-racial issues that she ignores. I wonder if, had black unification occurred in her lifetime, she would have switched gears and addressed the issues of white and black.
Sterling Brown's Poetry
Brown, Sterling. "Sterling Brown Poetry." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Penguin Viking, 1994. 227-37. Print.
I had a hard time reading some of the poems; the vernacular tended to stray beyond my comprehension and I think I lost a lot of the meaning. However, the first poem in the set, Southern Road, brought back memories of the John Henry stories I listened to as a kid. I’m not sure if he was always represented as a black man, but the videos I remember watching always made him such. The connection between the narrator of the poem and John Henry are pretty obvious; they both worked on railroads and had a difficult life.
The differences between the two men involve the issue of slavery. I’m not positive, but the man in the poem seems to either be a slave or be using the imagery of slavery to enhance his perception of the treatment of blacks during this time period. I choose to read it as the latter, which (I believe) does the poem more justice. The final, closing lines of the poem makes it seem as if the narrator is still a slave, despite not legally being one. Comparing slavery to the treatment and lifestyles of blacks in the early 20th century isn’t a far stretch (at least for some, especially in the South). Working harder and longer than white people just to get by and generally working for white people, blacks didn’t seem to have it much better than before slavery was abolished. The excerpt from Hurston’s Jonah’s Gourd Vine reinforces this: an extremely poor, black family who, although they are independent, still pick cotton to survive.
The rest of the poems furthered this image of black-ness not changing despite the changes in laws and society. Odyssey of a Big Boy discusses the different jobs a black man has had, none of which he liked and all of which involved the types of manual labor he or his fathers did before as slaves. I’m sure other poems in this section do much the same thing, but like I said, the dialect is difficult to transcribe and the meaning is lost.
I had a hard time reading some of the poems; the vernacular tended to stray beyond my comprehension and I think I lost a lot of the meaning. However, the first poem in the set, Southern Road, brought back memories of the John Henry stories I listened to as a kid. I’m not sure if he was always represented as a black man, but the videos I remember watching always made him such. The connection between the narrator of the poem and John Henry are pretty obvious; they both worked on railroads and had a difficult life.
The differences between the two men involve the issue of slavery. I’m not positive, but the man in the poem seems to either be a slave or be using the imagery of slavery to enhance his perception of the treatment of blacks during this time period. I choose to read it as the latter, which (I believe) does the poem more justice. The final, closing lines of the poem makes it seem as if the narrator is still a slave, despite not legally being one. Comparing slavery to the treatment and lifestyles of blacks in the early 20th century isn’t a far stretch (at least for some, especially in the South). Working harder and longer than white people just to get by and generally working for white people, blacks didn’t seem to have it much better than before slavery was abolished. The excerpt from Hurston’s Jonah’s Gourd Vine reinforces this: an extremely poor, black family who, although they are independent, still pick cotton to survive.
The rest of the poems furthered this image of black-ness not changing despite the changes in laws and society. Odyssey of a Big Boy discusses the different jobs a black man has had, none of which he liked and all of which involved the types of manual labor he or his fathers did before as slaves. I’m sure other poems in this section do much the same thing, but like I said, the dialect is difficult to transcribe and the meaning is lost.
Monday, October 19, 2009
The Negro-Art Hokum
Schuyler, George S. "The Negro-Art Hokum." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 96-99. Print.
Well, this reading sure was harsh. Despite the pretentious tone and somewhat radical opinions, however, I can’t help but conclude that this Mr. Schuyler is on to something. Firstly, I do agree with him that the focus of African heritage on African Americans is misplaced and outdated. Keeping in mind that not all blacks find their roots in Africa, Schuyler is right to say that Americanization (or at least the detachment from Africa through several generations) has lead to a race that is more American and less African. He is also right to point out that African American art more closely resembles American art than it does African. And, although Schuyler is advocating blind equality for the wrong reasons, he is right to say that society needs to drop the pretense that race is a dividing issue.
Schuyler is very wrong, however, to say that the works of blacks might as well be the works of whites. Despite the disconnect with African ideology and art, the works produced by blacks in America represent a subculture that very much has its own significance. Perhaps the insistence on calling them “African American” puts the focus on the African, when a more correct term would be “black American”. Because it is so that black Americans have their own subculture, as I pointed out, from which to create art. The same can be said of any repressed minority – the fact that they were black hardly matters (in this line of argument). Ignoring the racial divide (despite its superficiality) as Schuyler has done is deliberate ignorance. Just because he doesn’t think it should exist does not mean it will simply cease to be and the problems of racial divide will sublimate immediately. It’s a shame that this isn’t the case, but it is the reality and, further, it is a defining feature of the black American minority that the perceived (rightly or not) racial differences fuel whatever it is that causes them to create art that is so very distinctly black.
Well, this reading sure was harsh. Despite the pretentious tone and somewhat radical opinions, however, I can’t help but conclude that this Mr. Schuyler is on to something. Firstly, I do agree with him that the focus of African heritage on African Americans is misplaced and outdated. Keeping in mind that not all blacks find their roots in Africa, Schuyler is right to say that Americanization (or at least the detachment from Africa through several generations) has lead to a race that is more American and less African. He is also right to point out that African American art more closely resembles American art than it does African. And, although Schuyler is advocating blind equality for the wrong reasons, he is right to say that society needs to drop the pretense that race is a dividing issue.
Schuyler is very wrong, however, to say that the works of blacks might as well be the works of whites. Despite the disconnect with African ideology and art, the works produced by blacks in America represent a subculture that very much has its own significance. Perhaps the insistence on calling them “African American” puts the focus on the African, when a more correct term would be “black American”. Because it is so that black Americans have their own subculture, as I pointed out, from which to create art. The same can be said of any repressed minority – the fact that they were black hardly matters (in this line of argument). Ignoring the racial divide (despite its superficiality) as Schuyler has done is deliberate ignorance. Just because he doesn’t think it should exist does not mean it will simply cease to be and the problems of racial divide will sublimate immediately. It’s a shame that this isn’t the case, but it is the reality and, further, it is a defining feature of the black American minority that the perceived (rightly or not) racial differences fuel whatever it is that causes them to create art that is so very distinctly black.
from The Big Sea
Hughes, Langston. "From The Big Sea." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 77-95. Print.
Although there is a lot that could be discussed from this reading, I want to focus on the idea that the blacks that populated Harlem and became so famous were not in any way representative of African Americans as a whole. It is a kind of simple truth that is obvious once stated, but can easily be ignored until brought up to eye-level. Naturally, the black individuals that are known and remembered today are the ones who were exemplary for one reason or another – the same goes for any one of any race. And, as history buffs always proclaim, history is written by the winners. In the case of the Harlem Renaissance, we remember the “winners” of life; that is, the blacks who made themselves into something more than their majority. Does this demean the efforts of the Harlem artists? No, but it does put what we’re reading on and studying in this class into an altered light. Instead of assuming that the famous men and women are speaking for their race, it is much safer to assume that they are speaking for those who are like them in Harlem. Even this may be a stretch, for some of these writers are clearly only speaking for themselves. I once studied Frederick Douglass’ autobiography, and I wonder how a comparative lecture between the works produced by Harlem blacks would compare to Douglass’ writings. The thoughts are in the same place, yet I can’t help but feel that Douglass’ own life experience produced a more honest document than some of the flowery and supercilious works of Harlem writers.
I also was interested in the notion that the blacks who populated Harlem were (or quickly became) reflections of what their white contemporaries wished to see. As Hughes points out, many of the blacks in Harlem would do things that would never have dreamed of had whites not arrived and expected to see certain things. In a way, it seems like it is being more black than, perhaps, one is. Rather than acting in a common, day-to-day style, you put on a show. I think that this, again, alters how we should view the works of the Renaissance. There is a law in science that states that you cannot observe something without fundamentally changing it; the same applies here, especially since the blacks of Harlem knew that they were being watched by their white visitors.
I was also curious about the notion of the mountain black writers have to face concerning their blackness – that is, how they must either write as if they were black or not write at all. It saddens me to think that everything these men and women wrote had to relate in some way to racial epithets. What if, say, a talented writer in Harlem wanted to write a work of science fiction in the vein of Wells. I doubt that they would have had any success, since the topic is not one that is, as Hughes puts it, part of the fad of Negro-isms. Being a writer, I try my hardest not to be bound by my station in life, but rather to view life from different angles. The characters I produce are inherently part of myself, but people are multifaceted; if I chose to repeatedly focus on one aspect of myself and reproduce it over and over in different works, I believe that I would become bored and move on to other forms of expression. There are only so many ways to say the same thing. My sympathies go out to writers who did not have that freedom.
Although there is a lot that could be discussed from this reading, I want to focus on the idea that the blacks that populated Harlem and became so famous were not in any way representative of African Americans as a whole. It is a kind of simple truth that is obvious once stated, but can easily be ignored until brought up to eye-level. Naturally, the black individuals that are known and remembered today are the ones who were exemplary for one reason or another – the same goes for any one of any race. And, as history buffs always proclaim, history is written by the winners. In the case of the Harlem Renaissance, we remember the “winners” of life; that is, the blacks who made themselves into something more than their majority. Does this demean the efforts of the Harlem artists? No, but it does put what we’re reading on and studying in this class into an altered light. Instead of assuming that the famous men and women are speaking for their race, it is much safer to assume that they are speaking for those who are like them in Harlem. Even this may be a stretch, for some of these writers are clearly only speaking for themselves. I once studied Frederick Douglass’ autobiography, and I wonder how a comparative lecture between the works produced by Harlem blacks would compare to Douglass’ writings. The thoughts are in the same place, yet I can’t help but feel that Douglass’ own life experience produced a more honest document than some of the flowery and supercilious works of Harlem writers.
I also was interested in the notion that the blacks who populated Harlem were (or quickly became) reflections of what their white contemporaries wished to see. As Hughes points out, many of the blacks in Harlem would do things that would never have dreamed of had whites not arrived and expected to see certain things. In a way, it seems like it is being more black than, perhaps, one is. Rather than acting in a common, day-to-day style, you put on a show. I think that this, again, alters how we should view the works of the Renaissance. There is a law in science that states that you cannot observe something without fundamentally changing it; the same applies here, especially since the blacks of Harlem knew that they were being watched by their white visitors.
I was also curious about the notion of the mountain black writers have to face concerning their blackness – that is, how they must either write as if they were black or not write at all. It saddens me to think that everything these men and women wrote had to relate in some way to racial epithets. What if, say, a talented writer in Harlem wanted to write a work of science fiction in the vein of Wells. I doubt that they would have had any success, since the topic is not one that is, as Hughes puts it, part of the fad of Negro-isms. Being a writer, I try my hardest not to be bound by my station in life, but rather to view life from different angles. The characters I produce are inherently part of myself, but people are multifaceted; if I chose to repeatedly focus on one aspect of myself and reproduce it over and over in different works, I believe that I would become bored and move on to other forms of expression. There are only so many ways to say the same thing. My sympathies go out to writers who did not have that freedom.
Cordelia the Crude
Thurman, Wallace. "Cordelia the Crude." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 628-33. Print.
Two things stuck out to me in this reading. The first is the fact that Cordelia, as an in-the-know prostitute, would be picky about who she serviced. She didn’t seem concerned with danger, but was picky about the race of the person. She tried to avoid or turn down Jewish men and middle-aged black men, and entice half blacks and whites. I don’t think this has to do with a fear of certain men (big black man stereotype, for example) but rather a rational business practice. The fact that she avoids Jewish men as well as black men says to me that she is just avoiding stingy clients, or clients that would potentially skimp out on her. Another consideration is the power she would hold over any white or half-white men; sleeping with a black prostitute would surely have been grounds for excommunication and becoming a social pariah. If one of these men had tried to get away with not paying her, she would be able to hold this over their heads. What this says about racial stereotypes and the attitudes towards blacks is pretty clear, but it still stood out to me – especially because someone who has chosen to be a prostitute is so in-tune with the nuances of racial haves and have-nots.
The second thing that I picked up on was fact that Harlem wasn’t a nirvana for every black person that lived there. Although Cordelia was driven by her rebellious defiance of her parents’ wants, she is still a young black girl who does not enjoy Harlem. It is habitual to assume that Harlem is the end-all to black peoples’ suffering, but of course this is not the case – Harlem would, as with anything, only appeal to certain people, and Cordelia was not one of them.
Two things stuck out to me in this reading. The first is the fact that Cordelia, as an in-the-know prostitute, would be picky about who she serviced. She didn’t seem concerned with danger, but was picky about the race of the person. She tried to avoid or turn down Jewish men and middle-aged black men, and entice half blacks and whites. I don’t think this has to do with a fear of certain men (big black man stereotype, for example) but rather a rational business practice. The fact that she avoids Jewish men as well as black men says to me that she is just avoiding stingy clients, or clients that would potentially skimp out on her. Another consideration is the power she would hold over any white or half-white men; sleeping with a black prostitute would surely have been grounds for excommunication and becoming a social pariah. If one of these men had tried to get away with not paying her, she would be able to hold this over their heads. What this says about racial stereotypes and the attitudes towards blacks is pretty clear, but it still stood out to me – especially because someone who has chosen to be a prostitute is so in-tune with the nuances of racial haves and have-nots.
The second thing that I picked up on was fact that Harlem wasn’t a nirvana for every black person that lived there. Although Cordelia was driven by her rebellious defiance of her parents’ wants, she is still a young black girl who does not enjoy Harlem. It is habitual to assume that Harlem is the end-all to black peoples’ suffering, but of course this is not the case – Harlem would, as with anything, only appeal to certain people, and Cordelia was not one of them.
Bennett Poetry
Bennett, Gwendolyn. "Bennett Poetry." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 221-23. Print.
I wanted to discuss my views on Bennett’s poem Hatred, since it was brought up in a presentation last week. I like the poem – it does a great job of describing the feelings of Bennett as she wrote it. What confuses me, though, is who exactly she hates. Is she talking to racists, or fellow blacks who allow their own subjugation? Is she talking to an ex-lover, or taking on the voice of white supremacists and speaking in character to blacks? I don’t know, but since this poem appears in the Harlem Renaissance anthology, I’m going to have to assume that she is addressing whites. I would argue that she is taking on the voice of white people and addressing blacks, but the articulation and word choice lead me to believe that her hatred is more focused and specific than the hatred of bigoted minds.
I understand where Bennett is coming from if she is, in fact, addressing white racists. The indignant, loathing hatred of people that belittle and demean your way of life is very close to my heart, especially in recent times with certain social movements and the abundant horrible, disgusting bigotry. It rolls around in your mind, infuriating you until you find that it is within your reason to slaughter every last bigoted degenerate without any qualms. Bennett knows what I’m talking about, or, rather, I know what she was talking about. But once reason takes over, I can’t agree with Bennett’s sentiments. Yes, hatred is powerful and extremely satisfying, but in the end it only fuels the bigots and hatred that started your own. I’m not advocating pacifism, per se, but rather self-control and logical reasoning. Throwing fuel onto the flames only makes the fire burn that much harder. Still, I can see why this poem was so widely reproduced and quoted.
I wanted to discuss my views on Bennett’s poem Hatred, since it was brought up in a presentation last week. I like the poem – it does a great job of describing the feelings of Bennett as she wrote it. What confuses me, though, is who exactly she hates. Is she talking to racists, or fellow blacks who allow their own subjugation? Is she talking to an ex-lover, or taking on the voice of white supremacists and speaking in character to blacks? I don’t know, but since this poem appears in the Harlem Renaissance anthology, I’m going to have to assume that she is addressing whites. I would argue that she is taking on the voice of white people and addressing blacks, but the articulation and word choice lead me to believe that her hatred is more focused and specific than the hatred of bigoted minds.
I understand where Bennett is coming from if she is, in fact, addressing white racists. The indignant, loathing hatred of people that belittle and demean your way of life is very close to my heart, especially in recent times with certain social movements and the abundant horrible, disgusting bigotry. It rolls around in your mind, infuriating you until you find that it is within your reason to slaughter every last bigoted degenerate without any qualms. Bennett knows what I’m talking about, or, rather, I know what she was talking about. But once reason takes over, I can’t agree with Bennett’s sentiments. Yes, hatred is powerful and extremely satisfying, but in the end it only fuels the bigots and hatred that started your own. I’m not advocating pacifism, per se, but rather self-control and logical reasoning. Throwing fuel onto the flames only makes the fire burn that much harder. Still, I can see why this poem was so widely reproduced and quoted.
Smoke, Lilies, and Jade
Nugent, Richard B. "Smoke, Lilies and Jade." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 569-83. Print.
This prose was extremely difficult to understand. What I did manage to grasp from it, though, is a sense of worldly unification. The main character, Alex, finds love in two places – one a black woman and the other a white man. The interwoven dream sequences with the distorted reality paint a hazy picture of a kind of love that spans sex and race, bringing into it all of the famous names from the Harlem Renaissance. The message, if I’m reading this correctly, is that the writers and artists of the Renaissance are, in a way, working together to form this unification of love.
In order to understand this piece better, I did a bit of research on the internet. I’m a bit disappointed that the name “Melva” has no deeper meaning – I would have expected it to, since the character is the second half of the fulfillment opposite Beauty to Alex. However, I did find that the author, Nugent, was an open homosexual during the Renaissance and is considered to be the first African American to openly write about homosexuality. I have the same problem with this single-minded focus on the fact that the author was homosexual as I did while studying works such as Death in Venice. The critics seem to miss the point entirely – that love is sexless, ageless, and genderless, and instead choose to focus on the breech in the taboo surrounding homoeroticism. It is, for lack of a better word, a bit pathetic – like a bunch of school children enamored with the first mention of sex in their grade school classroom. Rather than focus on the fact that one of the relationships in this story is homosexual, I think that to understand what Nugent is trying to say one must be able to disregard orientation and work out the deep, foundational meaning, which I’ve already stated.
And it is this deep meaning of uninhibited love that, at least for some, fueled the works of the Harlem Renaissance (it’s a shame that not all famous artists of this time can be considered in this category, with a nod towards abominations like Marcus Garvey and the late works of Langston Hughes (with apologizes to Hughes’ otherwise brilliant mind)). I’m sure that the format of this work is troublesome to many, but I feel that it speaks on a deeper level than what normal literature can. Rather than appealing to reason and attempting to convince its reader that racial issues need to be overcome, it simply shows how love can be and lets the rest speak for itself. Truly, and without a shard of doubt, I believe that this piece is the best we have read in this class. Time in class needs to be spent discussing it, if I may be so bold.
This prose was extremely difficult to understand. What I did manage to grasp from it, though, is a sense of worldly unification. The main character, Alex, finds love in two places – one a black woman and the other a white man. The interwoven dream sequences with the distorted reality paint a hazy picture of a kind of love that spans sex and race, bringing into it all of the famous names from the Harlem Renaissance. The message, if I’m reading this correctly, is that the writers and artists of the Renaissance are, in a way, working together to form this unification of love.
In order to understand this piece better, I did a bit of research on the internet. I’m a bit disappointed that the name “Melva” has no deeper meaning – I would have expected it to, since the character is the second half of the fulfillment opposite Beauty to Alex. However, I did find that the author, Nugent, was an open homosexual during the Renaissance and is considered to be the first African American to openly write about homosexuality. I have the same problem with this single-minded focus on the fact that the author was homosexual as I did while studying works such as Death in Venice. The critics seem to miss the point entirely – that love is sexless, ageless, and genderless, and instead choose to focus on the breech in the taboo surrounding homoeroticism. It is, for lack of a better word, a bit pathetic – like a bunch of school children enamored with the first mention of sex in their grade school classroom. Rather than focus on the fact that one of the relationships in this story is homosexual, I think that to understand what Nugent is trying to say one must be able to disregard orientation and work out the deep, foundational meaning, which I’ve already stated.
And it is this deep meaning of uninhibited love that, at least for some, fueled the works of the Harlem Renaissance (it’s a shame that not all famous artists of this time can be considered in this category, with a nod towards abominations like Marcus Garvey and the late works of Langston Hughes (with apologizes to Hughes’ otherwise brilliant mind)). I’m sure that the format of this work is troublesome to many, but I feel that it speaks on a deeper level than what normal literature can. Rather than appealing to reason and attempting to convince its reader that racial issues need to be overcome, it simply shows how love can be and lets the rest speak for itself. Truly, and without a shard of doubt, I believe that this piece is the best we have read in this class. Time in class needs to be spent discussing it, if I may be so bold.
The Typewriter
West, Dorothy. "The Typewriter." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 501-09. Print.
Despite this short story being writing in the early years of the Harlem Renaissance, I’m not sure I understand why it is included in this anthology. The family is presumably black, but the experience in this story could have been had by any low-income family. However, I guess that the point being made is that life for black families, even in the North, was extremely difficult. So difficult, in fact, that the main character in this story ends up losing his mind from the stress.
I’m fond of the ambiguous ending, where it is unclear whether the actual character of the unnamed protagonist or his fictional alter ego “dies” in the end. I prefer to think that the alter ego dies, symbolically killing off any hope the poor man has of bettering his life and being a successful businessman. Although it is dark, it isn’t as sad as the notion of his death and the subsequent hardship his family would encounter because of it. Like I said, though, I don’t know what this story is trying to say about racial inequality or the themes common in the other works from the Harlem Renaissance. I did enjoy it, though.
Despite this short story being writing in the early years of the Harlem Renaissance, I’m not sure I understand why it is included in this anthology. The family is presumably black, but the experience in this story could have been had by any low-income family. However, I guess that the point being made is that life for black families, even in the North, was extremely difficult. So difficult, in fact, that the main character in this story ends up losing his mind from the stress.
I’m fond of the ambiguous ending, where it is unclear whether the actual character of the unnamed protagonist or his fictional alter ego “dies” in the end. I prefer to think that the alter ego dies, symbolically killing off any hope the poor man has of bettering his life and being a successful businessman. Although it is dark, it isn’t as sad as the notion of his death and the subsequent hardship his family would encounter because of it. Like I said, though, I don’t know what this story is trying to say about racial inequality or the themes common in the other works from the Harlem Renaissance. I did enjoy it, though.
Wedding Day
Bennett, Qwendolyn. "Wedding Day." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 363-69. Print.
There is a lot that can be discussed concerning this short story, but I want to focus on the way Bennett reverses the dominant and subservient roles of whites and blacks during the scene where Paul and Mary first meet. In France, as a free black man, Paul lives the life of any other French citizen regardless of color. However, because he was originally from America, he holds onto deep-rooted prejudices against white people. Hypocritically, perhaps, he (at first) treats Mary as a white people in the South would have likely treated him. I particularly like the irony of Mary calling out, “please don’t hate me ‘cause I was born white and an American.” (367) The reversal of traditional roles (where the black man/woman would be begging the white man/woman not to judge them by their skin color) is somewhat insightful to the hypocrisy (or, at least, the vindictiveness) of black hatred towards white people. Especially when taken in conference with some of the other author’s we’ve read that do nothing but advocate racial equality, this racism against whites is just as damaging as racism against blacks. The attitude of reciprocity only furthers racial divide, not settles it.
I’m curious to know more about Bennett’s personal views on black racism towards whites. The somewhat caricature-leaning character of Paul leads me to believe that she feels as I do, that racism against whites is foolhardy. However, the fact that she brings the story-arc to the point where succumbing to a white person (through love/marriage) creates Paul’s downfall makes me wonder if Bennett wasn’t herself a bit racist. If not an outright racist against whites, I feel that it is fairly likely that she wouldn’t admonish those who were. A white temptress or she-devil is just as derogatory and offensive as had the races in this short story been reversed, and, since they are reversed, sends a bit stronger of a message to the reader (simply by its uniqueness). I’ve said it before, but equality is a two way road. Vengeance and vindication, or even contemporary ludicrous appeals to past wrongs such as the disgusting affirmative action laws, do nothing but further the race divide. Making whites into pariahs to humanity because of the past is just as bigoted as what white peoples’ ancestors did to black peoples’ ancestors.
There is a lot that can be discussed concerning this short story, but I want to focus on the way Bennett reverses the dominant and subservient roles of whites and blacks during the scene where Paul and Mary first meet. In France, as a free black man, Paul lives the life of any other French citizen regardless of color. However, because he was originally from America, he holds onto deep-rooted prejudices against white people. Hypocritically, perhaps, he (at first) treats Mary as a white people in the South would have likely treated him. I particularly like the irony of Mary calling out, “please don’t hate me ‘cause I was born white and an American.” (367) The reversal of traditional roles (where the black man/woman would be begging the white man/woman not to judge them by their skin color) is somewhat insightful to the hypocrisy (or, at least, the vindictiveness) of black hatred towards white people. Especially when taken in conference with some of the other author’s we’ve read that do nothing but advocate racial equality, this racism against whites is just as damaging as racism against blacks. The attitude of reciprocity only furthers racial divide, not settles it.
I’m curious to know more about Bennett’s personal views on black racism towards whites. The somewhat caricature-leaning character of Paul leads me to believe that she feels as I do, that racism against whites is foolhardy. However, the fact that she brings the story-arc to the point where succumbing to a white person (through love/marriage) creates Paul’s downfall makes me wonder if Bennett wasn’t herself a bit racist. If not an outright racist against whites, I feel that it is fairly likely that she wouldn’t admonish those who were. A white temptress or she-devil is just as derogatory and offensive as had the races in this short story been reversed, and, since they are reversed, sends a bit stronger of a message to the reader (simply by its uniqueness). I’ve said it before, but equality is a two way road. Vengeance and vindication, or even contemporary ludicrous appeals to past wrongs such as the disgusting affirmative action laws, do nothing but further the race divide. Making whites into pariahs to humanity because of the past is just as bigoted as what white peoples’ ancestors did to black peoples’ ancestors.
Hughes' Poetry
Hughes, Langston. "Langston Hughes." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 256-70. Print.
I’m not sure if these poems are presented in the order in which they were written, but if I had to guess I would think it so. They start off in a kind of faraway voice that is longing for equality and acceptance but without any fiery passion. By the final two poems, however, Hughes is so sarcastic and violent that he seems to be seriously advising people to riot outside of a hotel. Unfortunately for Hughes, I don’t feel that the in-your-face extremism of his final two essays match the careful hopefulness of the first several.
Of the poems presented here, the one that speaks the loudest is “I, Too”. Although it is short, the meaning is very deep. It says that, although the voice of the poem is black and sent to the kitchen to eat (a coy way of saying “brushed to the side”), he is still eating and growing strong. One day he plans on remaining in the dining room with the rest of the company and refuse to be sent to the kitchen. Of course, Hughes isn’t talking literally about being sent to the kitchen to eat, but rather the attitudes of whites towards black in general. Rather than allow them to join society as equals, whites push blacks to the side (a side which is, generally, less glorious (the kitchen versus the dining room)). This is evident in Jim Crowe segregation laws of the time. Hughes, however, believes that so long as the blacks in America continue to work “in the kitchen” to become a strong, unified force, they will (someday) be able to turn around on the whites and refuse to be bullied into submission.
I’m particularly fond of the last bit of this poem, where Hughes, almost as an afterthought, says “Besides, they’ll see how beautiful I am and be ashamed”. (258) It catches the reader off guard; the poem, until this point, is about strength and steadfastness, not perception. However, Hughes turns it into a poem about societal perception and, perhaps, is making a statement about the beauty of strength. When the whites are forced to see that their black fellows are strong enough to be their equals, they will suddenly realize that the blacks are beautiful. Because the perception is that blacks are inferior and, therefore, sent to the wayside, whites have never had a chance to view blacks with anything other than pompous superiority. As I said, it’s a cautiously hopeful little poem, and speaks highly of Hughes’ (probably early) self-control.
I’m not sure if these poems are presented in the order in which they were written, but if I had to guess I would think it so. They start off in a kind of faraway voice that is longing for equality and acceptance but without any fiery passion. By the final two poems, however, Hughes is so sarcastic and violent that he seems to be seriously advising people to riot outside of a hotel. Unfortunately for Hughes, I don’t feel that the in-your-face extremism of his final two essays match the careful hopefulness of the first several.
Of the poems presented here, the one that speaks the loudest is “I, Too”. Although it is short, the meaning is very deep. It says that, although the voice of the poem is black and sent to the kitchen to eat (a coy way of saying “brushed to the side”), he is still eating and growing strong. One day he plans on remaining in the dining room with the rest of the company and refuse to be sent to the kitchen. Of course, Hughes isn’t talking literally about being sent to the kitchen to eat, but rather the attitudes of whites towards black in general. Rather than allow them to join society as equals, whites push blacks to the side (a side which is, generally, less glorious (the kitchen versus the dining room)). This is evident in Jim Crowe segregation laws of the time. Hughes, however, believes that so long as the blacks in America continue to work “in the kitchen” to become a strong, unified force, they will (someday) be able to turn around on the whites and refuse to be bullied into submission.
I’m particularly fond of the last bit of this poem, where Hughes, almost as an afterthought, says “Besides, they’ll see how beautiful I am and be ashamed”. (258) It catches the reader off guard; the poem, until this point, is about strength and steadfastness, not perception. However, Hughes turns it into a poem about societal perception and, perhaps, is making a statement about the beauty of strength. When the whites are forced to see that their black fellows are strong enough to be their equals, they will suddenly realize that the blacks are beautiful. Because the perception is that blacks are inferior and, therefore, sent to the wayside, whites have never had a chance to view blacks with anything other than pompous superiority. As I said, it’s a cautiously hopeful little poem, and speaks highly of Hughes’ (probably early) self-control.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The Blacker the Berry...
Thurman, Wallace. "The Blacker the Berry..." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 636-49. Print.
This reading brought up two interesting notions that hadn’t yet been addressed in this class. The first is the idea of segregation within a race. I’m continually surprised when groups or individuals that are discriminated against turn around and themselves discriminate against another group. It is, for lack of a better word, idiotic. Instead of working together as a unit to combat the racism they both face, different shades of “black” populations fight each other with racism while fighting racism from white people. It’s a kind of passing the buck idea: “well, we’re hated, so let’s find someone else to hate!” I don’t understand it at all, other than the fact that it is a base, primal feeling akin to an instinct.
The second notion I caught was the idea of a white man “passing” as black. Although the characters in this story joke about it, since the man is very white, it is still an interesting turn-around of the “passing” we’ve been reading about recently. The first thing that comes to mind is “why”. After all, black people didn’t exactly have it easy during this time period – why would a white man choose to hang out with black people in a black night club? Although at first I thought it was strange, it’s actually a kind of bittersweet poetic statement. Thurman barely hits on the notion of transcending race, as discussed by Toomer, but this little twist of the story comes close to making a statement to that effect. It is especially poignant because of the attitudes of the main character, who feels so wronged because she is a very dark shade of black. I don’t believe that she learns anything from the reversal of roles concerning the white man “passing”, which is a bit of a shame – she seemed to be, for the most part, unimportant to the story.
This reading brought up two interesting notions that hadn’t yet been addressed in this class. The first is the idea of segregation within a race. I’m continually surprised when groups or individuals that are discriminated against turn around and themselves discriminate against another group. It is, for lack of a better word, idiotic. Instead of working together as a unit to combat the racism they both face, different shades of “black” populations fight each other with racism while fighting racism from white people. It’s a kind of passing the buck idea: “well, we’re hated, so let’s find someone else to hate!” I don’t understand it at all, other than the fact that it is a base, primal feeling akin to an instinct.
The second notion I caught was the idea of a white man “passing” as black. Although the characters in this story joke about it, since the man is very white, it is still an interesting turn-around of the “passing” we’ve been reading about recently. The first thing that comes to mind is “why”. After all, black people didn’t exactly have it easy during this time period – why would a white man choose to hang out with black people in a black night club? Although at first I thought it was strange, it’s actually a kind of bittersweet poetic statement. Thurman barely hits on the notion of transcending race, as discussed by Toomer, but this little twist of the story comes close to making a statement to that effect. It is especially poignant because of the attitudes of the main character, who feels so wronged because she is a very dark shade of black. I don’t believe that she learns anything from the reversal of roles concerning the white man “passing”, which is a bit of a shame – she seemed to be, for the most part, unimportant to the story.
Plum Bun
Fauset, Jessie R. "Plum Bun." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 348-50. Print.
This short little piece brought a question to my mind. Perhaps I just don’t understand the mentality of racism, but to what purpose serves “finding out” people as black or white? If they look, act, and present themselves in a certain way, why do people like the teacher in this short story find it necessary to investigate further? The parallels to the rampant homophobia in this country are obvious, but I never thought that such a secretive nature could apply to black Americans. After all, if you’re black it should be pretty obvious.
The only conclusion I can come up with is that people like the teacher don’t hate people solely because of their skin color, but hate their family ties and style of life as well. It’s like during the holocaust where if any of your ancestors were Jewish, you were considered a Jew in spite of any sort of mixing of races. And, of course, it’s ridiculous.
The final line is somewhat funny, where Angela states that she never would have considered admitting that she was colored when asked by her teacher. The matter-of-fact way she says it makes it seem like she understands the need for disguising herself (like in Passing) as white.
This short little piece brought a question to my mind. Perhaps I just don’t understand the mentality of racism, but to what purpose serves “finding out” people as black or white? If they look, act, and present themselves in a certain way, why do people like the teacher in this short story find it necessary to investigate further? The parallels to the rampant homophobia in this country are obvious, but I never thought that such a secretive nature could apply to black Americans. After all, if you’re black it should be pretty obvious.
The only conclusion I can come up with is that people like the teacher don’t hate people solely because of their skin color, but hate their family ties and style of life as well. It’s like during the holocaust where if any of your ancestors were Jewish, you were considered a Jew in spite of any sort of mixing of races. And, of course, it’s ridiculous.
The final line is somewhat funny, where Angela states that she never would have considered admitting that she was colored when asked by her teacher. The matter-of-fact way she says it makes it seem like she understands the need for disguising herself (like in Passing) as white.
Countee Cullen
Cullen, Countee. "Countee Cullen." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 242-51. Print.
Although many of these poems were in a simpler vein than the ones by Toomer, they still held an air of sorrow that was hard to pass over. I particularly liked the one entitled “Yet Do I Marvel”, not only because it questions God and the Bible (although in a roundabout way), but because it seems to encompass much of what the rest of the poems are trying to get at: a kind of hopeless resignation to the state of things tangled in a fire of pride that won’t quite die.
“Yet Do I Marvel” is the kind of poem that can be read only a couple of different ways. One way is the literal meaning: Cullen is a religious man who, despite everything the African race has been through, keeps his faith in God. The other reading, and the one I am more partial to, is that Cullen is being extremely sarcastic and demonizing God for ignoring the African plight.
He begins the poem by saying that, if one were to ask God (or, rather, were God to take the time to explain) why such horrible things are commonplace in nature (death, blindness, doom, and so on), God would surely explain in detail why he made things so. He then turns around and says that God is not susceptible to catechism (extensive questioning) of a mind too absorbed in itself (i.e. Man), which basically means that God could explain himself to Man, but he won’t. Interestingly, Cullen drops the veil of sarcasm and outright calls God awful: “what awful brain compels His awful hand”. I maintain that the poem could be taken in either a positive or sarcastic way; remember that “awful”, in its more literal sense, simply means “full of awe”, something that can easily be attributed to God.
The final couplet is a bit more lighthearted. It adds one more of God’s “awful” deeds – the creation of a black poet. In the shadow of the other things mentioned, perhaps Cullen is trying to poke a bit of fun at those who find nothing but sorrow in their situation as black Americans. He’s saying that there are worse things than being black by putting ethnicity in contrast to the aforementioned death, blindness, etc. On the other hand, though, it can be interpreted as Cullen talking very specifically about himself (since he is a poet). The reason he finds this “curious” is a bit unclear, but I believe it has something to do with giving a voice to the black race in spite of all of the other horrible things attributed to God. It’s kind of like Cullen is saying “thanks a lot, God,” for giving blacks such a meek and subtle tool when it was well within His power to simply eradicate the problems of racism altogether.
Although many of these poems were in a simpler vein than the ones by Toomer, they still held an air of sorrow that was hard to pass over. I particularly liked the one entitled “Yet Do I Marvel”, not only because it questions God and the Bible (although in a roundabout way), but because it seems to encompass much of what the rest of the poems are trying to get at: a kind of hopeless resignation to the state of things tangled in a fire of pride that won’t quite die.
“Yet Do I Marvel” is the kind of poem that can be read only a couple of different ways. One way is the literal meaning: Cullen is a religious man who, despite everything the African race has been through, keeps his faith in God. The other reading, and the one I am more partial to, is that Cullen is being extremely sarcastic and demonizing God for ignoring the African plight.
He begins the poem by saying that, if one were to ask God (or, rather, were God to take the time to explain) why such horrible things are commonplace in nature (death, blindness, doom, and so on), God would surely explain in detail why he made things so. He then turns around and says that God is not susceptible to catechism (extensive questioning) of a mind too absorbed in itself (i.e. Man), which basically means that God could explain himself to Man, but he won’t. Interestingly, Cullen drops the veil of sarcasm and outright calls God awful: “what awful brain compels His awful hand”. I maintain that the poem could be taken in either a positive or sarcastic way; remember that “awful”, in its more literal sense, simply means “full of awe”, something that can easily be attributed to God.
The final couplet is a bit more lighthearted. It adds one more of God’s “awful” deeds – the creation of a black poet. In the shadow of the other things mentioned, perhaps Cullen is trying to poke a bit of fun at those who find nothing but sorrow in their situation as black Americans. He’s saying that there are worse things than being black by putting ethnicity in contrast to the aforementioned death, blindness, etc. On the other hand, though, it can be interpreted as Cullen talking very specifically about himself (since he is a poet). The reason he finds this “curious” is a bit unclear, but I believe it has something to do with giving a voice to the black race in spite of all of the other horrible things attributed to God. It’s kind of like Cullen is saying “thanks a lot, God,” for giving blacks such a meek and subtle tool when it was well within His power to simply eradicate the problems of racism altogether.
Jean Toomer
Toomer, Jean. "Jean Toomer." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 301-07. Print.
It almost seems unfair to the first two poems in this section to be paired up with the final poem, The Blue Meridian, since it overshadows them so much. I really loved Toomer’s message here, which echoed back to the other reading we had by him. That message is one of transcendence – going beyond race, color, creed, and beliefs to a state of humanistic harmony.
Toomer’s beliefs on racial inequity parallel my own beliefs on religious differences that the world is so caught up in today (although it’s not really all that new). The underlying bigotry is the same: “we hate you because you’re different than us”, and what Toomer says about transcendence is much the same as what I’ve said about religious hostilities, albeit using slightly stronger language.
I read the little biographical information before getting into the poems in this section, and for once it actually helped without ruining the ending of the story/whatever. And, as the biography notes, I am somewhat surprised that this text falls into the “Harlem Renaissance Reader”, since it doesn’t particularly line up with most Harlem Renaissance mantra. Rather than advocating removal of African Americans to Africa, like Marcus Garvey, or racial equality through intelligent discourse, like Du Bois, Toomer goes beyond recognizing race and rather says that “we are all just people”. And, further, rather than advocating a push towards transcendence of race, Toomer merely notes that we are waiting for it: “We are waiting for a new people, for the joining of men to men and man to God.” I don’t know how far to go with radical passivism like this before you’re just being silly and asking for people to walk all over you, but in essence it is a beautiful theory. It’s a shame that most people are too primitive to understand it.
It almost seems unfair to the first two poems in this section to be paired up with the final poem, The Blue Meridian, since it overshadows them so much. I really loved Toomer’s message here, which echoed back to the other reading we had by him. That message is one of transcendence – going beyond race, color, creed, and beliefs to a state of humanistic harmony.
Toomer’s beliefs on racial inequity parallel my own beliefs on religious differences that the world is so caught up in today (although it’s not really all that new). The underlying bigotry is the same: “we hate you because you’re different than us”, and what Toomer says about transcendence is much the same as what I’ve said about religious hostilities, albeit using slightly stronger language.
I read the little biographical information before getting into the poems in this section, and for once it actually helped without ruining the ending of the story/whatever. And, as the biography notes, I am somewhat surprised that this text falls into the “Harlem Renaissance Reader”, since it doesn’t particularly line up with most Harlem Renaissance mantra. Rather than advocating removal of African Americans to Africa, like Marcus Garvey, or racial equality through intelligent discourse, like Du Bois, Toomer goes beyond recognizing race and rather says that “we are all just people”. And, further, rather than advocating a push towards transcendence of race, Toomer merely notes that we are waiting for it: “We are waiting for a new people, for the joining of men to men and man to God.” I don’t know how far to go with radical passivism like this before you’re just being silly and asking for people to walk all over you, but in essence it is a beautiful theory. It’s a shame that most people are too primitive to understand it.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
The Closing Door
Grimke, Angelina W. "The Closing Door." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 486-500. Print.
Wow, this one really hit a chord with me. Good writing plus a powerful, human message; why can’t more of our readings hit on themes of humanity like this? The universal message in this story is probably what makes me like it so much; rather than rambling on about right and wrong, white and black, this story does not once bother to thrust its characters into the oh-so-common montage of political racial discourse. Instead, it tells the story of a family or group of people (I’m not sure if Lucy is related to Agnes) with no real racial motivations one way or another. It’s kind of a breath of fresh air after all of the extremely politically motivated pieces we’ve read.
Until reading this story, I hadn’t realized the extreme differences between the North and the South in terms of the societal acceptance of blacks. Although they point out that lynchings did occur in the North, the overall tone is that the North is a much safer place than the South. I almost got the feeling that the South was an entirely different country by the way that the characters discuss what happened to Joe. It brings back something said in one of the other readings about how blacks tended to live in the South due to the large black population there despite having better opportunities in the North; with this kind of horrible thing as possibility, why would anyone remain in the South? I’m interested in knowing what factors led black people to remain in the South instead of escaping to the relatively easier life of the North.
Wow, this one really hit a chord with me. Good writing plus a powerful, human message; why can’t more of our readings hit on themes of humanity like this? The universal message in this story is probably what makes me like it so much; rather than rambling on about right and wrong, white and black, this story does not once bother to thrust its characters into the oh-so-common montage of political racial discourse. Instead, it tells the story of a family or group of people (I’m not sure if Lucy is related to Agnes) with no real racial motivations one way or another. It’s kind of a breath of fresh air after all of the extremely politically motivated pieces we’ve read.
Until reading this story, I hadn’t realized the extreme differences between the North and the South in terms of the societal acceptance of blacks. Although they point out that lynchings did occur in the North, the overall tone is that the North is a much safer place than the South. I almost got the feeling that the South was an entirely different country by the way that the characters discuss what happened to Joe. It brings back something said in one of the other readings about how blacks tended to live in the South due to the large black population there despite having better opportunities in the North; with this kind of horrible thing as possibility, why would anyone remain in the South? I’m interested in knowing what factors led black people to remain in the South instead of escaping to the relatively easier life of the North.
Jazz at Home
Rogers, Joel A. "Jazz at Home." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 52-57. Print.
I’m not really sure what to say about this essay, since it isn’t exactly trying to prove anything that anyone is about to argue with. Basically, it spends its couple of pages on what could be said in a sentence: “Jazz is a good outlet for people and isn’t going away.” I don’t know why the author goes on and on trying to prove this point when I doubt anyone would disagree. The feeling, overall, is one of a young person writing about how much they love a certain band, and how sure they are that their band is the best. It’s not interesting to read on any level.
The one sentence, however, that gave me a reason to pause was the final, closing one. I think that the author wrote it without thinking about what he was saying, because it has that kind of finality of a concluding sentence that lacks real extra meaning; strangely, it brings up a point that isn’t mentioned in the rest of the essay and might have proven a better (or at least a more interesting) thesis than the actual topic. That is, he believes that jazz should be diverted to more noble uses. Now what, exactly, he means by this I have no inkling. Perhaps he had some distant thought about using jazz for a social medicine, reducing the pent up energy and frustration so many people face in a kind of pre-hippie movement.
That doesn’t really matter, since there are no answers here (in this essay). What does matter is the fact that he said it. Does he not believe that the use of jazz as an outlet for African Americans is a noble use? He’s already droned on about how African Americans created jazz and perform it better than any other race, but then he turns around and basically implies that all of that doesn’t matter against what could be done with jazz. I’d like to know what, exactly, he thinks is a noble use of jazz beyond the societal calming therapy it gives African Americans.
I’d also like to point out that I disagree with his stance on how black people “know” jazz more than white people. That sounds about as thought-worthy as saying that all Jewish people lack rhythm, all Mexicans are sleepy, or all Arabs are terrorists. It’s a bland, boring generalization that doesn’t mean anything, and trying to prove it (without any proof, I might add) in such an essay devalues whatever else the author might have said.
I’m not really sure what to say about this essay, since it isn’t exactly trying to prove anything that anyone is about to argue with. Basically, it spends its couple of pages on what could be said in a sentence: “Jazz is a good outlet for people and isn’t going away.” I don’t know why the author goes on and on trying to prove this point when I doubt anyone would disagree. The feeling, overall, is one of a young person writing about how much they love a certain band, and how sure they are that their band is the best. It’s not interesting to read on any level.
The one sentence, however, that gave me a reason to pause was the final, closing one. I think that the author wrote it without thinking about what he was saying, because it has that kind of finality of a concluding sentence that lacks real extra meaning; strangely, it brings up a point that isn’t mentioned in the rest of the essay and might have proven a better (or at least a more interesting) thesis than the actual topic. That is, he believes that jazz should be diverted to more noble uses. Now what, exactly, he means by this I have no inkling. Perhaps he had some distant thought about using jazz for a social medicine, reducing the pent up energy and frustration so many people face in a kind of pre-hippie movement.
That doesn’t really matter, since there are no answers here (in this essay). What does matter is the fact that he said it. Does he not believe that the use of jazz as an outlet for African Americans is a noble use? He’s already droned on about how African Americans created jazz and perform it better than any other race, but then he turns around and basically implies that all of that doesn’t matter against what could be done with jazz. I’d like to know what, exactly, he thinks is a noble use of jazz beyond the societal calming therapy it gives African Americans.
I’d also like to point out that I disagree with his stance on how black people “know” jazz more than white people. That sounds about as thought-worthy as saying that all Jewish people lack rhythm, all Mexicans are sleepy, or all Arabs are terrorists. It’s a bland, boring generalization that doesn’t mean anything, and trying to prove it (without any proof, I might add) in such an essay devalues whatever else the author might have said.
The Fire in the Flint
White, Walter. "The Fire in the Flint." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 351-62. Print.
The treatment of the main character in this story is frustrating to read about. It seems that no one, not even his fellow black men, think he is capable of being a good doctor. Even after being proven correct in his diagnoses and saving a woman’s life, other doctors do not recognize him as an equal. It’s sad to think that this was really, at one time, the way of society.
I’m not sure what to think about Kenneth’s philosophy on racial equality. On one hand, he is absolutely correct to live his life as if racism wasn’t an issue and make the best of it. Those who wallow in self-pity get no brownie points from me, anyway. On the other hand, though, he doesn’t seem to have any inclination to make the racial situation better, for himself or anyone else. It’s a tough situation, and there isn’t really a good answer. I think that, were I in the same situation, I would behave in a way similar to Kenneth. That is, transcend racial limitations as much as possible, especially in your own mind. To fall back on the race-crutch whenever something doesn’t work out for you, like the main character in Quicksand does, is weak and asking for others to treat you as such.
The treatment of the main character in this story is frustrating to read about. It seems that no one, not even his fellow black men, think he is capable of being a good doctor. Even after being proven correct in his diagnoses and saving a woman’s life, other doctors do not recognize him as an equal. It’s sad to think that this was really, at one time, the way of society.
I’m not sure what to think about Kenneth’s philosophy on racial equality. On one hand, he is absolutely correct to live his life as if racism wasn’t an issue and make the best of it. Those who wallow in self-pity get no brownie points from me, anyway. On the other hand, though, he doesn’t seem to have any inclination to make the racial situation better, for himself or anyone else. It’s a tough situation, and there isn’t really a good answer. I think that, were I in the same situation, I would behave in a way similar to Kenneth. That is, transcend racial limitations as much as possible, especially in your own mind. To fall back on the race-crutch whenever something doesn’t work out for you, like the main character in Quicksand does, is weak and asking for others to treat you as such.
There is Confusion
Fauset, Jessie R. "There Is Confusion." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 340-48. Print.
This reading has one of my favorite lines in this compilation so far, not to mention one of the most reasonable and level-headed notions. It’s towards the beginning, when the dying Phillip says: “We must learn to look out for life first, then color and limitations. … I shouldn’t have allowed [my race] to make me forget love.” What’s pretty amazing about this story is that the main character, Peter, actually decides to live by these words and transcend racism. And, really, I believe that many black men are just as racist as their white counterparts. Hate because of race, regardless of who started it, is racism, pure and simple. The black man who hates whites because they are white is just as guilty as the white man who hates blacks. That’s why I like this quote so much; it forgoes the sense of “we must fight everyone and everything!” that all of our other readings have given off and gets to a deeper root of life – to be happy. Fighting for your life at all turns is not the kind of life anyone needs or wants to live, even if it means ignoring your dignity and moving on. As a young person, I’m more than familiar with the need to assert yourself when someone questions you… but really, sometimes you need to get over it and move on. That’s the message Phillip is trying to get at here.
This reading has one of my favorite lines in this compilation so far, not to mention one of the most reasonable and level-headed notions. It’s towards the beginning, when the dying Phillip says: “We must learn to look out for life first, then color and limitations. … I shouldn’t have allowed [my race] to make me forget love.” What’s pretty amazing about this story is that the main character, Peter, actually decides to live by these words and transcend racism. And, really, I believe that many black men are just as racist as their white counterparts. Hate because of race, regardless of who started it, is racism, pure and simple. The black man who hates whites because they are white is just as guilty as the white man who hates blacks. That’s why I like this quote so much; it forgoes the sense of “we must fight everyone and everything!” that all of our other readings have given off and gets to a deeper root of life – to be happy. Fighting for your life at all turns is not the kind of life anyone needs or wants to live, even if it means ignoring your dignity and moving on. As a young person, I’m more than familiar with the need to assert yourself when someone questions you… but really, sometimes you need to get over it and move on. That’s the message Phillip is trying to get at here.
The Migration of the Talented Tenth
Woodson, Carter G. "The Migration of the Talented Tenth." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 371-88. Print.
My last few posts have focused mostly on how educated blacks have been ostracized by common black workers, but this article brings up how white men relate to educated blacks. I honestly feel bad for the educated black people during this time period; no one was willing to see them as their equals. It’s pretty obvious that this played a large part in the poor conditions of black men and women all across America, not just in the South. If the working-class black men and women had recognized educated black men as their equals in race and want, racial equality would have been a more palpable objective. However, it seems like the most any population of black people could do –in the South as well as the North – was to keep their heads down and survive. It’s depressing that the idea of “whiteness” as some kind of infectious disease was so prominent in the minds of blacks during this time; if people had opened their eyes to the hardship of their fellow black men and women, educated or not, and worked together to better the condition of the race, a lot more progress would have been made. As it was, however, blacks were pitted against other blacks simply because one was more “white” than another. How depressing.
My last few posts have focused mostly on how educated blacks have been ostracized by common black workers, but this article brings up how white men relate to educated blacks. I honestly feel bad for the educated black people during this time period; no one was willing to see them as their equals. It’s pretty obvious that this played a large part in the poor conditions of black men and women all across America, not just in the South. If the working-class black men and women had recognized educated black men as their equals in race and want, racial equality would have been a more palpable objective. However, it seems like the most any population of black people could do –in the South as well as the North – was to keep their heads down and survive. It’s depressing that the idea of “whiteness” as some kind of infectious disease was so prominent in the minds of blacks during this time; if people had opened their eyes to the hardship of their fellow black men and women, educated or not, and worked together to better the condition of the race, a lot more progress would have been made. As it was, however, blacks were pitted against other blacks simply because one was more “white” than another. How depressing.
"Home to Harlem"
McKay, Claude. "Home to Harlem." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 371-88. Print.
I was impressed with this excerpt, particularly the section titled “Snowstorm in Pittsburgh”. A few things caught my attention. The first was the black renditions of famous paintings. I understand that McKay was attempting to say something about racial equality, but I actually found the descriptions to be more of a separatist nature than anything. And I’m not saying it is right or wrong, but merely that the idea of re-creating famous works of art but substituting white characters with black seems like a desperate vow of separatist thought. It’s almost as if the black people of Harlem are trying to recreate history to include themselves in a more prominent light, rather than embrace their own ancestry. Or, maybe, trying to include themselves in a history that isn’t theirs. The problem I see with this isn’t the want of inclusion, but rather the ignorance involved in editing famous paintings to suit a message. African art and history is great in its own right, but the people of Harlem didn’t want to be African; they wanted to be white without being white. It’s a kind of catch-22: can I be white while hating white culture? Obviously not. The solution, apparently, is to edit history to include themselves as if they were white. I’m not saying that anyone actually believed that the edited paintings were authentic, but rather I see it as a gesture. It’s like saying “we aren’t interesting or good enough to have our own culture and history, so we’re going to borrow it from the dominant race”.
The other interesting thing that bothered me, and which lies in contrast to the edited paintings, was the hostility towards more educated blacks. Several instances in the excerpt we read showed how educated blacks were treated poorly, such as the man that was beaten up for being “smart”. I don’t understand this mentality; on one hand you have the black population longing to be white without being white, but then you have them defacing anyone who becomes too white. The middle ground doesn’t seem to be very clear; how white can you be before you become a pariah? And, for that matter, why even bother trying to be white? The answer is ambiguous, at least in this text. The most I can gather is that the people of Harlem wanted to be respected in their own right, as their own culture, but once discovering that the white population of America wouldn’t have it decided that the only other option would be to become “white”-ish. It’s confusing to me; I can’t place myself in those shoes very easily. Hopefully some of our other texts will hit on a few answers.
I was impressed with this excerpt, particularly the section titled “Snowstorm in Pittsburgh”. A few things caught my attention. The first was the black renditions of famous paintings. I understand that McKay was attempting to say something about racial equality, but I actually found the descriptions to be more of a separatist nature than anything. And I’m not saying it is right or wrong, but merely that the idea of re-creating famous works of art but substituting white characters with black seems like a desperate vow of separatist thought. It’s almost as if the black people of Harlem are trying to recreate history to include themselves in a more prominent light, rather than embrace their own ancestry. Or, maybe, trying to include themselves in a history that isn’t theirs. The problem I see with this isn’t the want of inclusion, but rather the ignorance involved in editing famous paintings to suit a message. African art and history is great in its own right, but the people of Harlem didn’t want to be African; they wanted to be white without being white. It’s a kind of catch-22: can I be white while hating white culture? Obviously not. The solution, apparently, is to edit history to include themselves as if they were white. I’m not saying that anyone actually believed that the edited paintings were authentic, but rather I see it as a gesture. It’s like saying “we aren’t interesting or good enough to have our own culture and history, so we’re going to borrow it from the dominant race”.
The other interesting thing that bothered me, and which lies in contrast to the edited paintings, was the hostility towards more educated blacks. Several instances in the excerpt we read showed how educated blacks were treated poorly, such as the man that was beaten up for being “smart”. I don’t understand this mentality; on one hand you have the black population longing to be white without being white, but then you have them defacing anyone who becomes too white. The middle ground doesn’t seem to be very clear; how white can you be before you become a pariah? And, for that matter, why even bother trying to be white? The answer is ambiguous, at least in this text. The most I can gather is that the people of Harlem wanted to be respected in their own right, as their own culture, but once discovering that the white population of America wouldn’t have it decided that the only other option would be to become “white”-ish. It’s confusing to me; I can’t place myself in those shoes very easily. Hopefully some of our other texts will hit on a few answers.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Passing
Larsen, Nella. "Passing." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 460-85. Print.
After reading this piece of Passing and having read most of Quicksand, I gather that Nella Larsen is a very unhappy and angst-filled person. Not to mention she hates pretty much everything and everyone. The two books are so similar I’m not sure I understand the point of her writing both of them, rather than just writing one but switching viewpoints. Passing tells the story from the point of view of a black woman who hates her half-black friend that poses (passes) as white. Quicksand tells the story from the half-black woman’s point of view and how everything and everyone is unfair (although most of her troubles are due to her own selfishness and stupidity). From this section of Passing, I think I enjoyed it slightly more than Quicksand. Although the perspective is from Irene, and Irene is annoying and cares way too much about everyone else’s business, there is still more of a racial point being made than in Quicksand, where Helga screws up her life because she’s bored and then blames it on being half black.
Irene is so incredibly unlikeable because she is determined to thwart her friend’s double life by exposing her as half-black to her white racist husband. Her reasoning at first is something that Larsen can’t articulate very well (but spends quite a few boring, repetitive pages stumbling around trying). The reason she can’t articulate her reasoning behind her hatred of Clare is because she doesn’t want to admit that she can’t just mind her own business. It upsets her that Clare lives a double life – white with her husband but black when her husband is away. Although it in no way affects Irene’s life, she decides that she hates Clare. About halfway through the section, she comes up with this theory that Clare is having an affair with her (Irene’s) husband Brian. As far as I can tell, though, she has no reason for thinking so other than it is a convenient reason to hate the other woman.
The racial point I was speaking of is that Irene wouldn’t have been alone in Harlem as a black person despising other black people or half-black people that want to live “white” lives. Because they’re too proud to live and let live (or they’re bored and want something to hate and complain about), they find it necessary to rally around each other and make life for those trying to live differently Hell. It’s such a ridiculous hypocrisy, which is why I’m being so sarcastic and am so irritated with this reading. The black people of Harlem want to live in their own black society without interference from white culture, and that is fine. They can do what they want. The hypocrisy is that they can’t just shut up and let other blacks live “white” lives when they want to. It’s the same with most Republicans of today: they find it to be their responsibility to stick their nose up other peoples’ business. My guess is it’s because their own lives are pathetic and unfulfilling, and instead of making it better for themselves they have to make it miserable for others similar to them. It’s childish, and certainly doesn’t do anything in the way of racial or social equality.
After reading this piece of Passing and having read most of Quicksand, I gather that Nella Larsen is a very unhappy and angst-filled person. Not to mention she hates pretty much everything and everyone. The two books are so similar I’m not sure I understand the point of her writing both of them, rather than just writing one but switching viewpoints. Passing tells the story from the point of view of a black woman who hates her half-black friend that poses (passes) as white. Quicksand tells the story from the half-black woman’s point of view and how everything and everyone is unfair (although most of her troubles are due to her own selfishness and stupidity). From this section of Passing, I think I enjoyed it slightly more than Quicksand. Although the perspective is from Irene, and Irene is annoying and cares way too much about everyone else’s business, there is still more of a racial point being made than in Quicksand, where Helga screws up her life because she’s bored and then blames it on being half black.
Irene is so incredibly unlikeable because she is determined to thwart her friend’s double life by exposing her as half-black to her white racist husband. Her reasoning at first is something that Larsen can’t articulate very well (but spends quite a few boring, repetitive pages stumbling around trying). The reason she can’t articulate her reasoning behind her hatred of Clare is because she doesn’t want to admit that she can’t just mind her own business. It upsets her that Clare lives a double life – white with her husband but black when her husband is away. Although it in no way affects Irene’s life, she decides that she hates Clare. About halfway through the section, she comes up with this theory that Clare is having an affair with her (Irene’s) husband Brian. As far as I can tell, though, she has no reason for thinking so other than it is a convenient reason to hate the other woman.
The racial point I was speaking of is that Irene wouldn’t have been alone in Harlem as a black person despising other black people or half-black people that want to live “white” lives. Because they’re too proud to live and let live (or they’re bored and want something to hate and complain about), they find it necessary to rally around each other and make life for those trying to live differently Hell. It’s such a ridiculous hypocrisy, which is why I’m being so sarcastic and am so irritated with this reading. The black people of Harlem want to live in their own black society without interference from white culture, and that is fine. They can do what they want. The hypocrisy is that they can’t just shut up and let other blacks live “white” lives when they want to. It’s the same with most Republicans of today: they find it to be their responsibility to stick their nose up other peoples’ business. My guess is it’s because their own lives are pathetic and unfulfilling, and instead of making it better for themselves they have to make it miserable for others similar to them. It’s childish, and certainly doesn’t do anything in the way of racial or social equality.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Reflections on O'Neill's Plays
Robeson, Paul. "Reflections on O'Neill's Plays." Ed. David L. Lewis. The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 58-60. Print.
I must say, I wish I had read this little segment before reading the excerpts from the play itself. Robeson puts O’Neill into perspective, as well as explains parts of the play that came off in an entirely different way when I originally read them. Firstly, it is good to hear that O’Neill wasn’t a racist, but rather a liberal man who befriended blacks for who they were. The second thing I was wrong about is the meaning behind the primitive, “unintellectual” portrayal of Jones during the final scenes of the play. What I took to be a caricature of an uneducated black man was actually the final stages of a mind defeating itself. I’m not sure what that says about me, and it seems worth investigating. That I immediately assumed the man to be a caricature may, in part, be due to the fact that his portrayal paralleled that of an uneducated black person (complete with the “slave” dialect and beliefs), at least to my reasoning. Perhaps O’Neill did this on purpose in an attempt to show what was, at the time, an obvious illustration of “primitiveness” in an attempt to make people open their eyes to racist stereotypes. However, I’m not so sure this is the case.
And what if the play had centered on a white man with a similar dilemma (i.e. his conscience destroying his mind)? Would the depiction have been that of a stereotypical uneducated white man? What would that have been to O’Neill – a redneck? I really don’t know, and I kind of wish O’Neill had provided some answers. Perhaps, if he was smart enough, O’Neill turned Jones into a stereotype at the end of his play to elicit the same questions I have now. If that is the case, then my hat goes off to him. It certainly gives reason for the controversy surrounding its performance (as noted by Robeson). Another possibility is one far removed from the racial meanderings; perhaps the point was that all men are, once defeated, primitive and afraid. A sort of transcendence of racial profiling, if you will, meaning that the character of Jones was black only by chance. Given the hype surrounding the play and the fact that it appears in a compilation of literature taken from the Harlem Renaissance, my gut instinct tells me I’m thinking too hard about this. It is still an interesting line of thought, however, and one I may read the play to gain answers to.
I must say, I wish I had read this little segment before reading the excerpts from the play itself. Robeson puts O’Neill into perspective, as well as explains parts of the play that came off in an entirely different way when I originally read them. Firstly, it is good to hear that O’Neill wasn’t a racist, but rather a liberal man who befriended blacks for who they were. The second thing I was wrong about is the meaning behind the primitive, “unintellectual” portrayal of Jones during the final scenes of the play. What I took to be a caricature of an uneducated black man was actually the final stages of a mind defeating itself. I’m not sure what that says about me, and it seems worth investigating. That I immediately assumed the man to be a caricature may, in part, be due to the fact that his portrayal paralleled that of an uneducated black person (complete with the “slave” dialect and beliefs), at least to my reasoning. Perhaps O’Neill did this on purpose in an attempt to show what was, at the time, an obvious illustration of “primitiveness” in an attempt to make people open their eyes to racist stereotypes. However, I’m not so sure this is the case.
And what if the play had centered on a white man with a similar dilemma (i.e. his conscience destroying his mind)? Would the depiction have been that of a stereotypical uneducated white man? What would that have been to O’Neill – a redneck? I really don’t know, and I kind of wish O’Neill had provided some answers. Perhaps, if he was smart enough, O’Neill turned Jones into a stereotype at the end of his play to elicit the same questions I have now. If that is the case, then my hat goes off to him. It certainly gives reason for the controversy surrounding its performance (as noted by Robeson). Another possibility is one far removed from the racial meanderings; perhaps the point was that all men are, once defeated, primitive and afraid. A sort of transcendence of racial profiling, if you will, meaning that the character of Jones was black only by chance. Given the hype surrounding the play and the fact that it appears in a compilation of literature taken from the Harlem Renaissance, my gut instinct tells me I’m thinking too hard about this. It is still an interesting line of thought, however, and one I may read the play to gain answers to.
Cane
Toomer, Jean. "Cane." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. Ed. David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 318-32. Print.
First, I want to say that I found the stream-of-thought writing style very difficult to follow, so I’m sure I missed a lot.
The ending of the little narrative spoke to me the most clearly in terms of symbolism. Obviously, Toomer is trying to say that, black or white, any feelings you have for members of the other race are founded on absolutely nothing. The different races, at the time, didn’t bother to get to know each other, and therefore the contempt felt (in this case, anyway) by the black man for the white woman was unfounded. The message at the very end, where Paul attempts to explain to another black man that, although he and his white date are different, they are still human (“white faces are petals of roses … dark faces are petals of dusk”, meaning that everyone is a “petal”, just of a different sort) is kind of beautiful in a sad way. After Paul spends the night trying to come to terms with the differences between black and white, he finds his answer but, in the time needed to explain this to another man, he loses his date. Symbolically, Toomer is trying to warn people that we need to accept each other for the humans we are, accept our differences and love anyway before it’s too late and one of us walks away.
Like I said, I’m not sure if I interpreted this correctly because the narration style is so confusion, but it seems to make sense.
First, I want to say that I found the stream-of-thought writing style very difficult to follow, so I’m sure I missed a lot.
The ending of the little narrative spoke to me the most clearly in terms of symbolism. Obviously, Toomer is trying to say that, black or white, any feelings you have for members of the other race are founded on absolutely nothing. The different races, at the time, didn’t bother to get to know each other, and therefore the contempt felt (in this case, anyway) by the black man for the white woman was unfounded. The message at the very end, where Paul attempts to explain to another black man that, although he and his white date are different, they are still human (“white faces are petals of roses … dark faces are petals of dusk”, meaning that everyone is a “petal”, just of a different sort) is kind of beautiful in a sad way. After Paul spends the night trying to come to terms with the differences between black and white, he finds his answer but, in the time needed to explain this to another man, he loses his date. Symbolically, Toomer is trying to warn people that we need to accept each other for the humans we are, accept our differences and love anyway before it’s too late and one of us walks away.
Like I said, I’m not sure if I interpreted this correctly because the narration style is so confusion, but it seems to make sense.
Birthright
Stribling, T. S. "Birthright." The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader. By David L. Lewis. New York: Viking Penguin, 1994. 333-38. Print.
This excerpt really surprised me, particularly when I read the opening information about how popular it became. That isn’t to say it isn’t worthy - it was well written and interesting. I just have a hard time believing that white people cared for it or that black people agreed with it. It’s too sympathetic to blacks to appeal to most whites, and it’s too focused on how “black” black people are in the face of a “white” black man. The only point I can guess at would be that white people would read it because the main character acts “white”.
The concept of a black man turned “white” through education and then returning to his childhood home is interesting, particularly because the reader gets to view how the narrator’s concept of being black changes as he goes from the white, educated north to the uneducated south, not far removed from slavery. The way the excerpt reads, it almost feels as if the black narrator is a bit disgusted by his fellow black men in the “Jim Crowe” car of the train. He points out how loud they are, how they smell differently, and how the car seems to be a bit unkempt. When his (drunken) childhood friend begins talking to him, you get the feeling that the narrator is uneasy with the other man’s overly-friendly and loud attitude.
I was also surprised at the passivity the narrator had towards being removed from the white potion of the train to the Jim Crowe car. Being an educated and (apparently) successful man, it seems to me that he should have done more than just get up and move. I believe this is saying something towards how he feels about the nature of racism, particularly because the train is bound for the southern states. He seems to feel that it isn’t worth fighting for; that it’s better or easier to just nod your head and do what you’re told, even after you’ve been educated alongside white men for four years. I’m not sure who to relate this attitude to: certainly not Garvey or Washington, but equally unlikely is Du Bois (who I first thought of when I began reading the excerpt). Although Du Bois might have done the same passive action, he would have had something to say in his narrative about the injustice of being removed from the white cars. In any case, I doubt Du Bois or any of the other black rights leaders we’ve discussed would have agreed with the narrator’s actions and attitudes, and once again I’m surprised at the success of this novel.
This excerpt really surprised me, particularly when I read the opening information about how popular it became. That isn’t to say it isn’t worthy - it was well written and interesting. I just have a hard time believing that white people cared for it or that black people agreed with it. It’s too sympathetic to blacks to appeal to most whites, and it’s too focused on how “black” black people are in the face of a “white” black man. The only point I can guess at would be that white people would read it because the main character acts “white”.
The concept of a black man turned “white” through education and then returning to his childhood home is interesting, particularly because the reader gets to view how the narrator’s concept of being black changes as he goes from the white, educated north to the uneducated south, not far removed from slavery. The way the excerpt reads, it almost feels as if the black narrator is a bit disgusted by his fellow black men in the “Jim Crowe” car of the train. He points out how loud they are, how they smell differently, and how the car seems to be a bit unkempt. When his (drunken) childhood friend begins talking to him, you get the feeling that the narrator is uneasy with the other man’s overly-friendly and loud attitude.
I was also surprised at the passivity the narrator had towards being removed from the white potion of the train to the Jim Crowe car. Being an educated and (apparently) successful man, it seems to me that he should have done more than just get up and move. I believe this is saying something towards how he feels about the nature of racism, particularly because the train is bound for the southern states. He seems to feel that it isn’t worth fighting for; that it’s better or easier to just nod your head and do what you’re told, even after you’ve been educated alongside white men for four years. I’m not sure who to relate this attitude to: certainly not Garvey or Washington, but equally unlikely is Du Bois (who I first thought of when I began reading the excerpt). Although Du Bois might have done the same passive action, he would have had something to say in his narrative about the injustice of being removed from the white cars. In any case, I doubt Du Bois or any of the other black rights leaders we’ve discussed would have agreed with the narrator’s actions and attitudes, and once again I’m surprised at the success of this novel.
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