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.
Monday, December 7, 2009
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.
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