***Poet’s Corner- Langston Hughes 

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

February is Black History Month

 

The Negro Speaks of Rivers

… she, sable born she, daughter of the Nubian night she, daughter of the long flow Nile in ancient times she, daughter of ancient Mother Africa she, Hattie, Aunt Betty, Sarah, Lettie, she, now of the Yazoo in the dark Mississippi night she, sat washing sheets (and other dirtied wear too but sheets first), riverbank washing sheets, like one thousand generation washing womenfolk forbear she, and wistfully dreaming freedom dreams, dreams away from tortured rivers, and away from white sheet sprawls. Dreaming, back to Africa dreaming heard around sullen camp fires and in broken down cabins, dreaming fourth, or was it fifth generation dreaming of breaking out of Yazoo mucks, of endless dawn to dusk toils, and of unspoken, unspeakable Mister riverbank wants.

But mostly she dreamed of Toby, of freedom river Toby, her oldest, now fled, now river fled north, north by the guiding light, north from what the tom toms called, what that other Mister, the train conductor Mister called, the underground river, the river up from Yazoo mucks, up from Mississippi Delta stilts, up to Cairo town waters,yah, up that freedom river like some ancient Nile freedom from pharaoh lashes, from hot suns, from dusty, white, white until you hated the sight of white, bottom land cotton and then move.

And now, just now while daydream wondering where in this wicked old Mister world her beloved Toby was, her thoughts turned to Bob, her thirteen year old come summer Bob standing not a hundred yards from her putting those damn sheets to dry, singing softy about old pharaoh times, about Red Sea parting times, about, and this caused her panic, following the drinking gourd, following she knew the guiding light north, away from Yazoo mucks, and Mississippi silts. She knew, knew deep in her bones that some night, and it would not be long, her Bob too would be other Mister- headed Cairo town bound and that she would have two wonders, two wonders to think ofevery time she came, one thousand womenfolk generation washing, washing Mister’s sheets in Yazoo mucks.

Little did she know, Miss Hattie , Aunt Betty, Miss Sarah, Miss Lettie know, that not far from Yazoo rivers, one Toby X (let’s not call him some Mister name, some misname, but know he was the son of that sweet Yazoo River washings, and so know a man had been born, was part of the crew on a pilot boat attached to old Mister Sherman’s bummers and was raising hell with Mister’s kindred and that before long, all blue-capped and yellow-striped, he would be heading toward Yazoo rivers too.

Negro Speaks Of Rivers

I've known rivers:

I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the

flow of human blood in human veins

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.


I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young

I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.

I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.

I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln

went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy

bosom turn all golden in the sunset

I've known rivers:

Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

Langston Hughes