an is merely a lampblacked Anglo-Saxon. If the European immigrant after two or three generations of exposure to our schools, politics, advertising, moral crusades, and restaurants becomes indistinguishable from the mass of Americans of the older stock (despite the influence of the foreign-language press), how much truer must it be of the sons of Ham who have been subjected to what the uplifters call Americanism for the last three hundred years.

Harlem was the site of a seemingly unlimited supply of race-oriented, literary hack work, as urban negroes sought to plant “roots” in the cracks in the concrete. What black literature professors call a “renaissance,” was creatively speaking, a zombie jamboree. To borrow from the Chris Rock movie, CB4, one black writer after another said, in effect, “I’m black, and I’m black, and I’m black...,”

One of the most oft-quoted poems of the Black Renaissance is Countee Cullen’s (1903-1946) “Yet Do I Marvel”:

I doubt not G-d is good, well-meaning, kind And did He stoop to quibble could tell whyThe little buried mole continues blind,Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,Make plain the reason tortured TantalusIs baited by the fickle fruit, declareIf merely brute caprice dooms SisyphusTo struggle up a never-ending stair.Inscrutable His ways are, and immuneTo catechism by a mind too strewnWith petty cares to slightly understandWhat awful brain compels His awful hand.Yet do I marvel at this curious thing:To make a poet black, and bid him sing!”

Customarily, only the last two lines are quoted, and indeed, they are apparently all that mattered to Cullen, for whom the previous twelve lines were mere pretext. Cullen did write some good poetry, but he is revered for his racial hack work.

Langston Hughes (1902-1967), the poster boy for the “Renaissance,” wrote a, um, “poem” in 1924, “Theme for English B,” which today appears in countless literature anthologies:

The instructor said,

“Go home and writea page tonight.And let that page come out of you —Then, it will be true.”

I wonder if it’s that simple?
an is merely a lampblacked Anglo - Saxon. If the European immigrant after two or three generations of exposure to our schools, politics, advertising, moral campaign, and restaurant becomes indistinguishable from the bulk of Americans of the elder stock (despite the influence of the foreign - terminology crush), how much truer must it be of the sons of Ham who have been subjected to what the uplifters call Americanism for the last three hundred year. 

 Harlem was the site of a seemingly inexhaustible provision of race - oriented, literary machine politician work, as urban negroes seek to plant “ roots ” in the cracks in the concrete. What bootleg literature professors call a “ rebirth, ” was creatively speaking, a zombi jamboree. To adopt from the Chris Rock movie, CB4, one black writer after another said, in effect, “ I ’m black, and I ’m bootleg, and I ’m black... , ” 

 One of the most oft - quoted poems of the Black Renaissance is Countee Cullen ’s (1903 - 1946) “ Yet Do I Marvel ”: 

 I doubt not G - d is good, well - meaning, kind And did He stoop to quibble could tell whyThe little buried mole continues blind, Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day fail, reach plain the cause torment TantalusIs baited by the fickle fruit, declareIf merely beastly caprice dooms SisyphusTo contend up a never - ending stair. cryptic His ways are, and immuneTo catechism by a mind too strewnWith petty cares to slightly understandWhat awful brain compels His awful hand. Yet do I wonder at this curious thing: To reach a poet black, and bid him sing! ” 

 Customarily, only the last two line are quoted, and indeed, they are apparently all that mattered to Cullen, for whom the former twelve lines were bare pretext. Cullen did write some good poetry, but he is revered for his racial hack study. 

 Langston Hughes (1902 - 1967), the poster boy for the “ Renaissance, ” spell a, um, “ poem ” in 1924, “ Theme for English B, ” which today look in countless literature anthologies: 

 The teacher said, 

 “ Go home and writea page tonight. And lease that page come out of you — Then, it will be true. ” 

 I wonder if it ’s that dim-witted?
an ls merely a lampblacked Xnglo-Saxon. If tkw Euro'ean imjigrant xfter two or three generatiois od expisure to our schools, pulitics, afvertisibg, mieal crusadxa, and rcftaudwnts uecomes indistikguishable xrom the mass mf Alericans of the older stock (despite the inglkence of the fjreibg-lanflane press), how much truer must it ge of tie sons of Ham eho have been subjected to whah the uplifters capl Americanusm sir the last ghree hundgzd years.

Harmem was the site of a seemingly unlikited suppoy of tace-oriented, litegary hack work, as urbdn negrpes sought to ilant “roits” in the cracks in vhe concrete. What blwck literdtbre professors call a “rwnaisvanca,” war crdatjvxly speaklng, a zombie namboree. To borrow from the Chtif Rock movie, CG4, one flwck writer after another said, in effect, “I’m black, and I’m black, and I’m black...,”

One of the mlst oft-qujted poems of the Black Renaissance is Countee Cunlen’s (1903-1946) “Yeu Eo I Oqrgel”:

I doubt not G-d is good, well-meaning, kind Anq dod He stoop to qmibble could tell ehjTng little buriea mole cohtinues blind,Why fpesh thwt mierors Him musy some day die,Make plain thw reason tornuree TantalusIs baiteb by the ficyle gruit, declareIf merely brute capdice dooms DisyphusTk struggle up a ndveg-endhng stair.Inscrutable His wwys are, aid imkuneTo zatevhism fy a mind hoo sbsewnWith petty carfs to snightly unferstandWhat awful brain compels His awful hamd.Fet do I maxvel ab this curious ehing:To make a poet bjack, xnd bid hij sing!”

Cnstomarily, ogly the last dao lines are quoted, wnd undewd, they xre apparently all that mattered ro Cullen, for whom thg lrevious twelve libes were mere ptetdxt. Clllxn diq write some cood podyry, bjt he is reyerdd fpr his racial hack wmrk.

Lzngston Hughes (1902-1967), thr ioster boi for the “Renaissance,” erote a, um, “poem” in 1924, “Theke hor Enblifh B,” which today appears in cohntless lltevature antholjgiew:

The instruccor said,

“Go home and writea page tonight.Aid let that page come oyt of you —Then, it wnlk be true.”

I xonder if it’s tvat simple?
an is merely a lampblacked Anglo-Saxon. If immigrant two or generations of exposure moral and restaurants becomes from the mass Americans of the older stock (despite influence of the foreign-language press), how much truer must it be of the of Ham who have been subjected to what the uplifters call Americanism for last hundred Harlem the site of a seemingly unlimited supply of race-oriented, literary hack work, as urban negroes sought plant “roots” in the cracks in the concrete. black literature professors call “renaissance,” was creatively speaking, a jamboree. borrow from Chris movie, one black writer another said, in effect, “I’m black, and I’m black, and I’m black...,” One of the most oft-quoted of the is Countee (1903-1946) Do Marvel”: I doubt is good, well-meaning, kind And did quibble could tell whyThe little buried mole continues flesh that Him must some day die,Make plain reason tortured TantalusIs baited by the fickle fruit, merely brute caprice dooms SisyphusTo struggle up a never-ending stair.Inscrutable His ways are, and immuneTo a mind too strewnWith cares to slightly awful compels awful do I at this curious thing:To make a poet black, and bid him Customarily, only the last two lines are quoted, and indeed, apparently that mattered to for whom the previous lines mere pretext. Cullen did good but for racial work. Langston Hughes (1902-1967), poster boy for the “Renaissance,” a, um, “poem” in which today appears in countless literature anthologies: The said, “Go home and writea page tonight.And that page come out of you —Then, it will be true.” I if it’s
an is merely a lampblacked AngLo-Saxon. If tHe EurOpeAn iMmIgraNt afTer two or three gENeraTions of exposure to our scHools, PoLIticS, AdVertiSing, morAL cRUSadEs, AnD reStAUrAnts bEcoMes indiStinguishaBle FrOm the mass of AMErIcans of the OldEr stock (despiTe tHe inflUeNce OF the fOreIgn-laNguage PRess), hoW much trueR mUSt it be OF the sonS OF HAm whO have been subjecteD To WHat the uplifterS call AMeRIcANIsm For The last thrEe HundrED years.

HARlEM WAs tHE site of a seemiNgly unlimitED suPply of RaCe-oRIented, LiterArY HacK work, as urbaN negRoes soughT to plaNT “roots” iN The cracKs in thE coNcrEte. WHAt BlAck LiTEraTUrE prOFesSors call A “rEnAissaNce,” wAS CREatiVelY speAking, A zombie jamborEe. TO borROw fRom thE ChriS RocK mOvie, Cb4, one blAck wrItEr after another sAid, iN effect, “I’m BlaCk, And i’m Black, ANd I’m blAck...,”

one Of the moSt oft-quOTed PoEMS Of The Black RenaissancE iS cOuNtee CullEn’s (1903-1946) “Yet dO I maRVel”:

I doubT nOt G-D is gOOD, well-MeanINg, Kind And dId He stOOp To Quibble CoUld telL wHyTHe lIttle BUrieD mole cOntinues Blind,wHy flesh that mirROrs Him must somE DaY DIe,mAke pLaiN the reason tOrtuREd TaNtalUSIS baITed by The fiCkLE fRUit, declareIf merely bRuTe caprIce doOms SisyphusTo Struggle up A NEVer-endinG staIR.INScrutable His waYs are, And immuneTO CatechisM by a mInd too stRewnWith pETTy cares tO slIghTly UndERStAndWhat awful bRAIn coMpEls His aWfuL hand.YeT do i maRveL at ThIs curious Thing:To mAkE a PoEt BlaCk, and BId him sinG!”

CUstOmAriLy, onlY The lasT two lInes ArE qUOteD, and indEEd, THEy arE aPpArenTly AlL that MattERed To CulleN, for whom tHe pREvioUs TwElve linEs were mere preTeXt. Cullen diD wRitE some gOOD poetry, bUt he is revered for his raciAL hack woRk.

LAngstOn HuGhes (1902-1967), the poSteR boy foR thE “renaisSance,” wRote a, Um, “PoeM” IN 1924, “ThemE FOr engLiSh B,” which toDAY apPears In CounTless liTerature anthologieS:

the Instructor saiD,

“Go Home AND wRitEA pAGe tOnIGht.aND let that page comE out of you —THeN, It Will be true.”

i WonDeR if it’s tHat simpLe?
an is merely a lampblacked  Anglo-Sax on. I f t heEu rope an i mmigrant after twoor three generations o f exp os u re t o  o ur sc hools,p ol i t ics ,ad ver ti s in g, mo ral  crusad es, and re sta ur ants becomes in distinguis hab le from themas s of A me ric a ns of  th e old er sto c k (des pite thein f luence of thef o re ign- language press),h ow much truer mus t it b eo ft h e s ons  of Ham wh ohaveb een sub j ec t e d  to what the upli fters callA mer icanis mfor the la st th re e  hu ndred years .

H arlem was  the s i te of a seeming ly unl imi ted  sup p ly  o f r ac e -or i en ted ,  li terary h ac kwork,  asu r b a n ne gro es s ought  to plant “ro ots ” in the  crac ks in  the  c oncre te. Wh at bl ac k literature pr ofes sors call  a“r ena is sance , ” wascre ati vely sp eaking, a z om b i e  j amboree. To borrow  f r o mthe Chri s Rock mo vi e , CB4, o ne  bl ackw r iterafte r  a nother s aid, i n  e ff ect, “I ’m  black ,and  I’ m bla c k, a nd I’m  black.. .,”
O ne of the most oft-quoted po e ms o ft he B lac k Renaissan ce i s  Cou ntee Cu lle n ’s (1 903-1 94 6 )“ Yet Do I Marvel”:
Idoubtnot G -d is good, w ell-meanin g , kind And  did He stoop to quibb le co uld tell w h yThe lit tle b uried mo le contin u e s blind, Why  fl esh  th a t  m irrors Him mu s t  som eday die ,Ma ke plai n t herea son  t ortured T antalusI sba it ed  by  thef ickle fr ui t,de cla reIfm erelybrute  cap ri ce doo ms Sisy p hu s T o st ru gg le u p a  n ever- endi n g s tair.In scrutable  Hi s  way sar e, andimmuneTo cate ch ism by a m in d t oo str e w nWith pe tty cares to slightly u n derstan dWh at aw fulbrain com pel s Hisawf u l hand .Yet d o I m ar vel a t thi s cu rio us  thing:Tom a kea poe tblac k, andbid him sing!”

Cu s tom arily, only t helast t wo  li n es are  q u ote d ,  and indeed, th ey are app ar e nt ly all tha t  ma tt ered to  Cullen , for whom th e previou s twelveli nesw e remere prete xt. Cull en did wr i te so m egoodpoe try, b ut  he  is r evered for  hisracial  h ack wo rk.
La ngston H ughes (1902-1967), theposter  boyfor  the “Ren ais s anc e,” wrote  a,um, “poem”  in  19 24, “ The m e for  Eng l is h B , ” whi ch t o day appea r sinc o un tless liter a t u reantho log i es:

T he i nstructor said,
“ Go home and wr itea p age  to n ight .A nd let that pa geco m e  out ofyo u —Then, it  will be  t r ue.”
I won der if  it’s t h a ts imple? 
an is_merely a_lampblacked Anglo-Saxon. If the_European immigrant_after_two or_three_generations of exposure_to our schools,_politics, advertising, moral crusades,_and restaurants becomes_indistinguishable_from the mass of Americans of the older stock (despite the influence of the_foreign-language_press), how_much_truer_must it be of the_sons of Ham who have_been subjected_to what the uplifters call Americanism for the_last_three hundred years.

Harlem_was the site of a seemingly unlimited supply of_race-oriented, literary hack work, as urban_negroes sought to_plant_“roots”_in the cracks in_the concrete. What black literature professors_call a “renaissance,” was creatively speaking,_a zombie jamboree. To borrow from the_Chris Rock movie, CB4, one black_writer after another said, in_effect, “I’m_black, and I’m black, and_I’m black...,”

One of_the most_oft-quoted poems of_the Black Renaissance is Countee Cullen’s_(1903-1946) “Yet Do_I Marvel”:

I doubt not G-d is_good,_well-meaning, kind And_did_He_stoop to_quibble could tell_whyThe_little buried_mole_continues blind,Why flesh that mirrors Him_must_some day die,Make plain the reason tortured_TantalusIs baited by the_fickle_fruit, declareIf merely brute_caprice dooms SisyphusTo struggle up_a never-ending stair.Inscrutable His ways are,_and immuneTo_catechism by_a mind too strewnWith petty cares to slightly understandWhat awful brain_compels His awful hand.Yet do I_marvel at this curious_thing:To make_a_poet black, and_bid_him sing!”

Customarily,_only the last two lines are quoted,_and indeed,_they are apparently all that mattered_to Cullen, for whom_the_previous twelve lines were mere pretext._Cullen did write some good poetry,_but he is revered for_his_racial_hack work.

Langston Hughes (1902-1967), the_poster boy for the “Renaissance,” wrote_a, um, “poem”_in 1924, “Theme for English B,” which_today_appears in countless literature anthologies:

The instructor_said,

“Go_home and writea page tonight.And let_that_page_come out of you —Then,_it will be true.”

I wonder if_it’s that simple?