Me and Mr. Hughes…

Well, here I sit, in Panera’s again. It’s Saturday, so that means I am studying for one of my classes (ok, it means I should be, obviously I am writing a blog…). Today it happens to be my American Lit class, and since I am done with reading Faulkner, I am a much happier camper then before. As I Lay Dying was painful. Painfully painful. Although, toward the last 20 pages, it finally hit on a few plot points I actually got interested in.

And so not the point… 

Focus! (as my wife would say)

Ok. So, anyway, this week we are reading some of the poets from the Harlem Renaissance. Langston Hughes and Zora Hurston to be exact. Coincidentally, 2 weeks ago, we were reading Langston in my English class. All that to say…

Confession time…

Up to this point, I have never read anything by Hughes. I know his name, kind of hard to be a writer and not hear mention of him. But somehow I have completely missed his body of work.

I am remiss.

Because after reading several of his poems, I can’t believe I have lived this long and been an enjoyer (is that a word? The red line under it says no) of poetry and somehow missed him. My current English teacher loves his work, even wrote her Master’s dissertation on him (I think that’s what it’s called). I remember hearing her talk about him before I got a chance to read any of his stuff and just thought, ‘ughhh… Langston Hughes’.

IDIOT.

Yep. I was an idiot. Was.

So anyway, if you are still reading this, I included a poem by him and if you click his image below, it will take you to a page with more of his stuff.

Dreams

Langston Hughes

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.

Well, homework beckons to be done and for as much as I would like, it is not going to do itself.

Although… I do know someone I could pay $20 too….

Nah..