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I loved my friend He went away from me There's nothing more to say The poem ends, Soft as it began- I loved my friend.

Langston Hughes

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Langston Hughes
Age: 66 †
Born: 1901
Born: February 1
Died: 1967
Died: May 22
Biographer
Essayist
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Joplin
Missouri
James Langston Hughes
James Mercer Langston Hughes
Friend
Loved
Went
Away
Ends
Nothing
Soft
Poem
Began

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Hard as I try, daddy-o, I really do not like concert singers. They are always singing in some foreign language.
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They [the police] learned something from them Harlem riots. They used to beat your head right in public, but now they only beat it after they get you down to the station house.
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Your explanation depresses me, I said. Your nonsense depresses me, said Simple.
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To some people Love is given, To others Only Heaven.
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We younger Negro artists who create now intend to express our individual dark-skinned selves without fear or shame. If white people are pleased we are glad. If they aren?t it doesn?t matter.
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Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed - Let it be that great strong land of love Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme That any man be crushed by one above.
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There is no color line in death. I swear to the lord I still can't see Why Democracy means Everybody but me. O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath - America will be! I am the American heartbreak- The rock on which Freedom Stumped its toe.
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This is the mountain standing in the way of any true Negro art in America - this urge within the race toward whiteness, the desire to pour racial individuality into the mold of American standardization, and to be as little Negro and as much American as possible.
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Keep your hand on the plow. Hold on.
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I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn't, So I jumped in and sank.
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This morning I paid seventy cents for two little old dried-up slivers of bacon and one cockeyed egg. It took me till noon to get my appetite back.
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Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear.
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What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? ... Or does it explode?
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The depression brought everybody down a peg or two. And the Negroes had but few pegs to fall.
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Both of them were very good and kind - the one who went to church and the one who didn't. And no doubt from them I learned to like both Christians and sinners equally well.
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Beauty for some provides escape, who gain a happiness in eyeing the gorgeous buttocks of the ape or Autumn sunsets exquisitely dying.
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Negroes - Sweet and docile, Meek, humble, and kind: Beware the day - They change their mind.
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If you want to honor me, give some young boy or girl who's coming along trying to create arts and write and compose and sing and act and paint and dance and make something out of the beauties of the Negro race-give that child some help.
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To create a market for your writing you have to be consistent, professional, a continuing writer - not just a one-article or a one-story or a one-book man.
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