Yesterday I found myself grabbing Langston Hughes off of my brother’s bookshelf. He was one of my favorites in high school and college English classes. The way he expresses themes of racial equality and freedom and talks about his thoughts and feelings on identity as a man of multi-racial and multi-national background always moved me. Dillon says his poetry is hit-or-miss, but that could also be because he wrote so much. You can’t be amazing every time.
I performed “Raisin in the Sun” for Oral Interpretation class back when I was an English teacher. It’s still one of my favorite poems. I got a B on the assignment. I think my teacher thought it was too short.
I was struck by this one: “Let America be America Again.” Most people won’t read it because it’s too long for a millenial’s attention span. In the wake of the Baltimore race riots I can’t help but hear his words echoing and resonating from the time of the Harlem renaissance until today. He calls out to America and its ideals, the freedom, equality, liberty and opportunity. He feels short-changed “(America was never America to me.)”
Today I am listening to Emily Wells. I was excited to discover her a few years ago but have since stopped listening because I thought she was too dark. Today she is on repeat, calling out to America for mercy.
“Mercy, have mercy on me, America you won't get no mercy. Mercy, have mercy on me, America,
do you believe in mercy?
Penance, I got a penance, but I got no God,
so I won't get no mercy.
Money, just makes you hungry.
America, there's your god…
I'm a lover like no other,
know how to get down on my knees, beggin,
till the morning sings.
Even if I board your ship, saunter up with a swollen
lip, bleary eyed and talkin' s***, easily we could lose our grip.
So mercy, mercy,
tell the whole world your wide story.
Mercy mercy, here's another allegory.
Mercy mercy, Lord Lord have mercy”
“Symphony 4: America’s Mercy War”, Emily Wells
According to Dale Anderson of IHOP KC, “Mercy is God’s compassion and willingness to change our hopeless, helpless and powerless situation.” I pray God has mercy on America. America, do you believe in mercy? I guess you might not believe in mercy until you believe you are hopeless and helpless and powerless. Blessed are the merciful for they will receive mercy. America, show mercy. America, receive mercy.
Race riots in Baltimore. Lots of other bad news. This is why I’ve been keeping my head down when it comes to the news reel. That kind of heaviness makes it hard for me to function as a joyful and life-giving person. It’s a balance, I guess, learning where and when to care.
We’ve always been a nation that cries out for justice. We have our injustice and our prophets crying out for justice. We have our blood that was shed. It’s still being shed. And Langston Hughes is still talking...
“O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!”
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!”
Amen!
Let America Be America Again
Langston Hughes, 1902 - 1967
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
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.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”
The free?
Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.
O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
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.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”
The free?
Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.
O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!
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