It’s time for the Weekly Poem again, & this time around we have a really haunting piece by Langston Hughes. This particular poem first came to my attention in an odd way: the great bluesman Taj Mahal does a version of it, complete with National guitar, on his album An Evening of Acoustic Music. I was hoping to find it on YouTube, but no luck; however, the whole album is worth checking out.
Langston Hughes’ poetry is direct & unmediated; it often has the feeling of a song lyric, except it’s a lyric with its own music built in—which is one basic definition of lyric poetry; & although Mr Hughes is well-known, I think his reputation among general readers is built on just a handful of poems such as “I, Too, Sing America” & “The Negro Speaks of Rivers.” I’ve been reading more widely thru his work of late (his Selected Poems published by Vintage), & I can tell you it’s rewarding. Hughes was not only an important voice, but a very gifted poet.
Have a happy July 4th all, whether you’re celebrating it as a holiday or as a Saturday! & hope you enjoy the poem.
Crossing
It was that lonely day, folks,
When I walked all by myself.
My friends was all around me
But it was as if they’d left.
I went up on a mountain
In a high cold wind
And the coat that I was wearing
Was mosquito-netting thin.
I went down in the valley
And I crossed an icy stream
And the water I was crossing
Was no water in a dream
And the shoes I was wearing
No protection for that stream.
Then I stood out on a prairie
And as far as I could see
Wasn’t nobody on that prairie
Looked like me.
It was that lonely day, folks,
I walked all by myself:
My friends was right there with me
But was just as if they’d left.
Langston Hughes