Harlem Renaissance

Project 2015 Background

Poetry, Art, Music Choices

America was at a turning point

during the Roaring Twenties!• Old versus New• Farms to Cities• Prohibition Backfired• Stock Market Boomed• New Rights for Women• Radio & Movies• Harlem Renaissance

Harlem is a section of New York City where many African American artists, musicians, and writers gathered in the 1920s.

What is Harlem?

The neighborhood became a center of black culture through music clubs, art galleries, and literary events.

When did the Harlem Renaissance happen?

1865- End of Civil

War- Lincoln Killed- 13th

Amendment (End of Slavery)Reconstruction

1865-1877

Plessy v.Ferguson1896

WW I1914-1918Great Migration

Roaring Twenties1920s

HarlemRenaissance1920s-1940

GreatDepression1930s

WWII1939-1945

What’s so special about the Harlem Renaissance?

The Harlem Renaissance is important because African American art, music, and literature reflected life at the time for many Americans, black and white. It also laid the foundation for popular American culture from the 1920s until today.

How did the work of the

Harlem Renaissance artists

reflect the changes happening

in America in the 1920s?

First, let’s hear some music…

Bullets and

Bayonets

by John Philips Sousa

It Don’t Mean a ThingIf It Ain’t Got That

Swingby Duke Ellington

Next, let’s look at some artwork…

American Gothic – Grant Wood Street Life, Harlem – William H. Johnson

Other Paintings by William H. Johnson

Harlem RenaissancePoetry, Art, and Music

In this project, you will choose a poem that

interests you from this presentation. You will also

choose a piece of art of music that you feel

complements the poem you chose. Next, you will

write a mini-essay comparing and contrasting the

two pieces. Finally, you will write a poem that

reflects your personal response to the works you

chose.

The word “negro” is no longer an

acceptable term for African American

people or culture. However, the word

was used by African American writers

and artists during the Harlem

Renaissance. You should not use the

word “negro” in your project except

when citing a title or quoting an

example from an artist’s work.

A few words about words…

Harlemby Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry uplike a raisin in the sun?Or fester like a sore—And then run?Does it stink like rotten meat?Or crust and sugar overlike a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sagslike a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Southern Mansionby Arna Bontemps

Poplars are standing there still as deathand ghost of dead menmeet their ladies walkingtwo by two beneath the shadeand standing on the marble steps.

There is a sound of music echoingthrough the open doorand in the field there isanother sound tinkling in the cotton:chains of bondmen dragging on the ground.

The years go back with an iron clank,a hand is on the gate,a dry leaf trembles on the wall.Ghost are walking.They have broken roses downand poplars stand there still as death...

The White HouseBy Claude McKay

Your door is shut against my tightened face,And I am sharp as steel with discontent;But I possess the courage and the graceTo bear my anger proudly and unbent.The pavement slabs burn loose beneath my feet,A chafing savage, down the decent street;And passion rends my vitals as I pass,Where boldly shines your shuttered door of glass.Oh, I must search for wisdom every hour,Deep in my wrathful bosom and sore and raw,And find in it the superhuman powerTo hold me to the letter of your law!Oh, I must keep the heart inviolateAgainst the potent power of your hate.

Any Human to Anotherby Countee Cullen

The ills I sorrow atNot me aloneLike an arrow,Pierce to the marrow,Through the fatAnd past the bone.

Your grief and mineMust intertwineLike sea and river,Be fused and mingle,Diverse yet single,Forever and forever.

Continued…

Any Human to Another (continued)Let no man be so proud And confident,To think he is allowedA little tentPitched in a meadowOf sun and shadowAll his little own.

Joy may be shy, unique,Friendly to a few,Sorrow never scorned to speakTo any whoWere false or true.Your every griefLike a bladeShining and unsheathedMust strike me down.Of bitter aloes wreathed,My sorrow must be laidOn your head like a crown.

The Negroby Langston Hughes

I am a Negro:Black as the night is black,Black like the depths of my Africa.

I’ve been a slave:Caesar told me to keep his door-steps clean.I brushed the boots of Washington.

I’ve been a worker:Under my hand the pyramids arose.I made mortar for the Woolworth Building.

Continued…

The Negro (continued)

I’ve been a singer:All the way from Africa to GeorgiaI carried my sorrow songs.I made ragtime.

I’ve been a victim:The Belgians cut off my hands in the

Congo.They lynch me now in Texas.

I am a Negro:Black as the night is black.Black like the depths of my Africa.

Sympathyby Paul Laurence Dunbar

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,And the river flows like a stream of glass;When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wingTill its blood is red on the cruel bars;For he must fly back to his perch and clingWhen he fain would be on the bough a-swing;And a pain still throbs in the old, old scarsAnd they pulse again with a keener sting—I know why he beats his wing! Continued…

Sympathy (continued)

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—When he beats his bars and he would be free;It is not a carol of joy or glee,But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,But a plea that upward to Heaven he flings—I know why the caged bird sings!

I, Too Sing Americaby Langston Hughes

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.They send me to eat in the kitchenWhen company comes,But I laugh,And eat well,And grow strong.

Continued…

Tomorrow,I’ll sit at the tableWhen company comes.Nobody’ll dareSay to me,“Eat in the kitchen,”Then.

Besides,They’ll see how beautiful I amAnd be ashamed—

I, too, am America.

I, Too Sing America (continued)

Choose a Poem to Study

Aspiration (1936)

Artist: Aaron Douglas

FIRE!! Magazine CoverArtist: Aaron Douglas

The Ascent of Ethiopia (1932)

Artist: Lois Mailou Jones

Three Folk Musicians (1967)

Artist: Romare Bearden

The Migration of the Negro, panel 50

Artist: Jacob Lawrence

Nightlife (1943)

Artist: Archibald Motely, Jr.

Harlem at NightArtist: Winold Reiss

Georgia Landscape (ca. 1934-1935)

Artist: Hale Woodruff

Couple in Raccoon Coats (1932)Artist: James Van Der Zee

Tar Beach (1988)

Artist: Faith Ringgold

Music It Don’t Mean a Thing 

[instrumental plus incidental vocals] 

Recorded By: Duke Ellington & His OrchestraIvie Anderson – Vocals

 

It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing

It don’t mean a thing, all you’ve got to do is sing

It makes no difference if it’s sweet or hot

Just keep that rhythm, give it everything you’ve got

It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing

A Night in Tunisia

Ella Fitzgerald

Music

The moon is the same moon above youAglow with its cool evening lightBut shining at night in TunisiaNever does it shine so bright

The stars are aglow in the heavensBut only the wise understandThat shining at night in TunisiaThey guide you through the desert sand…

Struttin’ with Some

Barbecue

Louis Armstrong

Music

Take the “A” Train

Duke Ellington

Music

Strange Fruit

Billie Holiday

Music

Southern trees bear strange fruitBlood on the leaves and blood at the rootBlack bodies swinging in the southern breezeStrange fruit hanging from the poplar trees

Pastoral scene of the gallant SouthThe bulging eyes and the twisted mouthScent of magnolias, sweet and freshThen the sudden smell of burning flesh

Here is fruit for the crows to pluckFor the rain to gather, for the wind to suckFor the sun to rot, for the trees to dropHere is a strange and bitter crop

St. Louis Blues

Ella Fitzgerald

Music

I hate to see that evening sun go downI hate to see that evening sun go downJust because my baby, he has gone and left this townIf I’m feelin’ tomorrow like I’m feelin’ todayFeelin’ tomorrow like I’m feelin’ todayI’m gonna’ pack my truck and make my getawayI went to the gypsy to have my fortune toldI went to the gypsy to have my fortune toldShe said “Ooo, baby, all you need is a whole lotta’ soul…”

Choose a Piece of Art or a Song that you feel strongly relates to the

poem you selected.