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Books by Countee Cullen
Color
(1925) /
Copper Sun
(1927) /
Caroling Dusk
(1927) /
The
Black Christ (1929) /
My Soul's High Song (Anchor, 1990)
Houston
Baker,
Many-Colored Coat of Dreams: The Poetry of Countee Cullen.
Broadside Press, 1974
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Countee Cullen was born in New York city in 1903,
the son of the Rev. R. A. Cullen, minister and founder of Salem M.E. Church. He was educated in New York public schools, being
graduated from DeWitt Clinton High School in 1922, and he
received the degree of Bachelor of Arts from New York University
in June 1925 after being elected to Phi Beta Kappa. he entered
Harvard University in the fall of 1925 and received his A.M. in
English literature in 1926.
Cullen began to write when he was fourteen years old. a
teacher in DeWitt Clinton High School gave an assignment to his
class to write some verse and Cullen handed in "To A
Swimmer" (the only free verse poem he has ever done). He
thought no more of writing until a year later when he saw this
poem published in The Modern School Magazine issue of May
1918. Cullen then became ambitious to write and his first verse
appeared in The Crisis, official magazine of the national
Association for the Advancement of Colored People [NAACP]. While
still in high school he was awarded first prize in a contest by
the Federation of women's Clubs with his poem, "I Have a
Rendezvous With Life."
When Cullen began to write, he was a great admirer of
Tennyson. later he was influenced by Edna St. Vincent Millay,
Housman, Robinson, and, most of all, Keats. He is essentially an
emotional and lyrical poet. His only present tendency towards
free verse is limited to experimental attempts and he finds
himself more and more inclined towards rigid forms.
"Most things I write," he says, "I do for the
sheer love of the music in them. A number of times I have said I
wanted to be a poet and known as such and not as a Negro poet.
Some how or other, however, I find my poetry of itself treating
of the Negro, of his joys and his sorrows--mostly of the
latter--and of the heights and depths of emotion which I feel as
a Negro."
Cullen has published:
Color (1925),
Copper Sun
(1927),
Caroling Dusk, a comprehensive anthology of Negro
verse (1927), The
Ballad of the Brown Girl (1927), and
The
Black Christ (1929).
Source: Dilly Tante, ed. Living
Authors: a Book of Biographies. New York: The H.W. Wilson
Company, 1932 * * * *
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Yet Do I Marvel
By Countee Cullen |
I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind.
And did He stoop to quibble could tell why
The little buried mole continues blind,
Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die,
Make plain the reason tortured Tantalus
Is baited by the fickle fruit, declare
If merely brute caprice dooms Sisyphus
To struggle up a never-ending stair.
Inscrutable His ways are, and immune
To catechism by a mind too strewn
With petty cares to slightly understand
What awful brain compels His awful hand.
Yet do I marvel at this curious thing:
To make a poet black, and bid him sing!
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Excerpts from
"Forward" of
Caroling
Dusk
By Countee Cullen |
|
The poet writes out of his experience, whether it
be personal or vicarious, and as these experiences differ among
other poets, so do they differ among Negro poets; for the double
obligation of being both Negro and American is not so unified as
we are often led to believe. A survey of the work of Negro poets
will show that the individual diversifying ego transcends the
synthesizing hue. From the roots of varied experiences have
flowered the dialect of Dunbar, the recent sermon poems of James
Weldon Johnson, and some of Helene Johnson's more colloquial
verses, which, differing essentially only in a few expressions
peculiar to Negro slang, are worthy counterparts of verses done
by John V. A. Weaver "in American."
Attempt to hedge all these in with a name, and your
imagination must deny the facts. Langston Hughes, poetizing the
blues in his zeal to represent the Negro masses, and Sterling
Brown, combining a similar interest in such poems as "Long
Gone" and "The Odyssey of Big Boy" with a
capacity for turning a neat sonnet according to the rules,
represent differences as unique as those between Burns and
Whitman. Jessie Fauset with Cornell University and training at
the Sorbonne as her intellectual equipment surely justifies the
very subjects and forms of her poems: "Touché,"
"La Vie C'est la Vie," "Noblesse Oblige,"
etc.; while Lewis Alexander, with no known degree from the
University of Tokyo, is equally within the province of his
creative prerogatives in composing Japanese hokkus and tankas.
Although Anne Spencer lives in Lynchburg, Virginia, and in
her biographical note recognizes the Negro as the great American
taboo, I have seen but two poems by her which are even remotely
concerned with this subject; rather does she write with a cool
precision that calls forth comparison with Amy Lowell and the
influence of a rock-bound seacoast. And Lula Lowe Weeden, the
youngest poet in the volume, living in the same Southern city,
is too young to realize that she is colored in an environment
calculated to impress her daily with the knowledge of this
pigmentary anomaly.
There are lights and shades of difference even in their
methods of decrying race injustices, where these peculiar
experiences of Negro life cannot be overlooked. Claude McKay is
most exercised, rebellious, and vituperative to a degree that
clouds his lyricism in many instances, but silhouettes most
forcibly his high dudgeon; while neither Arna Bontemps, at all
times cool, calm, and intensely religious, nor Georgia Douglas
Johnson, in many instances bearing up bravely under comparison
with Sara Teasdale, takes advantage of the numerous
opportunities offered them for rhymed polemics.
If dialect is missed in this collection, it is enough to
state that the day of dialect as far as Negro poets are
concerned is in the decline. Added to the fact that these poets
are out of contact with this fast-dying medium, certain
sociological considerations and the natural limitations of
dialect for poetic expression militate against its use even as a
tour de force. In a day when artificiality is so
vigorously condemned, the Negro poet would be foolish indeed to
turn to dialect. The majority of present-day poems in dialect
are the efforts of white poets. . . . *
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posted 9 November 2007 |
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