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Reading Shange, I’ve been thinking a lot about Langston Hughes. The way her phrases have tones and her poems seem to unfold in the rhythm of song reminds me of Hughes’s prose, infused with the blues. I was excited to see in nappy edges, a reference to the Harlem Renaissance poet: “st. louis was just desegregating herself, while i grew. sometimes a langston hughes poem or a bobby timmons tune was the only safe place i cd find” (19). Like Shange, Hughes makes words dance, and leaves space for music to exist as an external character. Both of their works have strong, vivid connections to place and are in conversation with the roots of diaspora. To delve more into this comparison, I explored two poems that I feel interact nicely: Shange’s “just as the del vikings stole my heart” and Hughes’s “Theme for English B”.

The first half of Shange’s poem refers to “she”—“her fairy godmother retired”—while the second half relies on the first person “i”. “She” retired after the “brown vs. ferguson decision” (a reference to two cases, one which repudiates the other). By combining the two, Shange speaks to the illusion of the “fairy godmother”, the notion that the latter (Ferguson) made life easier for women of color. The law has never fended for her: “i live my own lil rock/ cover my own back anywhere i wanna go”; “i” is the only person she can rely on to survive. “Theme for English B” is about an assignment that Langston Hughes’s white professor gave the class: “Go home and write a page tonight”. This poem also creates a dichotomy; Hughes writes of “me”—Hughes—and “you”—the professor. The italics that belong to the professor read: “And let that page come out of you—Then, it will be true”. Hughes begs the question, “I wonder if it’s that simple?” His truth is in constant conflict with this man who is “older—and white—and somewhat more free”.

My interpretation of each closing is that both Shange and Hughes resolve to write poems as a form of resistance/as a way to construct identity.  Shange writes “i learned only by breakin the law/ i am separate/ i am equal”. I wonder if she’s, in part, referring to breaking the law of language; by deconstructing the laws of colonialist language, she frees her identity in poetry. She continues, “Crackers are born with the right to be alive/ i am making mine up/ right here in your face”. Perhaps, what she is “making up” is this poem; poetry becomes a song/dance of resistance. These lines remind me of what Shange refers to as “the moral of the story” in the opening choreopoem “wow…yr just like a man!”: “When words & manners leave you no space for yrself/ make a poem/ very personal/ very clear/ & yr obstructions will join you or disappear/” (16). Hughes refers to “the page” in his poem. He writes, “you, me, talk on this page”, this page that is supposed to be “true”. Throughout this poem, Hughes has a dialogue with his professor about identity, and where, specifically, that identity comes from (“New York”, “the Harlem Branch Y”, “Bessie”). The last line—“This is my page for English B”—references the “page” as opposed to “theme” (the title). I’ve read this poem many, many times over the years, and I read this as: the theme comes from within the page; through poetry, Hughes uncovers his identity/his truth. This page is a form of resistance; the poem belongs to him.

I find the rhythms and themes of Shange and Hughes’s work to be in conversation, and I am fascinated with how they re-construct identity through poetry. To read the two poems discussed in full, I’ve included both below…

just as the del vikings stole my heart

(oh auntie emma)

my fairy godmother retired

with the brown vs. ferguson decision

she reasoned i waz divested of my separate

but equal status & waz entitled

to whatever lil white girls got

from whoever they got it from

since she waz raised in greener pastures

& knew the devil only in the blues saw-dust

of a raunchy dawn/ a cruel dance on the edge of a dime

so she retired/

she waznt bout to misegenate her powers/

integrate em either/

leavin me to fend for myself

i’ve felt her absence from the moment she escaped

with my love of who i am/ conjurin myself

thru catcalls & mailbox cherry bombs was not my forte

i learned only by breakin the law/

i am separate

i am equal

i live my own lil rock/

cover my own back anywhere i wanna go

& i go anywhere i want

crackers are born with the right to be alive

i am making mine up

right here in your face

why don’t you

go on

& push me

Theme for English B

The instructor said,

Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you—
Then, it will be true.

I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:

It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I’m what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York too.) Me—who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records—Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn’t make me NOT like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white—
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That’s American.
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that’s true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me—
although you’re older—and white—
and somewhat more free.

This is my page for English B.