Learn about the Harlem Renaissance by watching this short video:   

"The Weary Blues"

The Weary Blues

Langston Hughes

          Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,

          Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,

              I heard a Negro play.

          Down on Lenox Avenue the other night

          By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light

              He did a lazy sway ....

              He did a lazy sway ....

          To the tune o' those Weary Blues.

          With his ebony hands on each ivory key

         He made that poor piano moan with melody.

              O Blues!

         Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool

         He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.

             Sweet Blues!

         Coming from a black man's soul.

             O Blues!

        In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone

         I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan--

             "Ain't got nobody in all this world,

              Ain't got nobody but ma self.

               I's gwine to quit ma frownin'

               And put ma troubles on the shelf."

          Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.

          He played a few chords then he sang some more--

              "I got the Weary Blues

              And I can't be satisfied.

              Got the Weary Blues

              And can't be satisfied--

              I ain't happy no mo'

              And I wish that I had died."

          And far into the night he crooned that tune.

          The stars went out and so did the moon.

          The singer stopped playing and went to bed

          While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.

          He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.

"Harlem"  

Here on the edge of hell
Stands Harlem--
Remembering the old lies,
The old kicks in the back,
The old "Be patient"
They told us before. 

Sure, we remember. 
Now when the man at the corner store
Says sugar's gone up another two cents,
And bread one,
And there's a new tax on cigarettes--
We remember the job we never had,
Never could get,
And can't have now
Because we're colored. 

So We stand here
On the edge of hell
In Harlem
And look out on the world
And wonder
What we're gonna do
In the face of what
We remember. 

Read "Thank You, Ma'am," a short story by Langston Hughes here and then answer the questions on your sheet.